The Serpentine Chain Part 1 - Year Of The Snake

The Serpentine Chain Part One

Chapter Fourteen - The Diverse Arts of Concealment

Aurelius' History of Magic essay concentrated mainly upon Grindelwald's use of illegal substances, of course, from 1915 to 1921 - the Draught of the Living Death and the Corpus Immobilatus, to name the most deadly - but he'd had to include a section describing the other factors that had smoothed the Lord of Web's path to power, as well as the response of the Albanian Crime Squad. It was rather an interesting topic.

Formed in the late 1870s in a half-hearted attempt to counter that country's growing reputation of lawlessness) the Albanian Crime Squad had been almost entirely unequipped to deal with the dangers that sprang up during the summer of 1915. For decades, the Albanian underworld had existed comfortably, side by side the usually indifferent Crime Squad. Ferencz, the Head Enforcer, had had far more experience in turning a blind eye to the machinations of various drug lords (to whom he was indirectly related, by marriage rather than blood) and contrabandistas than tackling the type of political threat posed by Grindelwald. His initial assaults upon what passed for the Albanian government had been far more terrifying and far more effective than anything the Crime Squad had encountered previously. The Albanian president, shaken by the assassination of three members of his Council, had ordered the Crime Squad to drop their rather laissez-faire attitude. The president himself had been assassinated shortly after - although this had been attributed to Stefan Bathory, a notoriously psychopathic Potions maker who'd objected rather strongly to the new regulations regarding human experimentation, rather than Grindelwald.

Although the Crime Squad could never have been classed as a clean, morally edifying body, by 1921 their reputation as the bloodiest law enforcement agency in Europe was secure. Ferencz had been replaced with the Transylvanian-born Bartok - a man who had gained great experience in fighting the Dark Arts during his mother country's various civil wars. Bartok hadn't hesitated to fight fire with fire; although he and Grindelwald differed in their aims, their methods were very similar. The Unforgivable Curses had been legalized almost immediately after his appointment, despite the universal cries of disapproval from countries that were as then mostly unaware as to the dangers Grindelwald posed. Furthermore, Bartok's Squad had been authorized to treat their prisoners as they saw fit - in many cases, the laws concerning humane interrogation and imprisonment had been waived. Unsurprisingly, the official government records were somewhat vague where the details of such cases were concerned, but a particularly tenacious war correspondent had learned that certain variations of Veritaserum had been tested upon captured Grindelwald supporters. Eighteen people had died due to the virulence of the undiluted asp blood.

His cousin had put a lot of effort into his work, the Potions master noted, each meticulously crafted paragraph alight with obvious enthusiasm. Perhaps too much enthusiasm, Quintus thought dryly as he re-read Aurelius' description of the physical effects of the Corpus Immobilatus. It was accurate, of course, but he could definitely sense a perverse ghoulishness between his cousin's scribed lines. With phrases like "malodorous intestines ripe with decay" and "rapid, slightly-less-than-fragrant testicular rot", it wasn't hard to miss.

"Wonderful," Quintus said, not entirely amused. He handed the essay back to his cousin. "Valerius has raised a monster."

Aurelius was unabashed. "Colourful, maybe but true," he pointed out calmly.

"You're not handing it to Professor Binns like this," the Potions Master said sternly.

"Why?" Aurelius asked, nonchalantly. "It's an interesting read. Might do him good."

"It might give him a heart attack," Quintus said. "He's old and frail and innocent-minded, and as a member of the Hogwarts teaching faculty, I have to say that this conversation is disgraceful, disgusting and most of all disrespectful and it must stop at once."

Aurelius eyed him ruefully. "Yes sir," he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

"Morbid perversity aside," the Potions master continued, ignoring his cousin's smirk, "your Potions work is exemplary. But I'd have expected no less."

"Morbid perversity," Aurelius scoffed. "It's all proper proven fact, I'll have you know. You can't deny that it's interesting - especially to people like us."

Quintus raised an eyebrow. "Interesting," he repeated tonelessly. He was fully aware of Aurelius' meaning. People like us. Potions-makers. Snapes. Their work had been restricted for centuries by the authorities. Human experimentation had, for the most part, been forbidden then, except for medical purposes and even then the patients usually had to be in extremis. Consequently, significant Potions developments took so much longer to perfect. He was sure that the Ministry's insufferable pig-headedness was part of the reason why his family had not yet created a successful Wolfsbane Potion. Admittedly, there was a distinct shortage of werewolves lining up to offer their services as test subjects, but experimentation was a vital part of Potions-making. He had more sympathy for the regulations against illegal substances, though. Possession of anything on the Ministry's Index of Illegal Ingredients - unicorn blood, Veela hearts, and any body parts belonging to a human, to name but a few - could also land you in Azkaban. The Corpus Immobilatus contained at least eight of these forbidden ingredients - it was one of the potions Quintus had only learned in theory. He'd never brewed it. There were no recorded cases of the potion having been brewed since its creation in the 16^th century - until now. The Ministry may have ordered various illegal potions from him, but the Nox Mirabilis was nothing like the Corpus Immobilatus. There were different levels of legality, Quintus thought. Despite himself, Quintus felt a pang of jealousy. Grindelwald had given his potions-makers the opportunity of a lifetime.

"Intellectual pride is a terrible thing," Aurelius murmured. His cousin had obviously been following his chain of thought.

"The Ravenclaw vice," Quintus replied. The thirst for knowledge, for academic stimulation, such a difficult craving to satisfy, so easily taken to extremes. Knowledge at any price. It was, as legend had it, Faustus' fault. Rowena Ravenclaw's, too, if one believed everything one heard. According to the rumours of his House, their Founder hadn't hesitated to make use of Slytherin's dungeons in order to further her own personal studies. The screams from the dungeons hadn't been all down to Slytherin's love of discipline. The relationship between Rowena and Salazar had been mutually beneficial. In fact, the two Houses were still on generally good terms. Ravenclaws and Slytherins weren't all that different. Power and knowledge often went hand in hand. Our House's dirty secret, the Potions master mused. It wasn't widely known, even within his House - Ravenclaws knew when to keep silent. He shook his head irritably. "Nevertheless," he said. "It might be better if you adopted a less grisly style. For form's sake. And you know the historical aspect isn't my specialty, you'll have to let Professor Binns be the final judge there."

Aurelius didn't smile. "He'll like it," he said, inspecting his fingernails dolefully. "It's nothing new."

"It's not supposed to be," Quintus said, after a brief pause. "You know that."

His cousin looked up from his hands. "Ulterior motives," Aurelius said, in what was not quite a question. His expression was decidedly shrewd, his eyes dark and calculating.

Like Valerius

, Quintus noted, and nodded, feeling further explanation was unnecessary.

Aurelius sighed, something Quintus had never seen his uncle do. "I know," he said. "Know your enemy, and all that. I just wanted my work to be -"

"Novel?" the Potions master suggested. "Groundbreaking? Controversial? Classified?"

His cousin smiled. "I suppose it would disturb the Ministry if I wrote about what Grindelwald did to those Aurors in Belgium. Not to mention Binns - I deal in facts, Mr. Snape. Solid, verifiable facts, not flights of fancy!"

Aurelius' impersonation of the History of Magic teacher was rather good, Quintus thought, relieved that he no longer had to sit through Binns' lessons. He ignored the feeling of discomfort that had arisen with his cousin's mention of the dead Aurors, and smiled faintly. "Intellectual pride," he said, his tone level, "is a terrible thing."

His cousin's eyes flickered as his words were thrown back at him, and tilted his head slightly to look at Quintus with some amusement. "The Ravenclaw vice," he said, enough emphasis on just one word to highlight the difference between them. Knowledge and power. Knowledge is power. Power is Slytherin. "You don't need me for the Veritaserum, do you?"

The Potions master was slightly surprised at his cousin's blunt reference to the new order from the Ministry, as that wasn't the reason they were back in the dungeons that evening. They'd finished brewing the Impervio slightly ahead of schedule, and had received an owl from Lovegrove almost as soon as they'd sent off the vials. He supposed it was down to the increased activity of the Aurors. He'd told Aurelius about it at the end of one of his lessons, and they were going to devote several weekends to producing a number of batches of the required potion. "No," he said, honestly. "I'm quite capable of brewing that myself."

Aurelius, who would one day inherit the Snape Pharmaceutical Company, and had been taught the theory behind Veritaserum when he was eleven, nodded. "I suppose I should ask the obvious question, then," he said. "What do you want me for?"

"Your education is about more than just Potions," Quintus said gently. It wasn't just Aurelius who could jump the gun. "You're the heir."

His cousin nodded, an almost distracted look in his black eyes. "What are you teaching me?" he asked suddenly.

"You already know." Quintus' voice was deliberately casual, but he didn't take his eyes away from his cousin. From the face that was at once so like and so unlike his own.

"A Slytherin, taking lessons in politics from a Ravenclaw," Aurelius said dryly. "What is the world coming to?"

"I'm not likely to improve upon your innate talents there," Quintus replied. "I am, however, giving you enough information about current events to allow you to apply your Machiavellian mind to more than just House matters."

"To ensure the survival of our family and our business in times that are less than certain," Aurelius said, as though quoting from something. He was silent for a moment, a line creasing his brow, and Quintus felt sure he knew what he was thinking. Grindelwald's not likely to trouble us, is he, because if he invades successfully, he'd want to make use of us and the business, he wouldn't be concerned about legality so we'd be free to brew whatever we wanted, and the Ministry knows this, which is why we're placating them by taking orders, and I suppose they've struck some deal with my father.

"My father knows what we're doing, then?" Aurelius asked, and the Potions master was pleased to see that in this, at least, he'd followed his cousin's thoughts exactly.

"He does," Quintus conceded.

"Is this, perhaps, why he wants me home for Christmas?"

"It is," the Potions master said. Although he hadn't been sure that Valerius was going to summon Aurelius back to Summerisle that year, it'd been highly likely. Especially when recent events were taken into consideration. He wondered whether Ministry officials would be visiting his home that year. Whether Aurelius would be invited to meet them. He felt certain that the Ministry would try to tighten its links with the powerful pureblood families, to secure their loyalty, and wondered just whether the Malfoys, the Rosiers, the Blacks and the Lestranges would prove as useful as his own family. Valerius Snape was certainly outwardly loyal to the Ministry, but Quintus knew that family concerns would always come first. Not just for Valerius, but for any pureblood patriarch. Julius Malfoy, Titus Lestrange, Edward Rosier - these men would put their families first and foremost, choosing their allegiances to further their own interests. William Black would do the same - although his only son, Verity, the family heir, was a Gryffindor. Quintus wondered just how strong a link the boy would be in the chains of intrigue that were forged by the Slytherin-headed families. The boy was definitely talented, high marks in all his classes, but it would take a good deal more than wand-work and academic success to get ahead in the world. Bravery was commendable, but it wouldn't help you in politics. An honest politician, so the old saying went, is a dead politician.

"So he must know about the visionweavers, then," Aurelius mused, his brow furrowed. "If you're both working for the Ministry, that is, and he is the head of the family. That information must be part of the deal."

"Your father has been asked to brew certain Sustenance Potions for the remaining visionweavers," Quintus said. "I believe he's unaware as to their identities and locations, however." Or else he just didn't see fit to share that information with me.

"Grindelwald used Sustenance Potions too," Aurelius said, absently. "To prolong their usefulness."

"Quite," Quintus replied, but his mind wasn't on the similarities between the Ministry's tactics and those of Grindelwald. He was thinking about Elspeth Haven's spider tattoo. It was highly unlikely that the Divination teacher was a visionweaver - he'd taken the opportunity to read up on the subject after the Halloween feast. Visionweavers had very short lives, even with strong Sustenance Potions. The average life expectancy for a weaver was something in between twenty-five and thirty. He'd learned that Elspeth Haven was thirty-three, and the woman showed no signs of decline. There were, of course, some very, very disgusting potions that could prolong life in a person - they were the Unforgivable Curses of potions. They weren't for the squeamish. Based upon the concept of a life for a life, an unborn child would have to be sacrificed, for want of a better word, to provide certain necessary ingredients. The potion gained potency if the child was that of the potion-drinker - but there was no point in prolonging your life if you'd just spend even longer rotting in Azkaban. Quintus didn't think Elspeth Haven was secretly brewing up any of these potions - and he didn't think she was ordering any from his uncle, either. It wasn't as if Valerius Snape had a surplus of unborn babies to abort.

But mortality aside, there was another reason Quintus didn't think the Divination teacher was a visionweaver. He'd learned that visionweaving trances were liable to last for days, burning up huge reserves of the weaver's energy, and between trances the weaver usually suffered horrible dizzy spells and fainting fits - there was no way a visionweaver would be capable of teaching Hogwarts students. From what he'd gleaned from Aurelius' book, Quintus knew that most visionweavers preferred to live in almost total isolation, in order to keep their subconscious mindstream uncontaminated. He'd skimmed that part, never having been particularly fond of Divination. Of course, he was now hard pressed to find an explanation for her tattoo that didn't involve Grindelwald. That would cast a whole new light on her relationship with Octavius Malfoy, for starters. Perhaps spiders were not the sole property of the visionweavers. Perhaps the symbol was familiar to all Seers. Perhaps Elspeth just liked spiders - a remarkably odd choice of familiar, Quintus thought, but there was no accounting for taste.

In spite of himself, his mind returned to the scene in her bedroom. Leave the green one out. The fact that Elspeth was undoubtedly attractive - as was Octavius, for that matter - had only made his discomfort worse. The two worldly, obviously experienced people were very good at unsettling him, he'd found. There were times when Quintus rather wished he'd not joined the Hogwarts staff straight after his NEWTs. It wasn't that he didn't have experience in such things because he did - it was more that he felt remarkably sheltered when faced with Octavius Malfoy. Naïve. And the blond man knew it. Ever since Halloween, the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher had taken to smirking at him, for want of a better description - giving him looks that were patronizing, amused, knowing and lascivious all at the same time. It was the kind of expression that shouldn't exist, and wouldn't work with anyone else's face - but Octavius Malfoy pulled it off. The man had definitely enjoyed Quintus' discomfort on the day that Elspeth Haven returned to work. The woman had smiled her thanks, her face turned guilelessly up to his, her hand resting on his arm, and Quintus was sure she'd been standing a lot closer than was strictly necessary, too. He could feel the warmth radiating from her body, she was so close. When she'd risen onto her toes to kiss his cheek, his eyes had automatically turned to the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher standing behind her. Octavius hadn't taken his gaze from Quintus for a second. Another man would perhaps have been jealous, Quintus had thought, but Octavius seemed decidedly pleased by it all. The curl of his lip in what passed for a smile indicated as much. And the look in his eyes suggested that the woman had hardly started with Quintus.

The Potions master wasn't entirely sure what game the two Slytherin alumni were playing with him. They could simply be amusing themselves with him - but there could be more serious implications. He'd seen Elspeth's spider tattoo, and Octavius knew that he'd seen it. There was a distinct possibility that he was being toyed with, in order to distract him from pursuing the matter any further. The morally ambiguous Octavius Malfoy was known to like boys just as much as he liked girls - he was certainly doing a very good job of making Quintus nervous. The Potions master had done his best to stay away from the two teachers, without making his disquiet obvious - but whenever he passed Octavius in the hallways, or saw him at mealtimes, their eyes met and he knew that the tall blond man could see right through him. It was more than unnerving. He was downright flustered. He wasn't used to being pursued. Although no one had ever been unkind enough as to tell him, Quintus had the sneaking feeling that he wasn't especially good in bed. At school, he'd had a few girlfriends, although never anything serious. Since his employment as a teacher he'd hardly the opportunity for such things, although he'd met several old girlfriends down in Hogsmeade from time to time. But neither his weekends away with Flavia Nott, nor his lessons from Valerius had prepared him for the combined force of Elspeth and Octavius.

Aurelius seemed to have sensed his withdrawal into his own private thoughts, because his cousin began to make his way quietly to the door, History of Magic essay in hand. Quintus didn't notice until he heard the sound of the door opening.

"The weekend, then," he said, looking over to where his cousin had paused, as if unwilling to leave the room.

Aurelius nodded wordlessly, and left. The door swung shut behind him.

*

"You," Tom said, not bothering to disentangle himself from her satiated embrace, "will be going nowhere fast if you keep this up."

Constance smiled, her eyes shut. "I'm touched by your concern," she murmured into his chest.

"I've never heard it called that before," the dark haired boy said. She heard him snickering softly as he traced languid spirals over her stomach with a long white finger. "But I stand by my point," he added lightly, just as she opened an eye to look at him with renewed interest. "We've got work to do."

"I am working," she protested, opening her other eye to perfect the wide-eyed innocent look she'd been developing for years. "Research. It's very important."

"I'm sure it is," Tom said skeptically, shifting into an upright position. He leaned over to pull her unbuttoned blouse into a state that could almost pass for decency, covering the marks he'd made on her shoulders and chest, then kissed her on the forehead.

"It is," she insisted, running her hand down his back. "Seers get up to all kinds of things - I'm just trying to give my essay some credibility."

"Your thirst for knowledge is commendable," he replied, imprisoning her wandering hand gently but firmly within one of his own. "But I, alas, am not studying the Sight at present, and your research techniques are highly distracting."

"Good," she said, her smile deepening as her free hand snaked around his waist, pulling him close again. "Too much work and you'll only make yourself ill."

"Somehow," Tom said, his tone dry as his lip curled into what was not quite a smile. "I doubt you're speaking from personal experience."

It was her turn to snicker. "I'm not the type to inflict suffering on myself," she said, tightening her hold on him. "Others, yes. Am I very wicked?"

He laughed at that, his breath as warm as his kisses against her throat. "Not at all," he said. "In fact, you're surprisingly innocent," he added.

The protestation she'd been about to make died an easy death on her lips as he kissed her. Nevertheless, as she felt the first tremors of desire run through her, she wondered just how innocent he was.

Constance wasn't sure how to describe their relationship. Secretive; after that first sealing of their indefinable alliance in the Slytherin common room, they'd taken to meeting only in the Zalaras Wing. Less likely to be caught, that way - they were both quite adept at sneaking around the castle undiscovered. And there was more to it than pure physical attraction, she was sure. During their fervent kisses, their tangled embraces, their individual shuddered thrills that, whilst limited, were decidedly unchaste, she felt as though she were about to discover some great truth, something that was concealed for her and her alone, something that she would discover if she could only go deep enough - but instead she found herself no longer sure who she was, or who he was that he could do what he did to her when he touched her -

- and though she trembled, clung to him, rocked against him, drew blood as her nails dug into him, she knew that she did not know him, in the absolute sense, and so she was still an innocent after all.

"Innocent," she repeated, speaking her thought out loud as he drew away from her, and whatever it was he saw in her face made him smile momentarily. A tired smile, that didn't quite reach his eyes. But then, it was almost three o'clock in the morning.

"Surprisingly," he replied, reaching for what remained of his shirt. She watched, slightly embarrassed, as he covered himself, the marks she'd made on him. His scar, the pentagram, had been hidden since the night in the common room - she hadn't brought up the subject again. He'd not meant her to see it in the first place. And it's not the kind of thing you bring up in casual conversation, she thought.

Constance looked disconsolately at the piles of books cluttering the floor around them. All hers, of course, although she didn't feel particularly inclined to do anything about them at that particular moment. Tom, ever tidy-minded, had placed his upon the tea table shortly after he'd arrived. The hungry glint in his eyes had told her that schoolwork had been the last thing on his mind - she wondered whether he'd given Marcus and Regal instructions to make themselves scarce that night. Her brother had certainly left in a hurry several hours ago, after their dueling practice, pausing only to murmur some implausible excuse about a potentially romantic assignation - with a girl who was most certainly not a Slytherin, and very unlikely to be interested in Marcus Malfoy. Remembering that, she sat up suddenly, wrapping her discarded robes around her for modesty's sake.

"He's gone to meet Minerva McGonagall?" she asked incredulously, as she remembered the coolly arrogant smirk on her brother's face as he'd announced the identity of the girl he was meeting. "He was joking - wasn't he?"

"I don't think so," Tom replied calmly. Now fully dressed, he stood up, dusting off his clothes. His eyes met hers with a flash of the startling hilarity she'd noticed in him before, then he moved over to his books. "Don't you approve?"

"No I do not! It's perverse," she exclaimed, shocked at the thought of her brother involved with the decidedly prim McGonagall. "She's - and he's - it's just not right."

"Not right in the slightest," Tom agreed, his eyes glinting wickedly. "But it'll certainly give Dumbledore a nice shock when he finds out. Maybe even a heart attack - now that would be an all-round happy ending."

She laughed, delighted at his malice. "He would be rather scandalized, wouldn't he - my horrid brother corrupting the virtuous Minerva - actually, I'm rather impressed. She never struck me as an easy nut to crack."

"She's not," Tom said, smiling. "Not easy in the least. He's been after her for all of three weeks, now, and he's still not cracked it. Rather a blow to his self-esteem, I think."

"Aww, my heart bleeds for the poor boy," Constance said, with false sympathy. "Three whole weeks?"

"So much for the Malfoy charm," Tom said, looking at her with considerable amusement. "I've never found it hard to resist, myself."

She shot him a scowl that was decidedly lacking in vindictiveness. "But is there a purpose to his little liaison?" she asked, pursuing a minor concern. "Other than to annoy Dumbledore? I mean - he doesn't actually like her, does he? He's not going to be all sentimental, sappy, and, well - boring from now on, is he?"

"Don't worry," the dark haired boy replied, picking up his copy of Prefects Who Gained Power with studied nonchalance. "I don't think he'll be inviting her over for Christmas dinner any time soon."

"He'd better not," she said, disgusted. "For her sake. Otherwise I might find myself practicing my vile and nasty curses upon something other than a house-elf. I'm not having her cluttering up our humble abode, not now, not ever."

"Humble abode?" Tom repeated, his eyebrow raised suspiciously. "Malfoy, you lie."

"Flat on my back, and you weren't complaining earlier," she said instantly, blowing him a kiss. Surprisingly, that of all things caught him off-guard. He flushed slightly as she continued. "Alright, although I'm not one to boast - much," she added, seeing his rather doubtful expression, "our abode isn't that humble."

"That's strange," the dark haired boy commented dryly. "Because I'd always pictured you as the type to be living in a bomb shelter."

"I'm guessing that's not a pleasant place to live," Constance remarked cheerfully as she stood up and picked her way through the piles of books to the chair opposite Tom's. "But then, I'm a decidedly ignorant child, so I may be wrong."

"Remain ignorant," Tom replied, his tone so light she knew it was deliberate. "Bomb shelters stink, and they're ugly. And you'll never need to use one, so keep your mind pure and unsullied."

She was silent for a moment, resisting the urge for flippancy that she thought must be innate within her. Of course she knew perfectly well what bomb shelters were - she didn't lead that ignorant a life. Although Diagon Alley and other wizarding areas were protected from bombs by strong Repelling Charms, and although she'd simply never been in Muggle London before - she knew perfectly well that it wasn't a pretty sight. The wizarding newpapers often reported upon what she thought of as the Muggle War - she'd heard about the Blitz, had heard Muggleborn students talking in hushed tones about potential German invasions, had heard about U-boats, rations, Churchill. But her knowledge of Muggle matters wasn't exactly comprehensive. Far from it. She'd heard about these things from a distance. They belonged to another world, one that was alien to her. One she didn't want to see for herself - unless Tom was there to show her.

"The war," she began, then paused, unsure of how best to continue. It would take their conversation onto a different level, almost as personal as the one they'd had about his scar. And she wasn't sure whether she had any right to question him, to pry for information that was his to give when, or rather, if, he chose. She couldn't imagine a truly intimate conversation with him, one in which they were both at ease. But perhaps that was just a result of her own inexperience in such things. After all, she didn't go around having many intimate conversations with anybody herself. It wasn't as if she felt the need to spill all her inner secrets to him - she didn't think she actually had any, for starters, and she was quite certain that she'd cringe if she ever started spouting the kind of emotional gibberish to which Teresa was partial. "Is it so much worse for Muggles, then?"

He looked straight at her, incredulity clear in his turquoise eyes as he searched hers - for what, she wasn't sure. Another uncertainty, and she schooled herself, her features, to give nothing away. "Of course it is," he replied finally, as though answering a particularly stupid question. Which, she supposed, he was. She hadn't meant to sound quite that inane - but if it prompted him to talk, it was all to the good.

"Grindelwald - he's hardly touched Britain - he's letting Hitler and the German army do all the work," Tom said seriously. At least, she thought he was in earnest, but then he continued with a smirk. "In fact, when you consider the fact that Grindelwald has been rising since around about 1915, you've got to wonder just how committed he actually is to the goal of ultimate world domination."

"He's a disgrace to the very title of Dark Lord," Constance said, amused in spite of herself by Tom's dryly-sarcastic tone. "If such a thing is possible."

"Oh, it's definitely possible," the dark haired boy continued, warming to his theme. "He's lazy, relying on a Muggle like Hitler to do all his dirty work. Not that Muggles aren't perfectly capable of blowing each other to hell and back - because believe me, they are. It's almost laughable, really. Only a few decades ago they were fighting the war to end all wars - now they're at it again."

"Isn't it supposed to be a just war this time?" she asked, remembering Binns' vague ramblings on the subject of the First Muggle World War. "Good against evil, or something?"

"Oh, I expect so," Tom said dismissively. "But to be brutally honest, they're all as bad as each other. Hitler gives ugliness a whole new meaning, and he can't write for peanuts - I'm a strong believer in form over content, and there's nothing more immoral than a badly written book. Stalin's got a revolting moustache, and Churchill's just boring. Well, I never felt particularly inspired after hearing one of his speeches on the wireless, anyway."

"Not that you're superficial, or anything," Constance said, raising an eyebrow. "Form over content, honestly."

"I may be a nihilist, but I love beauty," he quoted, smiling at her. "And there's nothing beautiful in this war - not on the Muggle side anyway. But I'm well out of it now."

"Oh?" she asked. "Why?"

"Because I'm never going back to the Muggle world," he said, with what she suspected was the most sincerity he'd ever shown. "They can have their wars, their revolutions, their battles - I want none of it."

"But - don't you live there? During the holidays, at least?"

"Not anymore," he replied. "I've always stayed here during the Christmas holidays, and Dippet made special arrangements for me last summer so I didn't have to go back."

"You were here? All summer? On your own?" Constance asked in disbelief. "Weren't you bored?"

"Oh, I managed to find ways to entertain myself," he replied tranquilly. "Besides, I wasn't on my own. Dumbledore was here, along with Pringle and a few other members of staff. And your uncle kept turning up to make sure I wasn't getting too bored."

"He should've brought you back with him," she said. "You should have stayed with us."

"He would have done," Tom said, "but it was better for me to stay, I think. Then, anyway."

"You're not staying here next summer, are you?" she asked.

"No," the dark haired boy replied, suddenly very interested in the spine of his book.

"You should come to us," she said. To decrease the significance of her suggestion, she added, "Marcus' friends visit all the time, and Aurelius and Richard have practically moved in - it wouldn't be a problem."

"So your brother told me," the dark haired boy murmured. "He invited me to join you for Christmas a while ago - I wasn't sure whether you knew. Or whether you'd mind."

"Marcus isn't particularly forthcoming at the best of times," she said acerbically. "But I'd be quite happy to have you at home."

Tom Riddle's smile was positively wicked, then. "Gives us both something in common, then."

*

"Tea, Christopher?"

Albus Dumbledore was holding a very large teapot. Not just any old teapot, the Chantwork teacher noted with mild surprise, but a teapot shaped like ... a two-story house. There were china roses all around the painted windows, and a little signpost attached to the door. The Burrow. Presumably the name of the house. Teapot. Whatever the right title was for such a - strange looking thing. There was also a chimney on top - to serve as a handle, he supposed, but then realized that there was steam billowing from this protrusion. It was mostly curiosity, rather than a genuine thirst, which led him to nod politely in response to the Deputy Head's question.

"Yes, please - no sugar," he replied, watching in fascination as the auburn haired wizard poured a steady stream of tea into a mug. The tea-pot-house looked remarkably impractical, and Christopher couldn't figure out how it stayed together. The wonders of modern magic, he supposed.

"Is it Earl Grey?" he asked, rather belatedly, taking the large earthenware mug as it was passed to him across the table.

The Transfiguration professor - Christopher still felt awkward about addressing him as Albus - shook his head. "Yorkshire," he said, cheerfully.

"The tea of champions," Matthew Seraphim said lazily, picking up a slice of bread and butter from a willow-patterned plate. "Refreshing heroes since 1886."

"Well," Christopher said, taking a sip. "I suppose I can get away with it this once - just so long as nobody tells the Grey Lady about this."

"How so?" the Head of Gryffindor asked, curiously. "It's only tea."

"Ah, but you see - it's become the unofficial Ravenclaw beverage. The Earl was related to the Grey Lady, or so she says - and she gets very upset if we don't show our respect," Christopher explained. "She's even got the Slytherins drinking it now, so I hear."

"The Bloody Baron's always had a soft spot for the Lady Grey," the Transfiguration teacher said in response to Matthew's puzzled frown. "For a decidedly antisocial ghost who's believed to have murdered at least eighteen people, he can be remarkably gallant at times."

"So the Slytherin ghost's a serial killer," the Head of Gryffindor said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "That explains a lot."

"Now, nothing was ever proved," the auburn haired wizard replied, smiling mischievously. "Besides, our Sir Nicholas ushered quite a few souls into the next world himself, or so he'd like us to think - would you pass me a muffin, my dear boy?"

This last was directed to Christopher, who was sitting next to a large plate of chocolate muffins. As he passed the plate over to the Deputy Head, he found himself able to relax for the first time that day. They were seated around a circular table in Albus Dumbledore's chambers - a remarkably cozy place with books and scrolls and parchments stacked higgledy-piggledy against most of the walls. An Egyptian relic that looked to be solid gold, with a jewel in the centre, was perched upon a copy of Nymphs and Their Ways, whilst a simple brown metronome was in turn resting upon a thick leather bound edition of Is Man A Myth? Every available surface was covered with things - the Transfiguration teacher had countless fantastic and exotic items placed side by side with the mundane.

"A gift from Henry, for my ninety-first birthday if I remember rightly," Albus Dumbledore said, seeing Christopher's interest in the gold medallion. "Very important Egyptian artifact - but no use at all to us here in Scotland."

"Henry?" the Chantwork teacher asked curiously.

"Henry Jones Binns," Matthew explained. "He wasn't christened 'Professor', you know."

"Why, our History of Magic teacher was quite the adventurer back when I was a boy," the Deputy Head said, smiling at some obviously long-distant memory. "Why, I remember hearing about his exploits in Alexandretta - but perhaps that's a story that can be left for another day. Do help yourself to some food, Christopher, you look starving."

He was starving, Christopher realized as he picked up a cucumber sandwich. He'd skipped lunch that day in order to avoid the sympathetic glances he'd been getting from various members of staff ever since Anita Skeeter had seen fit to publish the identities of the missing Aurors in the Daily Prophet. She'd written a very lurid article, as usual, filled with speculation, hearsay and unconfirmed facts. She'd also suggested various ways in which the Aurors might have died, each one more grisly than the other. It had been a very distasteful reading experience, on the whole, and Christopher was amazed that such a thing had got past the editor. He'd said as much to Quintus, when his friend had knocked on his door that morning to warn him. Apart from anything else, Quintus had replied in an attempt at levity, it's very badly written. His friend had then gone on to offer his skills as a poison-brewer in a highly illegal fashion, and the image of Anita Skeeter falling victim to a few drops of her own bottled drivel had cheered Christopher up immensely.

It wasn't that he'd been ungrateful for Terry Boot's concern that morning at breakfast, far from it - but somehow the Care of Magical Creatures teacher had a painful knack of saying the wrong thing. What was intended to be reassuring came out as incredibly depressing. And the few students who'd offered their condolences after their Chantwork lesson had been so ill at ease that he'd found himself increasingly self-conscious. He'd appreciated the thought - but still. He found Quintus' cups of tea - proper tea - and vitriolic anti-Skeeter diatribes much more comforting.

As though sensing his mood, the Transfiguration professor said quietly, "I was very sorry to hear about your brother," he said, his face solemn. "We all were. He kept in touch with a few of us after he left Hogwarts - he'll be missed."

"Thank you," Christopher replied, instantly nervous again. He'd guessed that he'd been invited to this small gathering out of compassion, and he'd briefly considered feigning illness - but Matthew had been very persuasive.

"It must have been a terrible shock for you," Dumbledore continued, his voice warm, compassionate.

"Yes, and no," the Chantwork teacher replied. "John's letters stopped, you see, before I got the Ministry notification, and I think I suspected the worst then. But having it confirmed - we - my family, that is - were told that death was an occupational hazard for an Auror, especially in wartime - but it didn't actually prepare us for it."

Matthew Seraphim had been following the short exchange in silence, his eyes darting from one man to another. "He may still be alive," he offered, with tentativeness unusual for him. "If he's labelled as missing - there could still be hope."

"True," Christopher conceded grimly. "But if he's alive, and a prisoner, I don't see much hope for his return." He'd heard the rumours - they all had - which were circulating the Muggle world and wizarding world alike in regards to the conditions in the enemy prison camps. They were terrifying. When he thought about what allegedly went on in such places, he found himself hoping that John was, in fact, dead. He wondered whether he should feel guilty about this. "I'd know, I think, if he were still alive," Christopher continued, looking at his half eaten cucumber sandwich. "I'd feel it. I think about him now - and there's nothing. My mother's the same. She's convinced he's dead. And - I've found myself hoping that he is. If it's better than the alternative."

"This is a war we cannot afford to lose," Dumbledore said softly, into the silence that followed.

Matthew Seraphim nodded agreement. "It's not just wizard against wizard," the Flight instructor said. "Or Muggle against Muggle. When death itself is better than the alternative, we're looking at good against evil, and it involves everyone, everywhere, whether magical or not - the two worlds have to stand together."

A deep silence followed Matthew's impassioned statement, broken by the chinking of the teapot as Dumbledore refilled his cup. The sound of tea trickling through the spout was oddly reassuring, Christopher thought. Familiar. A sign of civilization. The British Empire was founded upon tea. Everybody drank tea, from the royal family to the working classes. In times of trouble, people made tea. It was the universal panacea.

"Has the Headmaster thought any more about my suggestion?" the Flight instructor asked, rubbing his forehead. He seemed decidedly more subdued than he had been only moments ago.

Albus Dumbledore nodded. "His answer is still unchanged," the Deputy Head said gently. "Without proof, he can't do anything."

Octavius Malfoy, of course

, Christopher thought, remembering the conversation he'd had with Matthew about the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. It was funny - the man hadn't bothered toning down his obvious dislike of Christopher since the publication of his brother's possible fate, but Christopher was more reassured by that than he would've been by any declarations of false sympathy. At least the man was consistently nasty.

"But -"

"I have to agree with him," Dumbledore continued, cutting off Matthew's protest. His blue eyes fixed the Flight instructor in a penetrating gaze. "Here, we can keep an eye on his activities - elsewhere, he'd be free to do as he pleased."

"Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer," Christopher murmured.

"Exactly," Dumbledore said, seemingly pleased.

"He'll be filling Slytherin heads with all kinds of poison," Matthew said resentfully. "I know him. I know what he's like, what he can do to people. He's laughing at us. He's a snake - rotten through and through."

At Matthew's mention of Slytherin, Christopher was sure he'd seen something like anxiety flash across Dumbledore's face. Only for a split second, then it was replaced with his usual calm. "Slytherin House is the responsibility of Nadine de la Tour," Dumbledore said simply. "Not Octavius Malfoy."

Matthew made a soft, impatient sound. "That doesn't mean anything," he retorted. "The Malfoys have a stranglehold on this school - they practically run the Board of Governors, they've got family on staff, and two in Slytherin - they can do what they want."

"Don't be so quick to judge them all by Octavius," Dumbledore said as he slipped his spectacles off his nose, and began to polish them. "I know what he's done," he said, as Matthew looked about to protest again, "but we cannot judge a family by the actions of one member. They are, after all, innocent until proven guilty."

"You're too trusting," Matthew said, bitterly. "They will take advantage of that. It's quite likely that Octavius already has," he said, his voice laden with some significance that Christopher failed to grasp.

The Transfiguration professor's eyes flashed. "I don't trust blindly," he said. "But I do trust freely. There's a subtle difference - one which you, I believe, are still capable of appreciating, if you could just let go of the past."

"If I hadn't been given a very painful lesson on the subject, perhaps," the Flight instructor said, and he sounded very tired. "You know what happened in Siberia. I will not let that happen again, believe me. Not now, not here."

"Nevertheless," Dumbledore continued implacably, "Trust does not make you weak. In itself, it is not a flaw, and you cannot allow the actions of another to influence who you are."

Christopher was listening in silence, aware that he'd been right in thinking that Matthew's hatred for Octavius Malfoy did run deeper than House rivalry. It was personal, and it had apparently damaged his friend in some way. Siberia. He hadn't known that Matthew had been there, and he hadn't known that the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher had been there. Whatever happened had presumably occurred before the blond man returned to teach at Hogwarts. Christopher wondered if Matthew would ever tell him what had passed between them.

Not likely to happen today

, he thought, watching as his friend shifted uncomfortably before Dumbledore's piercing stare. He'd experienced that kind of discomfort himself, whilst he and Quintus were still students. They'd never been in serious trouble, of course. If you overlooked the time they'd got caught trying to grow certain plants that were most definitely not on the Herbology syllabus near the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. They'd been serving detention for months, and if Quintus hadn't pulled the Potential Potions Master act, it'd probably have been years.

"I'll try not to," Matthew said reluctantly. "But it's for your sake. Not his."

The older man nodded at that, his auburn whiskers quivering. "That's all I ask," he said, then, with the ghost of a smile, "I don't expect miracles, either."

"Just phenomena explicable only by divine intervention?" the Flight instructor sniped, without real malice.

Dumbledore positively beamed. "That'll do nicely."

*

"I am not going to concentrate on the historical aspect of the Sight," Professor Haven said, as she seated herself on her desk, "in as much as I am not going to focus on Grindelwald - that area is entirely your responsibility. My involvement with your assignment begins and ends with ensuring you know the difference between visionweaving and Seeing." The Divination teacher, still looking rather pale as a result of her most recent experience of the Sight, paused to examine each of the seated students carefully.

As the red haired woman's gaze landed upon her, Constance did her best to look intelligent. She tucked her hair behind her ears, and picked up her DictaQuill and met the Divination teacher's green stare with an air that she hoped would manage to convey that she did, in fact, know the difference between visionweaving and Seeing. Her efforts were rewarded with a faintly amused nod from Professor Haven, who then turned her attention elsewhere.

"If you don't understand the principles behind the Sight, you won't understand its importance to Grindelwald and you certainly won't understand the art of visionweaving," the teacher continued, her voice cool as she looked at Stuart Coombes.

Like Constance, he and three other students had chosen Divination as their minor subject, and as a result, had been instructed to attend several lunchtime sessions to cover the necessary material. It was reasonable enough - they were studying something completely unrelated in their usual lessons and as there were only five of them, Professor Haven had decided it wasn't worth changing the lesson content. She'd held Constance and Stuart back after a lesson to tell them that they could either rely on their own capabilities, or turn up on Friday lunchtime. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, Constance had thought, and as it turned out, Stuart Coombes and the other students had been thinking along the same lines. Angus Bones, a curly haired Hufflepuff was currently the object of the Divination teacher's scrutiny, and the remaining two students were both Ravenclaws. Philippe DuPré was a Beauxbatons transfer - and, judging by his physical appearance, a French relative of the Head Boy. Susanna Lessops was a tall, thin girl who rarely spoke in lessons, and seemed to have a complete lack of interest in the world around her. She also played for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team - a Beater, if Constance remembered rightly, and a bloody-minded one at that. Aurelius had loudly wished a horrible death upon her and her family once, after a well-aimed Bludger had nearly knocked him off his broomstick. The supposedly retiring Ravenclaw had retaliated with a vitriolic stream of abuse that had nearly had her sent off the pitch by Professor Seraphim. Some of the insults, Aurelius later told Constance, had been pretty impressive too.

"To understand the principles behind visionweaving, you first need to understand those behind the Sight - what it is to vision spontaneously as opposed to meditatively, the dangers inherent in both types of vision, the degree of accuracy in both types of vision, and the various techniques with which a Seer can induce conditions favourable to trance," the Divination teacher said, pausing so that the five students could copy down what she'd said.

Constance, with no small amount of smugness, eyed her DictaQuill lovingly as it sped across her parchment. Although several teachers had objected to their use - namely Professor Snape, who claimed that the magic used to make the thing work could disrupt the properties any potions in the vicinity - Professor Haven didn't seem to care either way. And Constance approved of anything that saved her having to exert herself. She had more important things to expand her energy on than writing.

"Lazy," murmured the Ravenclaw girl, out of the corner of her mouth. "Afraid you'll strain your wrist?"

"It's energy conservation," retorted Constance, equally softly. "Anyway, what's it to you?"

"You call it energy conservation. Ravenclaws face up to the truth, and call it laziness. Amounts to the same thing," Susanna said, almost inaudibly. "A sign of true intelligence."

"To summarize," Professor Haven continued, forcing Constance to return her attention to the lesson, "and remember that this is leaving out a great deal, you'll have to expand upon these issues yourselves - Seers are trained to withdraw into their minds, to sink down beneath the conscious and subconscious levels of thought to where the past, the future, nightmare, fantasy and reality are all one. In this introspective state, the Seer is most receptive to visions."

"But Professor," Stuart interrupted, "you weren't in that state at Halloween, were you?"

Professor Haven smiled thinly at the question, and shook her head. "No," she agreed. "What I have just described is the meditative process - although it's still impossible to force a vision, it is possible to increase the likelihood of a vision occurring. It is, however, quite dangerous - novices can often lose themselves within the vastness of their own minds. This is why inexperienced Seers are supervised during their training."

"What of the other kind, then?" Constance asked, interested. She'd not come across this in such detail in her reading - of course, last time she'd tried to study she'd ended up getting remarkably distracted. Of course, that had had been mostly down to the fact that she'd been in the Zalaras Wing with Tom - but she'd managed to get quite a bit done before she'd given into the temptation to research.

"Spontaneous visioning is the more dramatic form taken by the Sight," Professor Haven said slowly, "the visions are usually triggered by some chance event or remark, and the seizure is much more violent and uses up far more energy." She paused, obviously thinking about the events of Halloween. "This kind of vision is often much more significant than meditative visions, as it is strong enough to break through the mental barriers that generally only dissolve in sleep or trance, and they usually occur at the most inappropriate times."

"How do you know what they mean?" Constance asked. "Are there recurring themes, symbols?"

"Some," the teacher replied, "but they feature more strongly in dreams, which are a different matter altogether - although still an important part of the Sight. You don't need to know this for your assignment."

"How did you interpret your Halloween vision?" Stuart asked, his eyes alight with avid curiosity.

Professor Haven frowned slightly, and Constance was sure that the red haired woman's eyes darted in her direction before she answered the boy's question. "I'm a Divination teacher, not an interpreter of riddles," she said. "The matter has been referred to higher authorities." Although her tone was not harsh, it did imply that further questioning on that subject would be fruitless.

"So - how is visionweaving different?" Philippe DuPré asked, his quiet voice somehow carrying throughout the classroom.

"Visionweavers," Professor Haven said, making sure they'd all copied down what she'd said so far, "slip into the meditative state, and, when visioning, use their magical ability to prolong the vision long enough for them to complete the weaving of a tapestry. In this way, they have a record of what they see - and even when the prophecies are less than apocalyptic, the tapestries themselves are priceless."

"But that could take weeks!" protested Angus Bones, speaking for the first time. "Months, even."

"Hardly any weavers manage to sustain visions for that long," the Divination teacher said. "It's incredibly draining, and uses up a lot of the weaver's natural magical ability."

"Why did Grindelwald want visionweavers, though?" asked Stuart. "Wouldn't a Seer do just as well?"

"Quite apart from the prestige value of having a visionweaver at one's beck and call," Professor Haven said dryly, "the tapestries they produce aren't exactly ordinary. They're imbued with magic - they have a number of effects upon those exposed to them. And more - as the weavers create their tapestries they create a more concrete link to the future. As though they, through the choosing of their strands, can help determine fate."

"You mean, in a way, they make the future?" Constance asked, intrigued. This kind of conversation was the reason Aurelius couldn't stand Divination. He had no patience for abstracts. It was why he was so good at Potions. Even Richard, despite his many eccentricities, preferred the cold formality of numbers, of Arithmancy. Constance, however, found logic remarkably bothersome at the best of times. She liked things that were mysterious, incomprehensible. Strange riddles, she thought, and smiled inwardly.

"They make a future," the Divination teacher corrected her. "Whether others pursue it is a different story."

As Professor Haven began to describe the darker sides of the Sight - the draining of a Seer's blood could induce longer visions if done correctly, and the mixing of certain Sustenance Potions that were able to keep visionweavers alive for longer - Constance's mind wandered. She'd done a lot of research in that area already, galvanized by Aurelius' claim that he'd actually finished his assignment, and was confident that she had enough to go on. She'd discovered an awful lot about the importance of blood, sex and human sacrifice to Seers throughout history - she'd been amused to discover that despite all the myths about virgins making better Seers, the opposite was actually true. The talent usually blossomed during late puberty - increasing with the sexual drive. And Constance had already read up on the side effects of the Sight. She eyed the Divination teacher speculatively, remembering something Tom had hinted about the red haired woman and her uncle. As she watched her Quill copy down a paragraph on the use of leeches in the inducing of visions, she couldn't help but smirk. According to one book she'd read, the sensations felt by a Seer during a strong seizure were often similar to those felt during the culmination of the sexual act. Must be bloody good to be a Seer, she thought, and smiled inwardly.

*

Sunlight streamed through the Charms classroom window, illuminating the tiny, shimmering dust particles that hung in the air. It was one of those days that didn't fit with the season, Aurelius thought. Sunny, moderately warm, and more suited to September than early December. He preferred the cold, himself; having found that it generally made him more alert. Less sluggish. Ready to face the day, and all that. Unlike some, he'd never found it difficult to get out of bed on a cold and frosty morning. It looked as though Professor de la Tour, however, felt differently - they were already ten minutes into the lesson, and the Head of Slytherin was conspicuously absent. He couldn't remember whether she'd been in the Great Hall for breakfast, either.

"Look at that," Constance said, eyeing the floating dust with distaste. "That's disgusting. The house-elves want a good kick up the arse, they do."

"The lazy little plebes!" Richard contributed, not looking up from his chaotic, paper-strewn desk. "Should be skinned alive, the worthless little faggots."

"I wouldn't be talking about faggots if I were you, Marlowe," Aurelius said, unamused. "I haven't forgiven you yet."

"For what?" Richard asked, grinning. "Offering you my body? Or - making you wait for it? I mean, I thought you understood - I'm with Teresa at the minute. I'll see if I can fit you in for next Friday, but I've got a bit of a waiting list, I'm afraid."

"Popular, are you?" Aurelius commented dryly. "Beating them off with sticks, are we?"

"Well," the brown haired boy replied, shrugging carelessly. "If you've got it, put it about, lots. It's unfair to expect one person and one person alone to have all the fun! It's selfish, that's what it is."

Constance sniggered. "You sound like Lockhart!"

"The man should be an inspiration to us all," Richard said solemnly. "Besides. You wanted Lockhart bad, my dear."

"I did not!"

Richard shook his head mournfully. "You did so."

"Did not," Constance protested, trying to suppress a grin.

"Did so."

"When you two have quite finished being immature," Aurelius said, rolling his eyes, "let me know."

"I think you'll have a long wait," came the low, unaccented tones of the boy sitting at the desk opposite them. Riddle, as far as Aurelius could tell, had been engrossed in a dog-eared copy of what looked suspiciously like Swallows and Amazons, but apparently he'd also been listening in to their conversation.

"You cheeky sod," Richard said, unfazed. "I'm perfectly capable of being mature, even if Constance isn't."

"Richard," Constance said sweetly, after a split-second's pause that Aurelius did not fail to notice, "maturity requires that you act your age, not your shoe size. And certainly not your, erm, wand size," she added, with a meaningful glance at Richard's lower body. "You see, Teresa's told us all your little secrets."

"Emphasis on the little," Aurelius added, watching with a sense of immense satisfaction as Richard went a deep shade of red. Of course, Teresa hadn't told Constance any such thing - but revenge was revenge, and it didn't need to be based on anything remotely resembling truth. That being said, Aurelius hadn't forgotten what had prompted Richard's ever-so-romantic display in Transfiguration. And although he'd been certain at the time that Richard's suspicions were unfounded, the quickly concealed glint in Constance's eyes when the halfblood had interrupted them (and a few similar incidents before that) had left him - less sure.

"I'm a manly man," Richard protested. "And I have a big, big wand. And I'm skilled with my wand, and I'm good with my wand, and sod you all, I'm going to finish writing this essay before you humiliate me any further."

"That's not Charms," Constance said, leaning rather inelegantly over his shoulder for a better view. "That's my uncle's essay, isn't it?"

"Give the girl a biscuit," the brown haired boy retorted. "This, my dear, is why I hate your family with all my heart. Your uncle is a sadistic git, and I hope he dies, tormented with pain and all sorts of mortal anguish."

"Don't blame my uncle for your own ineptitude," Constance said, scowling. "If you can't tell the difference between the bloody Unforgivables at your age, you really should consider leaving school and getting a nice, simple job. Packing sweets at Honeydukes, perhaps, arranging all the Sugar Quills into nice, orderly piles."

"Or shoveling coal on the Hogwarts Express," Aurelius suggested, watching Riddle watch Constance out of the corner of his eyes. "Nothing too taxing, though. Wouldn't want to damage the few little grey cells you have left."

"Is this the essay we were set last week?" Tom asked suddenly. "The impact of the Killing Curse on modern dueling techniques?"

"That's the one," Richard answered. "Just an excuse for her uncle to drool over his childhood hero, isn't it, Constance dear?"

"Oh, just die," Constance said. "Contrary to popular belief, my uncle does not fantasize over the creators of the Killing Curse."

"No, just one of them," Richard corrected her gleefully. "Gesius Lott!"

"The inferior partner, in my humble opinion," Tom interjected, with a dryness to his voice that Aurelius didn't quite understand at first. Then he remembered - Lott's partner had been related to Riddle. Strange, and unsettling, to realize that Tom Marvolo Riddle's wizarding blood was from just as good a line as Aurelius' own. If not better. What a pity that his mother had to go and ruin it all, Aurelius thought, distinctly unsympathetically. He could care more about Riddle's mother's bad choice of mate.

"But then, your uncle's always been a bit weird, if you ask me," Richard continued, with all the inevitability of an avalanche.

"Which I didn't," the blonde girl murmured. "But that's never made any difference to you, has it?"

"None whatsoever," Richard replied, obviously recovered from his shame of only moments before. "I can see the scene now - a young Octavius, sitting chewing his quill one sunny day in History of Magic, perhaps, his mind roaming free amongst the shadowy figures of the past..."

"What do you want to do when you grow up, Mr. Malfoy?" Aurelius said, mimicking the voice of Professor Binns.

"Gesius Lott, sir!" Richard answered, in an impossibly high, quivering falsetto.

Constance scowled. "My uncle does not sound like that."

"I said what, not who, Mr. Malfoy!" Aurelius continued, ignoring Constance's feeble squawk of protest.

"Avada Kedavra, sir!" Richard said, brandishing his quill dramatically.

"I think you're supposed to use a wand for that," Tom pointed out. "A quill just doesn't have the same effect."

"Fine," the brown haired boy said, picking up his wand and adopting a vaguely Lockhartian pose as he pointed it directly at Aurelius. Then he bellowed, "Avada Kedavra!"

"What the f -" Aurelius exclaimed, not noticing the sudden hush in the classroom as he slid low in his chair. Attempting to avoid impending death, he flung his textbook at Richard. He missed, however, and the book landed at the feet of the one person who could make the situation even more embarrassing. "Oh shit."

"My sentiments exactly, Mr. Snape," said Professor Malfoy, looking at him with a remarkable lack of warmth. "Although I, unlike yourself, have the excuse of acting as a substitute Charms teacher for this lesson to justify my ill-temper, I would, nevertheless, be quite interested to hear the story behind your - ah - little outburst."

"Wouldn't we all," agreed one of the Ravenclaws on the other side of the classroom, with a very nasty smirk. Susanna Lessops, the biggest bitch on the Quidditch pitch, Aurelius thought, and shot her a filthy glare. At least it's not the Gryffindors, he thought, trying to look on the bright side.

"Five points from Ravenclaw," Professor Malfoy said, not even turning round to check he'd got the right house. The girl didn't seem abashed, though, just shrugged and continued to doodle aimlessly on her parchment. "But do tell us all, Mr. Snape."

Oh hell

, thought Aurelius, feeling incredibly stupid. The fates really do hate me, don't they? "I, ah, believed that he," and here Aurelius shot Richard the most basilisk of glares, "had just cast the Killing Curse on me. So I retaliated."

Professor Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "A very admirable way to research an essay, Mr. Marlowe - and Mr. Snape, I may be mistaken, but you don't appear to be dead."

"Unfortunately," chipped in the irritating Lessops girl again.

"Another five points from Ravenclaw," Professor Malfoy said calmly, "and the more interruptions you make, Lessops, the more points I will take."

As three anxious Ravenclaws silenced the Lessops girl, Aurelius could see Constance trying desperately to maintain a straight face. Silently, he wished a most painful death upon her. And that goes for you, too, he thought viciously, noticing Riddle's smirk in her direction. Richard, curse him, had assumed an angelic expression of wounded innocence, that did nothing to help. Aurelius really did feel utterly, and completely ridiculous. Especially as he was fully aware that Richard's curse wouldn't have hurt him anyway - Avada Kedavra required a lot of energy and it took a strong wizard to pull it off. His mortification was increasing rapidly, and he made a mental note to start practicing the Killing Curse on Richard as soon as he got out of this mess. For research purposes, of course.

"No, I'm not dead," Aurelius said, inwardly cringing. Go on, state the obvious. Make yourself look even more of a puddinghead. "I believe I may have overestimated the danger. Slightly."

"Slightly," Professor Malfoy repeated, his lip curling. To Aurelius' relief, Constance's uncle seemed to lose interest then, and the tall blond man swirled to face the rest of the class. He didn't look particularly enthused by the faces staring back at him, Aurelius thought. "Obviously, Professor de la Tour is - unable to take today's class," the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher said, drawling irritably. "She has, however, informed me that you were about to begin Advanced Concealing Charms - namely Specific Secret Charms, and the Fidelius Charm - and Mr. Riddle, if that book is not concealed within five seconds, you'll be practicing Concealing Charms in detention tonight -"

Aurelius glanced over in surprise to see Riddle, so usually above reproach, shove Swallows and Amazons back into his bag. Constance, too, had turned slightly to face the expressionless halfblood, and when she returned her attention to her uncle, she looked remarkably thoughtful.

"He's cranky today," Richard muttered, so quietly that Constance couldn't hear. "Riddle's normally his little boy wonder."

"You think so?" Aurelius replied sarcastically. "Maybe if you'd done a better job with your little spell, he'd have been all hearts and flowers. Then you'd've been the boy wonder."

"Sorry about that," the brown haired boy replied, casually. "But - you made yourself look rather dense all by yourself."

Aurelius sneered at him, unable to think of a comeback. Richard's statement had the decided disadvantage of being true, and all the satisfaction Aurelius had had from teasing him earlier had faded.

"Specific Secret Charms," Octavius Malfoy continued, "are not as complex as the Fidelius Charm, but they do require a high level of magical skill. If you turn to page 106 of your textbooks - yours is on the floor, Mr. Snape - you can see that Specifics, as they're known, are directly concerned with the concealment of information."

"What kind of information?" one of the Ravenclaws asked.

The Defence against the Dark Arts teacher stared at the girl - Estelle Knight - coldly. "It's in the book," he said flatly. "You'll find that the Fidelius Charm is described in great detail on pages 108 through to 111 - and there's a chart comparing the two forms of charm on page 112. So read. Learn. And make notes. In silence," the blond man added, stalking over to Professor de la Tour's desk and flinging a thick folder down. "I do not want to be disturbed."

Charms had never been his strong point, Aurelius thought ruefully, eyeing the book he'd picked up off the floor with no real interest, but he began to make notes on the two forms of charm anyway. Unlike the Fidelius Charm, he wrote, Specific Secret Charms do not require a Secret Keeper - once cast, the information is concealed from everyone, with the exception of the spell-caster. The Fidelius Charm, on the other hand, involves the locking of the information to be concealed within another, living, soul. This is useful because the Secret Keeper then has the ability to ensure that the information remains concealed for as long as necessary, regardless of the spell-caster's fate.

After a while, Constance, who had been working industriously for once, frowning over her notes, put her hand up.

"Can it be hereditary?" she asked, and Aurelius noticed Tom tilt his head slightly, to look at her. "The role of Secret Keeper?"

"Shine that apple, girl!" Richard whispered, scribbling all over his parchment. "Maybe you'll get some pocket money!"

Although Aurelius smirked at that, he wondered just whom his friend was shining the apple for - Riddle, smiling, certainly seemed appreciative of Constance's attempt at academic stardom. To say the least. Or perhaps that was just Aurelius' imagination. I'm getting paranoid, he scolded himself. Richard's hardly the most reliable of sources, is he?

"Curl up and die," Constance muttered back, barely moving her lips.

"Variations upon the Fidelius Charm are possible," Professor Malfoy said, overlooking the two students' whispered exchange. "The charm can be combined with Inheritance Charms, for example - but you can research the rest yourself. This isn't my subject - and speaking of which, I expect my essay to be in first thing tomorrow morning. Presumably Misters Snape and Marlowe will have at least mastered the theory by then."

"Mastered the theory," said Richard scathingly, as they left the classroom. "What does he expect us to do? Go around killing people just so he can get off on it?"

"Do you mind?" Constance snapped. "That's my uncle you're talking about."

"Yes, and he's nuts," Richard said simply.

"You know, at times like this I understand why my brother can't stand you," the blonde haired girl snapped, and hurried off ahead of them.

"Well done," Aurelius said to Richard, watching Constance stalk off. "Insult her family, humiliate me -

again

- such a lovely friend you are."

"I am, actually," Richard agreed, looking at him with a half smile. "More than you know."

"We are not going down this road again," Aurelius said firmly, the taunts of Simon and Paul still very fresh in his mind. The love that dares not speak its name, my arse. Richard may as well shout it from the Astronomy Tower.

Richard laughed at that, then fell silent as Tom Riddle walked past them, deep in conversation with Philippe DuPré.

"He definitely likes her," he said softly.

"I know," Aurelius admitted reluctantly, after a brief pause.

"He's staying with them over Christmas, too."

That

, Aurelius hadn't known. "She didn't invite him," he said at once, unsure as to whether he believed it.

"No," Richard said, "it was Marcus."

"How do you know?" He wasn't sure whether he was relieved that Constance hadn't been responsible, or disquieted by the fact that Marcus thought Riddle was suitable enough to invite home. That - that added a new variable into the equation. It could change a mild flirtation into something more serious. And his father wanted Aurelius back at Summerisle for Christmas....

"Because I'm omnipotent," Richard said cheerfully. "But what will you do? What will you do?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Aurelius replied, frowning. His mind was racing over various possibilities - remembering what Quintus had said about his family's deal with the Ministry, about alliances, and about family loyalty. Only two days until the weekend, until he and his cousin were scheduled to brew more Veritaserum. A talk with Quintus, he thought, might help clarify the issue.

*

Although the brewing of Veritaserum was not too demanding for a fully qualified Potions master and his young apprentice, both of whom were Snapes, it did tend to limit any deep and meaningful conversation. With communication reduced to little more than the occasional murmured instruction and appreciative comment, it wasn't until they'd almost finished for the night that Quintus realized that there was something on his cousin's mind. Aurelius, staring at the clutter on the desk, was lost in his own private thoughts, and judging by the bleak expression in his eyes, the Potions master doubted that they were pleasant. He wasn't particularly adept at dealing with the personal feelings of people close to him - the Snape family tended to be somewhat reserved, even at the best of times, and they were liable to resent any uninvited intrusions. However, he'd learned some small measure of sensitivity through his friendship with Christopher -and Aurelius' feelings weren't usually so apparent.

"Sickle for them?" he said casually, wiping his scalpel clean with a damp cloth.

"They're not worth that much," Aurelius said sourly, as he pushed a lank strand of hair out of his face. He glanced at Quintus, as if assessing how interested the Potions master actually was in what he had to say, then raised one shoulder in a shrug. "The deal my father has made with the Ministry -"

"What about it?" Quintus asked, as his cousin paused.

"Is there a similar arrangement between the Malfoys and the Ministry?"

"I expect so," the Potions master replied thoughtfully. "No doubt the other old families have been approached in some way, but it's your father, not I, who'd be the most likely to know about it. That being said, Julius Malfoy isn't the type to share such information without a more concrete link between our families."

"You mean, without a marriage," Aurelius stated, and the faint bitterness that had been in his demeanour only minutes before had been replaced with a deadly calm.

Quintus nodded, thanking his lucky stars that Valerius Snape had not yet seen the need to marry him off. "That would bring our families closer together - it'd be beneficial to everyone."

"Beneficial," Aurelius repeated, his eyes veiled. "Doesn't this - alliance - depend upon prior knowledge of family loyalties and bargains? I mean," he added as he saw Quintus frown, "if Malfoys were found to be Grindelwald supporters after the marriage, wouldn't we be tainted by association? And vice versa, of course. We can't afford to jump in blindly when family's concerned."

"Part of the fun," Quintus said dryly, wondering yet again just where the Malfoy loyalties lay. "Valerius wants to know what Julius is doing, without letting Julius know what he is doing, and Julius is doing exactly the same thing and they both know that they're doing this, so they edge closer and closer to a suitable compromise - and by the time they get there, Grindelwald will have died of old age, so it's all academic."

"I hope you're not being flippant about all this," Aurelius said with mock severity.

"Far from it," Quintus replied straight-faced. "I have nothing but admiration for the way you Slytherins manage to spend years beating about the bush instead of getting to the point."

"And I admire the way you Ravenclaws have to look the bush up in We Want A Shrubbery: Ten Things to Do with Bushes before you beat about it," Aurelius sniped. "That's true intelligence, that is."

"Don't display your ignorance," Quintus said serenely. "We'd look the bush up in 1001 Examples of Common European Foliage, a far more intellectual tome. Then we'd cross reference it with various other texts, and then and only then would we beat about it."

At that, his cousin smiled, his expression lightening. "It's a fine art, truly," Aurelius said. "Avoiding plain speech is what being a Slytherin's all about. Our world would fall apart if we started telling the truth - anyway, you're not exactly the blunt and to-the-point type yourself."

It was Quintus' turn to smile as he acknowledged the truth in what Aurelius had said. He was, after all, supposed to be enhancing his cousin's natural cunning. And, although he didn't have quite the mastery that Valerius had, he believed himself to be at least proficient. He viewed things intellectually, logically, perhaps without taking into account all shades of human emotion, but his ability was sufficient. For now it was enough to enable him to analyze the motivation behind his next words, anyway. Perhaps it was the brief moment of shared amusement, perhaps it was because Aurelius looked a lot less like his father when he smiled, or perhaps it was simple familial concern that prompted Quintus to speak further. After all, Aurelius was the closest to a brother he'd ever have. And, although he was the Snape heir, he was still only seventeen - an age that Quintus was thoroughly glad to have passed. He remembered his teenage years all too clearly.

"Is something troubling you?" he asked, just as Aurelius' smile faded.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that sometimes bluntness could be just as effective as indirect probing. Aurelius breathed out slowly, deliberately, then made a slight, dismissive gesture with his hands. "I'm not sure," he said finally.

Quintus was silent, waiting, a trick he'd learned from Christopher. His friend's quiet, undemanding presence had inspired many a confidence back when they'd been students.

"The Malfoys must have taken steps to secure other potential alliances," Aurelius asked slowly, keeping his voice free from any recognizable emotion. "If they aren't sure of our allegiances."

Quintus, reading between the lines, successfully hid his smile. The dubious joys of being seventeen. Not that he was any wiser. He'd only just turned twenty-four, and was quite easily flustered by certain members of the Hogwarts staff. Of course, such matters were slightly more important when they concerned dynastic union. "It would be surprising if they hadn't," he answered his cousin. "We do the same, after all."

Aurelius shook his head impatiently. "It's not the same," he said. "Lots of time and effort have gone into the foundations of a match with the Malfoys, on both sides. Seventeen years this has been coming - I haven't even met the other girls my father's considered. They're purely business transactions."

"You think that Julius has arranged an alternate match for Constance that is less formal than the alternate matches your father has arranged for you?" Quintus said, forsaking any attempt at bush beating.

"I don't think Julius has had anything to do with it," Aurelius said slowly, his furrowed brow the only indication of the depths of his concern.

"What?" Quintus asked, more sharply than he'd intended. He tried to soften his tone. "Why not?"

"I - don't think it's that kind of situation." His cousin's black eyes were pensive. Distracted, almost, as he glanced away, over to where the Paragon sailed through dark waters. The painted waves crashed against the bow of the unsmiling ship. It seemed a fitting backdrop for their conversation. Judging by the twist of his lips, Aurelius was obviously thinking similar thoughts as he turned back to face the Potions master.

"Then what kind of situation is it?" Quintus asked, wondering just what was going on. Julius Malfoy was the head of his family. He was the forger of alliances, marriage contracts. He controlled his family's actions, training his son to succeed him, grooming him for power. Just as Valerius Snape did for the seventeen year old boy sitting scowling at Quintus now. But Marcus Malfoy surely wasn't experienced enough to assume his father's role - and Constance had always seemed far too scatter-brained to become a truly capable player. Although he was probably judging too harshly - Potions wasn't the blonde girl's best subject by a long shot. It was unthinkable to imagine a proper, political alliance being made without Julius Malfoy's knowledge. Of course, Quintus thought, with a sudden feeling of unease, there's always Octavius. Everything seemed to be about Octavius, now. Grindelwald, prophecies, and now this. The semi-redeemed black sheep of the Malfoy family had his finger in far too many pies for Quintus' liking. He frowned, realizing that he was indulging in pure speculation. Start with the facts. "Why don't you think Julius is involved?"

"Because I doubt Julius Malfoy would find this - alternate match - to his advantage," Aurelius said. "Not financially, not politically, not in any of the ways that count."

Quintus looked at him closely. "You know who it is?"

His cousin met his gaze, allowing no feeling to show in his face. "I have an idea."

"Do you have any reason to believe that there is an actual alliance being forged?" Quintus asked, deciding not to press for this supposed rival's identity. Aurelius' carefully neutral expression had implied that further questioning on that subject wouldn't be welcomed - and Quintus was fairly sure he could guess who it was anyway. It was quite surprising that something like this hadn't happened sooner, bearing in mind that the three had been friends for a few years now.

"No," Aurelius replied, looking uncomfortable. "Only instinct. And I'm sure it's got nothing to do with marriage. I have suspicions, but they're based on nothing. Nothing concrete, anyway. I may be imagining everything. But -"

"But?"

"There does seem to be some - attraction."

"On whose part?" Quintus asked. Perhaps the situation wasn't as serious as Aurelius seemed to think, bearing in mind the adolescent tendency to blow things up out of all proportion.

His cousin volunteered the information reluctantly, tersely. He was staring fixedly at a spot just above Quintus' head. "Both. I think."

"Have you mentioned this to her?"

"No."

"Ah," the Potions master said. Then, with slightly more caution, he ventured further. "Have you and she -"

"No!"

"Ah," the Potions master said, wondering where to begin. His cousin's denial had been surprisingly vehement, Aurelius' dark eyes glittering with indignation. Be delicate. Be tactful. Don't dwell on the birds and the bees. The memory of his own father's painfully unnecessary speech upon the subject of sex still made Quintus' cheeks burn. He'd been nine at the time, and despite what his father thought, he had never given the stork theory any credence. For heaven's sake, he scolded himself. If Aurelius hasn't figured it out by now, Valerius will just have to find himself another heir. I am not giving this talk. Ever.

"It's, ah, possible that she's just harbouring certain, well, feelings," Quintus began awkwardly, noting that Aurelius was also looking very uncomfortable. "And if you haven't - er - indicated any interest yourself - well, she's probably just stretching her wings - or something," he ended lamely.

The look of utter mortification on Aurelius' face told the Potions master he'd done a terrible job of his supposedly reassuring speech. "You mean if I'm not giving it to her, she'll get it elsewhere?" Aurelius demanded, his eyes narrowed.

Talk about beating the proverbial bush into submission

, Quintus thought. "Well, that was quite crudely put," he murmured, "and I didn't mean exactly that - but you've got the general idea. She's probably just flirting." Malfoys seem to do a lot of that, he added mentally.

"A born coquette," Aurelius said levelly. "No harm in that."

"No," said Quintus, thinking about something else. Then - "If this person is as unsuitable as you say, rest assured nothing will come of it. She knows her duty."

"She is a Malfoy," his cousin agreed quietly. There was a flicker of indecision within Aurelius' dark eyes - as though he was engaged in some inner debate - then he appeared to come to a satisfactory conclusion. "I would prefer it - if my father wasn't told about any of this."

The Potions master hesitated for a moment. "You want to handle this on your own?"

"I would prefer it," Aurelius repeated. "Besides," he added, with a trace of humour, "what's a mere trifle like this, compared to what you're supposed to be teaching me?"

"Quite so," Quintus agreed. But he was thinking about someone else.

*****

"I may be a nihilist, but I love beauty" - Dostoyevsky's The Devils.