A Scattered Fire of Stars

]A Scattered Fire of Stars

Chapter Four: Sketches and Slugs in the Prefects' Compartment

But I say nothing, I talk to no one

I know what I believe don't need to wear

It on my sleeve

I talk to no one, I will say nothing

If we come and go alone why do they need

To know? - Voice of the Beehive, "I Say Nothing"

Queenie pushed the cart containing her shabby trunk toward the wall dividing Platform Nine and Three-Quarters from the Muggle train station. Nemesis curled atop the trunk, eyeing the various Muggles on Platform Nine with disdain. As expected, her mother had not come back from Majorca, or wherever she had gone, in time for the school year to begin, so Queenie and Nemesis were alone.

"Excuse me, miss, but no live animals are allowed on the platform which are not in carriers!" Queenie realized that the middle-aged man in the wool suit carrying a copy of the Daily Telegraph was staring fixedly at her chest, as if she were wearing a solid gold bra studded with gems. It was a wonder that the stupid wanker had even noticed Nemesis. She thought about using the special charm she had worked up for just such occasions - it worked wonders with Medea's patrons - but while the Ministry never poked their noses into Knockturn Alley, they were all over the place here. Especially with the Dark Lord's return.

"Get back in your own carrier then. Beast! Who allowed you out without a lead?" Queenie sneered at the offender, added a few choice epithets she had picked up from working at Medea's, and pushed her cart through the wall to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Were all Muggle men as crude and obnoxious as this? Slytherin had no Muggle-born students, and Queenie hadn't gotten to know any of the boys in the other Houses well enough to find out firsthand what Muggles or Muggle-borns were really like. Medea, owner of the sleazy underworld bar where Queenie toiled as illegal underage barmaid, said that Muggle men were all bad news - crude and disrespectful at best, murderous psychopaths at worst. Queenie wondered where Medea had the opportunity to meet Muggle men, or even if she had in fact met any. Sometimes it was hard to tell what was true and what was false of the yarns Medea loved to spin.

Not that Queenie was looking for romance while at Hogwarts anyway. Fifth year was O.W.L.'s year - Ordinary Wizarding Levels. Queenie had ten O.W.L.'s to take and intended to pass every one. Most students only took nine - the seven required subjects plus two subjects of the student's choice - though Hermione Granger, naturally, was taking twelve. Queenie's three extra subjects were Divination - which she hated, but it was better than Care of Magical Creatures with that grotesque Hagrid or Muggle Studies, which no Slytherin would touch with a bargepole - Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes. Hogwarts was supposed to be getting a new Ancient Runes professor to replace the one who was retiring. There was also to be a new Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher, as had been the case every year so far. Queenie was positive the position was cursed; what could be wrong that Dumbledore couldn't keep a teacher at the position for longer than a year? And some of those teachers had been real prizes. There had been that fatuous wanker Lockhart in her second year, who couldn't teach his way out of a crisp bag; and then Professor Lupin in third year, who was nice - all right, more than nice, he was crush material - but at the end of Queenie's third year, Professor Snape had, with relish, informed the Slytherins that "wonderful Professor Lupin" was, in fact, a werewolf. Queenie shuddered at the memory of her adolescent crush on what had turned out to be a Dark Creature, something not human. Perhaps the fifth Defense teacher would be the charm.

"Hullo, Queenie!" Blaise Zabini and Inigo Spinks hailed her as she walked through the wall and onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters, where the bright red Hogwarts Express awaited.

"I see you're all dressed up," said Blaise, with a meaningful glance at the Prefect badge pinned to Queenie's black Hogwarts robes. "I suppose you're going to sit up front with the rest of the Prefects?"

"Yes! From this day onward I, Queenie Greengrass, Slytherin Prefect, am officially 'too good' for my old friends. I'm going to go sit with the rest of the Prefects and begin putting in action my official plan: to be Mrs. Draco Malfoy. A girl who's going places in life needs a boy with a vault full of Galleons."

Blaise looked so horrified that Queenie laughed. "Only joking, Blaise! You are just so much fun to tease!" She turned to Inigo, who was busily mopping at his hair with a soiled handkerchief. "What happened to you? What on earth did you get in your hair? You're - ew, Inigo, you're covered in bogies! Did Goyle decide not to use his robes and wiped his fingers in your hair instead?"

"Inigo's been Bogey-Bombed for trying to help Hannah Abbott with her trunk," said Blaise.

"Oh, those cute, adorable, high-spirited Gryffindor redheads have another new invention that they wanted to try out, I see? Just wait till I catch them. I'm going to be taking so many points off of Gryffindor that their heads will swim. Maybe they won't even win the House Cup this year! Here, Inigo, use my handkerchief. You've still got a couple of big sticky ones right here." Queenie pointed to a few leftover bogies clinging to Inigo's forehead.

"I went over to see if Hannah needed help putting her trunk away. George or Fred, whoever, threw their new invention at me and Lee Jordan got to help Hannah with her luggage." Inigo wiped his forehead and contemplated the handkerchief, frowning. "You think he fancies her?"

"I'm sure he does." Queenie looked over at where Hannah, a tall strawberry blonde in Muggle jeans and trainers, was peering into a box Lee Jordan was holding. Her little gang of Hufflepuffs, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Anthony Goldstein, looked on. Lee had taken something hairy out of the box and was holding it out for Hannah to admire. It was a giant tarantula, which Hannah gamely took into her hands and cooed over as if it were a Puffskein or a Persian kitten. Ernie had a very forced smile on his face; Justin and Anthony were grinning and elbowing each other in the ribs. Queenie wished Pansy and Tracey had been there; if anyone had tried to show them a giant spider those two would have gone hysterical. Maybe they even would have thrown themselves in front of the Hogwarts Express to escape. One could dream, at any rate. "Inigo, I think you have two clear alternatives: you can forget about the tarantula-kissing Hufflepuff prefect or you can spend the rest of the year as a bogey-covered canary with an extremely large tongue. Your choice. Why don't you find some other girl? There's lots of other Grindylows in the sea, you know."

Inigo looked unconvinced. "But Hannah's the prettiest girl in Hogwarts. Maybe in the whole wizarding world."

"Yes, well, she's not for you, I'm afraid. Maybe she'll get sick of Jordan but I wouldn't hold my breath. You'd better settle for the second prettiest girl, whoever that is - or forget about romance and concentrate on your O.W.L.'s. In fact," Queenie took her wand out of its pocket and pointed it at her friends, "As Slytherin Prefect, I order both of you to study hard and get good marks. We need all the House Points we can get. I am so bloody sick of Gryffindor winning the House Cup year after year after year! Let's all do our best to see to it that the banners in the Great Hall at the Leaving Feast will be green and silver this year!"

"Oh oh, looks like the power of Prefecthood has gone to someone's head already!" Blaise grinned and raised his eyebrow. "Does this mean you won't go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?"

"Do your homework and I will," said Queenie in honeyed tones. But don't expect more than a peck on the cheek. "I'm going up front - the prefects have the two front cars to themselves."

"Have fun, Future Mrs. Malfoy!" Blaise ducked the Tickling Charm Queenie aimed at him.

"Have fun yourself, Future Husband of Tracey Davis!"

"Ouch. That hurt. I'd rather have Pansy than Tracey. At least Pansy has some semblance of a brain. Even Mingin' Millicent Bulstrode would be better than Dim-Bulb Davis."

"And speaking of - it looks like Dim-Bulb Davis has, for whatever reason, been replaced as Pansy Parkinson's Second In Command by - Lisa Turpin?!" Sure enough, Pansy Parkinson in all her pink-clad glory was surrounded by Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode and Tamora Nott, her usual satellite moons. But in pride of place next to Pansy, exchanging murmured confidences and giggling, was the Ravenclaw girl. Tracey was standing with her arms folded across her meager chest, her red-lacquered mouth turned down and her heavily-lined eyes radiating disapproval. Tamora and Millicent were rolling their eyes and frowning. Lisa and Pansy looked so wrapped up in one another's company that they didn't notice the glares of the other Slytherin girls.

"Want me to find out more? I have a handy little Eavesdropping Charm that I can use," said Blaise.

"Yes, please. I would really appreciate it - gossip, politics, you know. It doesn't look like Lisa's very welcome with the rest of that gang. I would love to know why Pansy and Lisa are such dear, close friends all of a sudden. And if Miss Turpin were to find out that the price of admission to Pansy's inner circle was to have to date Vincent Crabbe, that would be priceless. My day - no, my week - would be made. See you later, I'm off to the Prefects' Lair."

"See you in Hogsmeade Station!" Blaise shouted as he and Inigo went off to linger near Pansy and her friends.

Queenie sighed as she pushed her cart to the second car. Blaise was not making his spying offer merely out of the boundless goodness of his heart, she knew. It was part of the new campaign to win Queenie for his girlfriend. If Queenie had to become Blaise's girlfriend for the good of Slytherin - then she supposed she'd have to, as long as she could spend most of her time at her studies. Maybe this year she could get better marks than Hermione Granger in a class or two, perhaps in Transfiguration, or Ancient Runes, her favorite subjects. To her perpetual dismay, no matter how much she studied, Queenie always came in second, sometimes third, in her year. No-one from any House - not even Steve Cornfoot, the smartest Ravenclaw in their year - had ever managed to best Hermione in any subject in all four years at Hogwarts. That would, no doubt, make Snape's day. Perhaps he'd even stop favoring that whey-faced prat Draco Malfoy. Not bloody likely. But worth a try.

"Watch where you're going!" Queenie shouted. Two first years, a petite sandy-haired girl and a stocky, dark-skinned boy with curly hair, were chasing each other around the platform and almost knocked her cart over. Nemesis, roused from her placid contemplation of her surroundings, yowled.

"Oh, sorry!" said the girl, edging away. Her companion spotted Nemesis and reached up to pet her.

"Here, kitty, kitty! Nice kitty!"

Nice Kitty, who was not in an accommodating mood after nearly being knocked off her perch, leapt off the cart, through the open door of the Prefects' Compartment and out of sight. The boy looked disappointed. The girl tugged on the boy's sleeve to lead him away.

"Look at her badge, Jeremy! See the serpent? That means she's in Slytherin! We almost knocked down a Slytherin Prefect!" the girl hissed. "Slytherin is the House of Dark Witches and Wizards! She might curse you. Come on, let's go!"

Queenie felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. She ought to expect it after all these years, but still...it hurt. Even new first-years learned to look askance at Slytherin. That wasn't going to continue, not if Queenie had anything to say about it - Slytherin was a fine, noble House, not the House where all the evil students were placed as so many thought.

"Wait. Stop. Don't go away." Queenie pointed her wand at the two first-years. Looking the girl in the eye, she asked, "Who told you Slytherin was 'the Evil House?" Salazar Slytherin was one of the Four Founders, you know. We do have a right to exist."

Squirming, the girl swallowed hard and said, "My brother's girlfriend said so. Her Inner Eye tells her everything. She said she saw in her crystal ball that -"

"Wait." Jeremy looked at his friend in amazement. "Aisling, your brother has a girlfriend?"

"Yes he does," Aisling replied with a sly smile. "They kiss and everything. I saw them. Her name's Lavender."

"Oh, rubbish and tommy rot!" Queenie cried. Just wait until I see that stupid bint Lavender Brown. She'll wish she'd never heard of the words "Inner Eye." "Now listen. Slytherin is not -"

The two children ignored Queenie. "Lavender. What a funny name," chuckled Jeremy. "Kissing? Really? Where are they?" He scanned the platform, which was now crowded with Hogwarts students.

"Yes. Really. Kis-sing. Smooch, smooch," said Aisling, grinning. "I think Seamus pays her or something. I don't know why anyone would want to kiss my brother unless he paid them loads and loads of Galleons. Come on, I'll point them out to you." Aisling and Jeremy raced down the platform, dodging students, parents, and luggage carts, all thoughts of evil Slytherins apparently forgotten in the wake of something even yuckier. Queenie herself agreed that the very notion of Seamus Finnigan and Lavender Brown kissing, let alone shagging, was appalling. Queenie and her friends thought Seamus was an amiable dim-bulb who would rather mess about in class than work and would probably get some low-level job in a shop in Diagon Alley when he left Hogwarts. As for Lavender, she had curly hair and big, brown eyes and dimples, had a girlish voice and a ready giggle, and loved Divination and small, furry animals - vomit-inducing, Queenie thought. A child produced by those two would have just enough brains to fill a small thimble. She hoped that either nothing more than kissing was involved, or that Lavender and Seamus had every detail of some very strong Contraceptive Potions or Birth-Control Charms memorized. And remembered to use them. Fat chance on that, though, Queenie sighed. Lavender was runner-up next to Tracey Davis for Girl Most Likely To Fall Pregnant While At School, and Seamus won the prize for Boy Least Likely To Remember to Use Contraception.

"Potential Finnigan larvae. Merlin help the wizarding world." Queenie decided that if she did catch Seamus and Lavender in any kind of snogging activity, she was going to take loads of points away from Gryffindor just for the hell of it. But enough of smooching Gryffindors, just what was she going to do with her trunk? Queenie was a small girl, and her trunk was heavy. She kept forgetting that underage wizards were not to use magic outside of Hogwarts - living in Knockturn Alley made it easy to forget. She'd already slipped up and sent a Tickling Charm at Blaise on the platform. Perhaps just a little Levitation Charm to help her get her trunk into the rack, surely even the Ministry would overlook that -

"Here. Let me help you with that." A tall, slim boy stepped up to Queenie's trunk. "On the count of three - go!" He exuded a cool elegance even as he helped heave the trunk into the car. As he straightened up, Queenie noticed the silver badge with the letters "HB" and an eagle engraved upon it. He smiled at Queenie and extended his hand.

"Queenie? I'm Sanjay Patil, from Ravenclaw. My sisters have told me about you."

"Really?" Queenie wondered what, exactly, Padma and Parvati had said. Padma was all right, if snooty. Parvati, on the other hand, was an insufferable feather-brain with her tongue perpetually set to "giggle" just like her best friend Lavender Brown. Both Parvati and Lavender thought of nothing but Appearance-Enhancing Charms, magic cosmetics, clothes, boys, and of course Divination. "Nice to meet you," Queenie said in a neutral voice. Do the Ravenclaws get all the good-looking ones? Mum was beautiful, and she was in Ravenclaw...

"And this" - Sanjay indicated a young girl standing beside him - "is my youngest sister Manasha, who's starting at Hogwarts this year." Manasha, Queenie noticed, had the same glossy black hair, fine features and elegant bearing as her older siblings.

"How do you do," she said, shaking Queenie's hand, then, "But I want to ride in the car with you!" to her brother.

"You can't, Manasha, this is the Prefects' Compartment. You have to ride with Parvati and Padma."

Manasha looked ready to protest, when Parvati came sailing up and said, "Manasha! Come with me and I'll read your Tarot cards."

"But I want to ride with Sanjay!"

"I'll read your Tarot cards and buy you lots of Chocolate Frogs. But you can't sit with the Prefects and that's final. Let's go!" Manasha sighed; her shoulders slumped and she went off with Parvati, dragging her feet. Queenie saw that Parvati was alone, without her usual doppelganger Lavender Brown. The latter was probably off somewhere with Seamus, who himself had lost his own joined-at-the-hip companion Dean Thomas to the Prefects' Compartment. Queenie could see the faint outline of Dean's profile as he sat with his head bent, no doubt over a sketchpad. Further down the platform, Lee Jordan had his tarantula perched on his head like a hairy wig with legs. Hannah was shrieking with laughter as the Weasley twins egged Lee on.

"Courtship rituals," Sanjay murmured. He didn't seem impressed. "All the higher primates have them."

Queenie didn't want to let on to Sanjay that she had no idea what a 'higher primate' was. All wizard-born children were home-schooled before being sent to Hogwarts. Depending on their parents and station in life, wizarding children could learn just barely enough reading, writing and maths to get by at Hogwarts, get a wide-ranging and thorough education, or anything in-between. Raised as she was in Knocturn Alley by an indifferent, incompetent mother, Queenie was in the first category. She remembered how that first year at Hogwarts, Professor Sinistra had taken her in hand and spent hours outside of class time tutoring her just so she could produce a legible essay.

"I think I'll go in the compartment and try to find a good seat. It was nice talking to you, and thank you for helping me with my trunk." Queenie fled into the Prefect's Compartment and found a seat near the back. Nemesis came trotting up and settled into her lap, shedding long white hair all over her robes. As she stroked her cat, Queenie wondered why the Head Boy would spend so much time talking to her - a short dumpy Slytherin girl from a family whose members had a disturbing propensity to wind up dead or in Azkaban. Maybe Sanjay was one of those who didn't think Slytherin was the scum of the wizarding world. On the other hand, maybe he thought Slytherins were all bad news and believed what Lavender Brown saw with her infallible Inner Eye, which as far as Queenie was concerned ought to have been gouged out. Maybe Sanjay was spying on her, thinking she was involved in some shady dark wizarding activities. If he was tracking her movements, Queenie smirked to herself, he'd soon find himself bored out of his skull.

The train whistle blew; the doors to the Hogwarts Express banged shut. The train lurched, then started forward along the platform. Out the window Queenie could see the faces of parents and relatives of other Hogwarts students waving goodbye to them. Her stomach twisted as she thought, There's no one there waving goodbye to me, and there never will be. No, she wasn't the only Hogwarts student without a family to see her off - Famous Harry Potter was another - but Harry had the Weasleys, who had all but adopted him it seemed. If I ever have a child, I'll never miss seeing her off to school. Never. No matter what kind of job I have. And she'll have a father who is there for her, and loads of brothers and sisters. Queenie sighed and reached into her bookbag for her Transfigurations text. The little snake-woman figurine she had bought in Borgin and Burkes was on top of it. She unwrapped the statue, slipping it into her pocket, and felt a surge of strength, and competence, from its presence. She wondered what magic the small, nondescript clay statue held...soon she'd finding out.

------

The Hogwarts Express chugged northward, the London city sights changing to a country tableau. Queenie stared out the window, Secrets of the Animagi lying forgotten in her lap. Draco Malfoy sat sulking and sucking on a sugar quill in a corner of the Prefects' compartment. He seemed at a loss what to do without his ever-present sycophants Crabbe and Goyle. Sanjay Patil was playing chess with Hufflepuff Prefect Ernie Macmillan. Hannah Abbott, Head Girl Angelina Johnson, and Ravenclaw sixth year Samantha Fawcett were chatting about Quidditch. All three, to judge from their conversation, were big Holyhead Harpies fans. Angelina, smiling, bent close to Hannah to murmur something which made Hannah's pink cheeks turn vermilion - must have been about Lee Jordan. Queenie's guess was confirmed when Hannah tossed her blonde head and said, "Lee did ask me to go to Hogsmeade with him next week."

Angelina winked and replied, "That means Fred and I are going to have to chaperone you two!" Queenie hastily buried her face in Secrets of the Animagi to hide a snort of laughter at the thought of Fred Weasley as a chaperone.

As the placid late-summer scenery slipped past the windows of the Hogwarts Express, Queenie's mind wandered back to her last week at Medea's Bar. As they washed up early in the morning after the bar closed, Medea had chosen this time to give her barmaid a talk on what she called "the fairies and the billywigs." An ill-chosen phrase at that, Queenie thought; not once had actual fairies or billywigs entered the conversation.

"Now that you're fifteen years old, I think I'd better have a talk with you, since I know your mum won't and anyway she's the last person on Circe's earth I'd choose for advice on the fairies and the billywigs."

"The...I beg your pardon?" Queenie polished a glass. "Do you know how to get fairy shit out of silk robes? One of the nasty little creatures shit on me at the Yule Ball last year. Pansy and Tracey never got tired of laughing about it for the rest of the term. And it ruined my robes, and now I have to get new ones."

"No, no, dear, not those fairies, I'm talking about" - Medea lowered her voice - "boys, love. Men. Snogging, shagging, that sort of thing. What we call 'the fairies and the billywigs.'"

"Oh." Queenie wiped down the bar with great vigor, concentrating on getting a spot out of the dingy woodwork. "That's right out until I leave school. I want to get as many O.W.L's and N.E.W.T's as I can. I'm thinking," Queenie stopped and stared at the counter, "I'm good enough at Transfiguration that...I just might try to see if I can become an Animagus. A legal Animagus. Why, if I were able to effect the Transfiguration, I could write my own ticket. I'd never be out of work! I'd make piles of money! I could get a job" -

"Shut your pie-hole, girl, this is important! I'm going to tell you something you better not ever forget. Look at me."

Queenie sighed, wrenching her thoughts away from Animagus glory, and looked into Medea's narrow, greenish eyes.

"Remember poor Ariadne Marvolo."

"What about Ariadne Marvolo?" Queenie had heard the sad story of the unfortunate Ariadne many a time. The girl Ariadne was the last in an old, pureblood wizarding family, who could trace their ancestry all the way back to Merlin, it was rumored. Ariadne had been in Slytherin, like Queenie herself. When Ariadne left Hogwarts she had, to her family's horror, fallen in love and eloped with a handsome, charming Muggle man. This man had deserted her, after finding out she was a witch, and poor Ariadne had died of a broken heart, leaving a young son. The boy Tom was brilliant, had shown unparalleled promise, but had disappeared soon after he left Hogwarts. No one knew what became of him.

"Ariadne Marvolo met a bad end because she married a Muggle. Remember this. Muggles and Mudbloods are bad news, girl. No wizard-born girl ever married a Muggle and came to a good end. They are brutes and beasts, Muggle men. They think women are not quite human, and treat them like they are no better than animals. So! I want your word on this. No Muggle men! Or Muggle-borns either."

"I'm not going to get married for a good long time. And why would I marry a Muggle anyway? Where would I meet one?"

"And no snogging them, either! If you snog with one you might wind up marrying him! That's what happened with Ariadne." Medea's hard, lined face screwed up in distaste.

"I told you, I told you! I won't snog, or shag, or any of that sort, not while I'm at Hogwarts. Well, except maybe Blaise Zabini, just a little, if it will get him to do what I want." Queenie's lips twitched. Anything for Slytherin.

"Just you wait until you meet some boy you really want. Just you wait! All your resolve out the window, just like that." Medea snapped her fingers. Waving her wand, she cried, "Accio libris!" A small book with a worn pink leather cover came flying to her. Grasping Queenie's small hand with her own leathery, spider-fingered one, Medea gave Queenie the book. "Here. Madame Crystal's Contraceptive Charms and Potions for All Occasions."

Queenie managed to splutter a thank-you. "Medea, I really appreciate your thinking of me but I know I won't be needing" -

"Keep it." Medea pushed her face into Queenie's; she could smell the Firewhisky and Billywig stings on Medea's breath. "Every witch needs this book. If Ariadne Marvolo had a copy, she might be alive today. Remember Ariadne Marvolo!"

Queenie doubted she'd ever forget the woman. As for Madame Crystal and her foolproof contraceptives, they lay packed securely at the very bottom of Queenie's trunk. She shuddered to think of what Pansy and her coterie would do if they found out about that book. They'd be tormenting her all term with barbs and laughter - "what would you want with a Contraceptive Potion? Oooh, Queenie's got a boyfriend! Who is it? Gregory Goyle? Neville Longbottom?"

Queenie reminded herself, I'm the Slytherin Prefect now, not Pansy and her friends. I can take points off them if they deserve it. Those girls had better start watching their steps. The power is mine from now on. Taking a Chocolate Frog from her handbag, Queenie first bit one hind leg off, then the other three legs in turn, and finally she chomped off the head. The body was last. This was the way she always ate her Chocolate Frogs -Blaise always called it "Chocolate Frog torture."

She was roused out of her blissful chocolate laced daydream of toppling Pansy Parkinson from her place as Slytherin queen bee by a soft noise, a faint rasp of pencil on paper, coming from beside her. From the seat right beside her. Queenie lifted her head, wondering who had managed to settle in the seat so silently, without her knowing. And how she could be so careless as to let that happen - in Knockturn Alley, inattention to one's surroundings could mean a cursing or worse. Oh. What on earth was he doing here?

"Hold still! Don't move. I'm almost done." Dean Thomas frowned at his sketch - a sketch of a girl biting the head off of a Chocolate Frog. The girl was fierce-looking, but extremely pretty. That can't possibly be me, thought Queenie. That's a gorgeous girl and I'm nowhere near gorgeous. No-one but Blaise has ever told me I was pretty, and what does Blaise know? He just says that to get on my good side.

"How do you like it?" Dean smiled and held out his drawing.

Queenie took the drawing and looked at it closely. The girl was drawn in with quick, rough strokes, yet at the same time looked so alive that she could have leaped off the paper. "That's...that's a lovely drawing. It looks almost alive." The gestures, the expression were hers, yet the delicate round face, small flat nose, and wide-set light eyes belonged to another, prettier girl. One whose eyes weren't set too wide apart and who never needed to use a Bleaching Charm on her upper lip. "It's very pretty. Thank you for letting me see it." She handed it back to him.

Dean smiled at her. He looks really nice when he smiles. And I wish he would just go away and leave me alone. "You make a good chiaroscuro subject - you look like Snow White with your dark hair."

"Uh...thanks." Chiaro-what? And who in the name of Morgana was "Snow White?" So many unfamiliar words Queenie would have to ask Professor Sinistra about when she got the chance. She could go ask Hermione Granger right now; Hermione would know what anything meant, but Queenie would rather burn in the fiery pits of Hell than give Hermione Granger from Gryffindor the satisfaction of having one up on her. The better marks were enough as it was. At that moment, Queenie felt utterly ashamed of her lack of education aside from Hogwarts, the fact that she rarely read a book just for pleasure, that she lived in a Knockturn Alley hovel. And that this boy, this Muggle-born, knew things that she, who could trace her wizarding ancestry back to Circe herself, didn't.

A scraggly, ginger tabby tomcat, who was missing one ear, wandered up to them. "Hullo, Vincent," Dean smiled at it and reached down to scratch behind its remaining ear.

"Oh, I love cats! Here, Vincent! Here, kitty!" Queenie heard the scratch of pencil on paper once more as she smiled at Vincent and rubbed under his chin. Vincent purred.

"Grrrr! Ssss!" Unfortunately, Nemesis had chosen that moment to growl, hiss, and smack the unfortunate Vincent hard on the nose. Vincent retreated under the seat, ears laid back; when Dean looked up from his drawing to see what was going on, Nemesis turned her wrath upon him. Queenie hastened to gather up her cat, getting a few scratches herself for her pains.

"I'm sorry, she isn't very friendly," Queenie said by way of apology as Nemesis gave off another mighty hiss.

"She's a pretty cat, though. What's her name?"

"Nemesis. And please, don't try to pet her, she'll draw blood."

Dean ignored the warning and was rewarded by a yowl and a swipe of Nemesis' claws which bloodied his hand. Queenie bit her tongue to avoid saying "I told you so."

"There's a band I like, a Muggle band of course, called Shriekback and they have a song called Nemesis...It goes, "Big black nemesis, parthenogenesis, no one move a muscle as the dead come home," said Dean, nursing his wounded hand.

Yet another word in the space of just a few hours that Queenie had never heard of. Parthenogenesis? It sounded like a curse. And the band's lyrics sounded as if they were written by Death Eaters. "No one move a muscle as the dead come home?" Queenie shuddered. Was that what was going to happen now that the Dark Lord had been resurrected? Were the dead coming home as everyone living was frozen, unable to move? The Ministry, at least, wasn't twitching a bloody muscle. Worse than useless, the Ministry was. The only thing it was good for was warning underage witches and wizards not to use magic, and locking innocent people like Queenie's father up in Azkaban on the basis of hearsay and suspicion. I don't know which are worse, Queenie thought, the Death Eaters or the Ministry of Magic.

"This Nemesis is little and white, but she's the meanest cat around. She beat up Millicent Bulstrode's cat Beelzebub. Everyone in Slytherin House is afraid of her." Nemesis punctuated this sentence with a last growl. "And I'm terribly sorry she got you, but Nemesis is a Knockturn Alley cat. She loves to draw blood, and she's won every fight she's been in."

"She's well-named," Dean muttered.

"And you're going to have to excuse me, I really must get back to my studying. It was nice talking to you - and that was a lovely sketch." Queenie opened Secrets of the Animagi, which was looking safer and more alluring by the minute.

"Oh...well...see you, then." Dean sounded disappointed, but to Queenie's (and Nemesis') vast relief he got up and left.

Queenie, feeling light-headed and nauseous, closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window. Her brow was beaded with sweat. I bet my face is Slytherin green right now, Queenie groaned to herself. She didn't even have the comfort of cool glass; the early-afternoon sun had made the glass hot. Queenie lifted her head and rummaged in her handbag for her Stomach-Settling Pills. She never went anywhere without them; with her propensity to get nauseous at the drop of a hat, she reflected that without her Stomach-Settling Pills she'd be getting top marks at Throwing Up and Passing Out. Flying lessons were the worst. How Draco and Pansy loved to twit Queenie that first year about vomiting and fainting in front of the whole class her first time on a broom. Popping the pills, she leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes. Nemesis, satisfied that there was no further danger from Muggle-born Gryffindor boys or their presumptuous tomcats, hopped into the seat beside Queenie and began to groom herself. Her nausea slowly receding, Queenie dozed off.

"Diggory was just the first, Macmillan," Queenie woke up to hear Draco Malfoy sneering. "The only thing worse than a Mudblood is a Muggle-loving pureblood. One day soon you'll be very sorry you chose the wrong side to be on, if you know what I mean."

So Malfoy must have plucked up the courage to open his mouth despite the absence of his team of thugs to back him up. Too bad he was no more pleasant or sociable than his usual brattish, petty-bullying self.

Queenie sat up and opened her eyes as Hannah Abbott joined Ernie in facing down the other Slytherin Prefect. "Watch your mouth, Malfoy," Hannah snapped. She and Ernie stood shoulder to shoulder with their wands drawn. Next to the two tall, strongly-built, ruddy-cheeked Hufflepuffs, Draco looked pale and puny and thoroughly out of his depth. He opened and closed his mouth, as if suddenly aware that Ernie and Hannah could snap him in two like a wishbone. His pale eyes darted from side to side, and he swallowed hard.

"Who looks sorry now, Malfoy?" Ernie said in calm tones. "You have thugs; I have friends. My Muggle-born best friend is right here, but I don't see your precious pureblood Crabbe and Goyle anywhere around." He stepped closer to Draco, who moved back into his seat as far as he could go.

"I'm telling Father about this! He'll see to it that you're -expelled!"

The whole Prefects' Compartment had grown silent, and everyone's eyes were upon Malfoy, Ernie and Hannah. Even Hermione Granger had lifted her frizzy brown head from her ever-present homework to watch.

Queenie sighed. Do what is right, not what is easy. Though Queenie had little admiration for Dumbledore - she had never forgive him for taking the House Cup away from the Slytherins in her first year - she knew Dumbledore had been right in his speech at the end of last year. There was danger ahead - especially for those in Slytherin House. Whatever Queenie thought of the Hogwarts Headmaster, she had no desire to see Draco begin further tarnishing the reputation of Slytherin before the term even started. Fighting down another wave of nausea, she opened her eyes and reached for her wand.

"Draco," said Queenie in a soft voice as she got up, "don't start in on our very first day. Do you want Slytherin House to get an even worse name than it already has?"

Draco blinked in surprise before pasting the sneer back onto his face. "Why, if it isn't Miss Knockturn Alley. I'd have thought you, of all people -"

"- would have wanted to see Slytherin get a reputation as the Hogwarts Rubbish Heap? I don't think so."

"You're going to be the sorriest of us all once the right kind are in power and things are as they should be. Slytherin has exactly the right reputation, as a House which admits only the finest, not slime and riff-raff. Don't think you can go dragging Slytherin down to your level, you...you Knockturn Alley slut!"

"Oh, sticks and stones may break my bones but you can Eat Slugs!" Queenie pointed her wand at Draco's pale, pointed, supercilious face and hoped that the difficult curse would work. She felt a jerk from her wand and then bang! A jet of light shot out of its tip and hit Malfoy between the eyes.

Draco's face turned green and he gave a tremendous burp. A shower of giant slugs popped out of his mouth in a horrible heave and landed all over Ernie Macmillan's robes. At the sight of the slimy creatures, Queenie's stomach erupted. Just in time, she flung open a window and threw up.

"I'm telling Father!" Draco howled as more slugs came exploding from his mouth. "You're really going to catch it, Greengrass! Just you wait!" Draco heaved again. He, his robes, and his seat were besmeared with slug mucus.

"How did you manage that?" Queenie heard Hermione Granger's voice in her ear as she vomited out the window. "Ron tried it years ago and it backfired. What's your wand made of?"

"Laurel, eleven and a quarter inches, dragon heartstring core," Queenie groaned as she closed her eyes and leaned against the window. "And all it takes is practice, really." Queenie didn't mention that living in Knockturn Alley afforded one lots of opportunity to practice one's curses.

"Excellent! I'm going to go let Ron know. I bet with his new wand he'll have it down in no time." Queenie could hear Hermione's footsteps receding and the door of the Prefect's Compartment banging behind her.

"Psst. Here. Take a nice big swallow. Quick, before Angelina catches us." Queenie opened her eyes and saw Hannah holding out a little silver flask. "Firewhisky. I smuggled it in so my friends and I could spike our Butterbeer when Sprout isn't looking. It'll make you feel much better." Queenie took a sip and felt the warmth go through her stomach and take away her nausea.

She gave Hannah a faint smile. "Thanks."

"No, thank you, for standing up to Malfoy," said Ernie. "It must be hard having to go against someone from your own House. And Malfoy at that." Ernie held out his hand, and Queenie took it, and winced. Ernie had the most bone-crushing handshake of anyone she ever met.

Hannah screwed the cap back on her flask and slipped it down the front of her robe. "I'm going to be a Mediwitch after I leave Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey's going to write a letter of recommendation to St. Mungo's for me so I can have an apprenticeship there. And yes, thank you for defending Cedric." Queenie could see Hannah and Ernie exchange looks above her head. She could also see Dean Thomas smiling at her. Flustered, she blushed and looked away. The whole Prefects' compartment saw me throwing up. How embarrassing. I don't know if Dean is going to want to make pretty sketches of me after this.

In the corner, Angelina Johnson and Sanjay Patil were bent over the hunched form of Draco Malfoy. They straightened up and turned around, Sanjay smiling and Angelina frowning.

"Don't make me take points off of Slytherin your very first day!" Angelina glared at Queenie. "I'm warning you...one more incident and Slytherin loses ten points apiece! You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves - Prefects! Throwing curses!"

"Calm down, Angelina, I don't think anything more is going to happen as we'll be pulling into Hogsmeade any minute. And you have to admit it, Malfoy deserved it. Next time you curse someone, Queenie," Sanjay was grinning now, "could you please choose a less messy curse? I should have made you clean up the slug slime."

"I still think Prefects ought to know better," Angelina fumed. "I'll be keeping an eye on both of you!" she told the two Slytherin Prefects. "And I'm sure Professor Snape will, too."

Queenie wiped her brow with her sleeve. "Here, have a handkerchief." Dean, who now was standing by her, offered her his. Queenie flushed and mumbled her thanks, not looking at him.

The train pulled into Hogsmeade Station. The car doors slid open and the students got to their feet, stretching, yawning, collecting handbags and packs, looking for friends."Meet us in the library tomorrow night, seven o'clock!" Hannah hissed at Queenie before she and Ernie disembarked and went to find their friends Justin and Anthony.

"Queenie!" Blaise's voice rang out of the darkness. "I heard you made Malfoy burp slugs! Excellent! I wonder how long it will take him to go running to daddy?"

"Probably not long, but I really don't think Lucius Malfoy will give much of a rat's arse. What am I to him anyway?" Queenie had located Blaise and Inigo and they began the trek through the dark to Hogwarts. "I'm more embarrassed that I threw up in front of the whole Prefects' car. Everyone saw me." She looked down and saw that she still had Dean's handkerchief, clutched in a sodden lump in her hand. She stuffed it in the pocket of her robe before Blaise and Inigo could see it.

"Did you talk to Hannah Abbott?" Inigo wanted to know.

"She's got a date with Lee Jordan next weekend," Queenie sighed. "I told you, forget about her. Why don't you ask Pansy's new best friend Lisa Turpin on a date? She's blonde, she's cute, she obviously likes Slytherins."

Inigo looked put out. "She's not really my type."

"I don't know about you two, but I'm so hungry I could eat one of those Beauxbatons carriage horses," Blaise changed the subject. "I wonder what song the Sorting Hat will sing this year?"

"I wonder which House will get the first new student?" said Inigo.

"And I wonder who the new Defense and Ancient Runes teachers will be." Queenie rolled her eyes. "Will it be a selkie, a vampire, or a warlock?"

"Or maybe we'll get lucky and it will be a normal human being for once," Blaise laughed.

"I hope it's a woman and she's pretty." This was from Inigo.

"If the new Defense teacher is a woman she'll be a one-eyed hag. I tell you, the position is cursed. Don't tell anyone else this, but," Queenie looked thoughtful, "what would be really nice is if Professor Lupin came back."

"Queenie! You can't be serious! He was a werewolf!" Blaise narrowed his eyes at her.

"But he was a nice werewolf. And a very good teacher." With relief, Queenie saw the lights of Hogwarts looming above them. Soon the Sorting would begin.