The Serpentine Chain Part 1 - Year Of The Snake

The Serpentine Chain Part One

Chapter Fifteen - Pretty Girls Make Graves

The pebble arced cleanly through the air, a smooth fluid motion, then hit the waters with a splash. Marcus had thrown the stone quite a distance, but the circular ripples were clearly visible as they fanned out across the cold dark surface of the lake.

"Mine went further," Constance said, although she was a terrible judge of distance and couldn´t see clearly from where they were sitting anyway.

Her brother didn´t answer at first, but selected a flatter, rounder pebble. Then, with an adroit movement, he sent it skipping across the waters - nine times, Constance counted - before it sank. He waited, and consequently she did too, until the lake stilled again. Only then did he speak, answering the question she´d asked him as they sat down on the grassy banks ten minutes earlier.

"Yes," he said, his grey eyes focused on a point close to the other side of the lake. "I did invite him for Christmas. It´s not a problem, is it?"

"Not at all," Constance replied swiftly, slightly disturbed by the trace of amusement in her brother´s voice. "But - why?"

Marcus, her brother - and role model throughout the earlier years of her childhood - glanced at her through slanted eyes. "Well," he began, the corner of his mouth twitching, "it was either Tom or Minerva."

Constance gave him a look.

"A difficult decision, as you can no doubt imagine - but in the end I thought that it´d be better if I asked him," her brother continued, smirking as she rolled her eyes. "After all, he´s on friendly terms with the both of us - and you´d just be awful to Minerva because you´re spoiled and rotten."

"Oh, get knotted, brother dear," she said amiably, accepting his explanation but aware that there was more that he´d left unsaid. "I´m the epitome of charm. But whilst we´re on the subject - this little dalliance of yours with the golden girl of Gryffindor wouldn´t have anything to do with Verity Black´s foul mood, would it?"

Marcus didn´t grin, exactly, but he looked very pleased with himself. He and Verity had been rivals since they´d started Hogwarts - occasionally on friendly terms, mostly not. Some of their spats had actually passed into the realms of school mythology. Verity, of course, was one of Minerva McGonagall´s closest friends - in much the same way that Constance herself was friends with Aurelius, minus the political opportunism. And Verity had been scowling his way through the Hogwarts corridors for quite a while now. Usually mild-mannered, he´d been very bad tempered and snappish. Most ungallant, Constance thought. Bad loser.

"Black´s just used to acting as the fair lady´s champion," her brother said. "I believe I may have put his nose out of joint."

She gasped in mock astonishment. "The fair lady has succumbed to your wicked ways? So soon?"

"No, no, not yet," Marcus admitted. "It´s a slow dance, sister dear, and I am the heart and soul of chivalry - the courtly lover personified. And when my good friend Regal insults the lovely Minerva - as he´s so unaccountably prone to doing - I smack him. Hard."

"And then you slip him five Galleons, in recompense?"

"Ten," her brother said, sadly. "He´s a grasping little swine - but he has his uses."

Constance smiled, considering what she knew about the girl in question. "Sorry, but I don´t think you´ve got a chance," she said, and was pleased to see the brief flash of outrage in Marcus´ eyes. "Not with McGonagall."

"She´ll come to her senses in time," her brother said, masking his irritation with a haughty sneer. "They always do."

"Prepared to wait three years, are you?" she teased. "McGonagall´s practically a nun."

"Do I detect a trace of scorn?" Marcus asked, smiling thinly. "Surely, my dear sweet sister, your virtue is just as unassailable? But nonetheless, pure as Minerva undoubtedly is - when she cracks - and she will, for she must - she´ll do so in a very tender, heartwarming fashion."

"That´s so sweet," Constance said dryly. She hadn´t missed her brother snipe at her supposed purity - and when combined with the amusement with which he´d mentioned inviting Riddle - she wondered just how much Marcus actually knew. "I believe you´re going sentimental."

"Hardly," he retorted. "I´m perfectly in control of my actions. Minerva is a challenge - intellectually and physically - she requires a lot of energy expenditure on my part - but that is all she is."

"A challenge?"

"I never could say no to a challenge," Marcus said with a shrug. "And in my experience, all problems can be solved - with a little time and consideration."

"If you say so," Constance murmured, aware that she´d pricked his pride and would have no peace unless she backed down.

"I´m in no danger of getting out of my depth," her brother continued, and although he was smiling at her, the message was unmistakable. He knew.

Constance´s stomach clenched tightly in shock - has Tom told him? - then she forced herself to relax, despite the mingled and decidedly unpleasant emotions that she was feeling. She was embarrassed, to say the least, but there was a horrible sinking feeling as it occurred to her that she and Minerva may have more in common than she´d thought. After all, she thought, it´s not as if Tom has anything to lose by making this public. She, on the other hand -

Aurelius certainly wouldn´t like it if he found out. Which she´d known all along, of course, but still.

"That´s good to know," Constance said, keeping her voice calm and unshaken. After all - she and Tom hadn´t gone far enough to cause a catastrophe. A little difficulty, perhaps, some embarrassment - but Marcus wasn´t likely to go out of his way to cause trouble for her. After all, he was the Malfoy heir and it was his responsibility to maintain the family´s reputation - which meant that he was probably going to put a stop to what she and Tom were doing.

"Wouldn´t want your reputation damaging," she said resignedly. Or mine.

"Not at all," Marcus replied. "But like I said - Riddle´s coming for Christmas. So my reputation´s perfectly safe."

Just enough emphasis on the possessive pronoun there to let her know that he was prepared to speak to her about this, now, as plainly as was possible for a Malfoy.

"I´m not sure I know what you´re talking about," she said, lying through her teeth. She knew he´d see that as an opening, an invitation to get it over with quickly. So she could take stock of the damage.

"There´s not much that can escape the watchful eye of a concerned elder brother," he said quietly. "Such as myself."

So much for my chances at secret keeper of the year, Constance thought bitterly, the questions she´d been planning to ask her brother about Tom suddenly decreasing in significance. They´d have to wait until this was resolved. "I haven´t done anything wrong," she said. Technically. "You know I wouldn´t do anything to ruin -"

"A future alliance with the Snapes?" her brother ended for her, smiling at her discomfort. "Nevertheless, you might want to reassure them - or rather, Aurelius - of that fact."

So casually uttered, but so immense in its implications. It was fascinating, despite her mortification, to see how quickly her furtive games with Tom had become part of a larger chain of events - although she´d had to have been exceptionally naïve to assume that they wouldn´t, she´d just thought that they´d have had more time. And she didn´t think that Tom would´ve told Marcus - why, she couldn´t say, except that he was a very private person - which could only mean that they´d been indiscreet. And so Marcus knew - and he´d just implied that Aurelius knew. So she had to reassure him otherwise. And how on earth am I supposed to do that, she wondered, Aurelius being, well, the way he is? He wasn´t exactly approachable, not in that way - but she couldn´t just pounce on him, for heaven´s sake - although, remembering the timidity with which Aurelius had once kissed her, she´d probably have to.

"You don´t have to worry about that," Marcus said, following her thoughts from her expression. "Aurelius will undoubtedly come to you."

She raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

Her brother smiled, a male Sphinx. "Events have been set in motion to ensure such an outcome," he said, unhelpfully.

"He´s going to Summerisle for the holidays, isn´t he?"

"But the Snapes have been invited to the Christmas party," her brother informed her. "As always. So be nice to him, sister. It could work out to your advantage, after all."

Your advantage. Not our advantage. Such a little thing, but the difference it made was grave.

"I´m always nice to Aurelius," she replied, almost absently, her mind racing ahead, following several possibilities. It would be to her family´s advantage if she could maintain the link with Aurelius, of course - but it would also be to her own personal advantage if she could somehow convince Aurelius that he had no further grounds for suspicion. Especially if she wasn´t prepared to give up Tom - which she wasn´t, she realized, with a sudden surge of feeling that she´d have to analyse later. Because she would eventually marry Aurelius. And if he suspected her of any possible compromise, he had the right - all aristocratic families did - to invoke Bridal Law. To feed her Veritaserum the night before her wedding. To ask her certain questions that would determine whether she was a virgin, and, if not, whether he´d been the one to take her first. It was, she thought, unbelievably demeaning. To both of us. But the Law could only be invoked if there was reasonable grounds for doubt - and she really didn´t think Aurelius would do that to her - but better by far to keep him ignorant and happy. And although it wouldn´t take much, because he´d never seemed especially interested in sex, if she got it over with once and for all it could clear the way for Tom.

And that was definitely what Constance considered an interesting option. For more reasons than just the obvious. He was important - she knew it. She didn´t know why, or how, and her uncle´s subtle hints during Charms had told Constance that it would take more than guesswork to figure it out - but she would not relinquish her alliance, if that was truly what it was, with Tom - because whatever it was that he and Marcus and her uncle were up to, she wanted that too. She didn´t consider her virginity a sacred, precious thing - she was a Slytherin, after all - and if she had to coax Aurelius into taking it, so be it. Aurelius wasn´t Tom - but he certainly wasn´t without his own form of attractiveness. I was born in the wrong century, she thought ruefully, as she remembered a time when witches could pursue very pleasurable paths to power, without the fear of male retribution.

"Ambitious little girl, aren´t you?" her brother said, and she wished she could read him half as well as he could read her.

"It runs in the family," she replied. "Along with various other things."

It wasn´t just Marcus who could come out with meaningful, significant and portentously double-edged statements, after all. She´d wondered whether Professor de la Tour´s absence that Charms lesson had been entirely due to chance - had suspected that her uncle might have had something to do with it. Especially after he´d taken the opportunity to drop certain hints in her direction. Especially as Tom Riddle - someone whom she knew full well would never allow himself to get caught paying less than full attention to a lesson - had given her uncle the opportunity to give Constance a clue to just why she found it so completely impossible to comprehend the mysterious Something that was - she was sure of it! - staring her most insolently in the face.

As she´d expected, her brother didn´t display any surprise. Instead, he smiled. "You must be referring to our blonde good looks, our scintillating wit, devastating charm - oh, and incredibly attractive bank accounts?"

"Not quite," Constance said, "although they are decided advantages to being a Malfoy - and you know perfectly well what I´m referring to."

She looked directly at him as she spoke, challenging him to lay it out on the table for her. It was, she felt, past time. It made sense, all of it, if there was indeed some variant of the Fidelius Charm preventing her from seeing the truth. The Zalaras Riddle, she thought, remembering Tom´s cryptic remarks at the Halloween feast as she waited for Marcus to speak. It´s in your blood. Fidelius Familia - the Charm she´d looked up in the Restricted Section, using a note from Professor Cale for the ostensible purpose of studying certain Indian Chants - after her uncle had indirectly nudged her in that direction. Knowledge, locked into a family, not just a person, ran through the bloodline. Lay dormant until the designated Secret Keeper for that generation of the family chose to unlock it.

It was done with blood, of course. True magic, at its purest, was always done that way.

"I expect," her brother said quietly, an unusual note in his voice, "I know far better than you what it is that you refer to."

"Then enlighten me, do," Constance replied instantly, feeling a sudden, heady surge of exhilaration rush through her veins as she wondered whether her brother or her uncle was the Secret Keeper. Be calm. This is family business.

There was little point in her trying to bypass the charm alone. She´d come to that conclusion a while ago. She´d been granted knowledge by virtue of her blood, she could feel it, this knowledge that there was some truth that she should know. Had she not been a Malfoy, even this would have been hidden from her. She had to prove herself worthy, though, because this was important. She knew.

"It is in our blood," Marcus said, confirming what she already knew. "The charm."

Constance wasn´t sure whether it was terrible joy, or pride she could see in his face then - or even fear - but she felt herself taking a deep breath, holding it, caught by the shivering electric spark that seemed to pass through her as her brother spoke. His voice barely a whisper, though they were alone by the lake and there was no one else to hear.

"For centuries." He didn´t take his eyes from hers. Eyes that were very like her own, though grey. "His family and ours, bound together. It goes deep, Constance, very deep."

"But why?" Her voice was as soft as his. "Why?"

Marcus smiled at that, almost indulgently. "Blood will tell," he said, repeating the family motto that had taken on entirely new dimensions, "and I cannot bleed you here, now, by the school lake, sister dear."

Which was completely, undeniably true, of course.

"Christmas," was what she said then, seeing what she should have guessed all along. "He will be there, too."

Her brother didn´t need to ask to whom she referred. "There will be blood. Lots of it."

Marcus didn´t add - didn´t need to - that it would hurt. Blood magic was pure, because pain was one of the greatest enhancers of magic. Everybody knew that. Everybody from the old families, anyway. She raised her chin, and ignored the tiny voice in the back of her mind, the voice of fleeting caution telling her that she was stepping into something unknown, something big, something irrevocable. This is what you were born for. Be worthy. Of our blood.

"Deep magic," she said then, vaguely surprised at herself, "is the truest, purest kind of magic. Old magic isn´t black or white, Marcus. It´s red."

And she was gratified to see a flicker of pride in her brother´s eyes.

*

Since his cousin´s unexpected admission of uncertainty - and more - regarding his future bride, Quintus had heard no more on the subject. He hadn´t really expected Aurelius to pour out his heart, but, nevertheless, he had been keeping a discreetly watchful eye on the girl and boy in question. As best he could, considering that neither of them were in his House, and he taught them only in Potions. And he was pleased to see that although Aurelius had claimed that there did seem to be some attraction, Quintus Snape, personally, couldn´t see any signs of it. He wondered whether his cousin had been a trifle - paranoid.

Or perhaps I´m just not as perceptive as I used to be, he thought half-ruefully, as he watched his cousin´s supposed rival attempt to slip several squashed spider legs down the robes of the unsuspecting Ravenclaw girl he´d been partnered with. Not entirely unsuspecting, Quintus amended, as the dark haired girl shot Richard Marlowe a filthy look and mouthed something incredibly rude. Such a foul mouth in one so young, the Potions master thought. Not that he was going to take points for that, not from his own house. He was just grateful she hadn´t spoken out loud. House Ravenclaw was falling behind in points as it was.

Judging by the expression of pain on the brown haired Slytherin´s face, Quintus guessed that Susanna Lessop´s response hadn´t simply been verbal. It rather looked as though Richard Marlowe had been kicked in a particularly sensitive region, from under the table. And it didn´t look as though he was pleased about it, either.

"As delightful as Miss Lessop´s neck undoubtedly is," Quintus said calmly, suppressing a sympathetic wince on behalf of the Slytherin, who had forgone subtlety for attempted throttling, "I would rather you didn´t maul it during lessons, Mr. Marlowe. Ten points will be taken from Slytherin."

And promptly given back, he noted wistfully, watching as Aurelius´ eyes narrowed slightly. His cousin´s back had straightened, and Quintus just knew the Slytherin was going to pounce upon any chance, however small, to regain those points. So House pride´s stronger than romantic rivalry, Aurelius? He couldn´t say he was surprised. After all, he was still firmly attached to Ravenclaw.

It was the same in the adult world, house pride, even after you´d theoretically left school affiliations behind once leaving Hogwarts. And although Quintus might not have actually left Hogwarts at all, he knew his family customs - the traditions of all upper class British wizarding families. House loyalties stayed with you for the rest of your life. Nobody did more to forge these loyalties than the supposedly impartial teachers, either. Quintus thought of himself as basically fair - admittedly, a little more lenient towards his house, and maybe Aurelius´, than was strictly necessary - but he knew perfectly well that the majority of the other teachers didn´t share such moderation. Especially when house rivalry took on a more - personal nature. As it had done, very publicly, only the Sunday before.

*

"Well met by moonlight, Professor Snape."

He had not needed to turn around, and a slight quickening of the footsteps behind him had rendered such movement unnecessary as her hand touched his sleeve - lightly - and her pale face looked up at him from beneath the confines of a dark hood. Her voice had given her away - low, almost unaccented, slightly husky. Distinctive.

"Ill met, I believe," he´d corrected her absently, glancing behind her almost on reflex to see if the other was there.

She´d laughed at that, and he realized that he might have sounded rude. "Are you being terribly unsubtle, Quintus? Shall I go away?"

"No, no," he said hastily. Although, as he was to reflect later, things might have been simpler if he´d just said yes. But, as he´d looked at the amusement in her face, he´d realized that only was she not offended, she probably knew the quotation anyway.

"Playing Professor, then," Elspeth Haven had said then, and there was a distinct trace of mockery in her voice as she continued. "The boy teacher. Ought I to have called you proud Titania instead, sir?"

"I´d rather you didn´t," he´d said with feeling. He´d have had a field day with that one. "Not my cup of tea at all."

She laughed again, and he´d thought that he could detect the scent of alcohol - wine, probably white - on her breath. It´s only half seven, he thought briefly, before she spoke again. "Octavius will be disappointed," she said. "He had such high hopes..."

"I´d noticed."

She raised an eyebrow.

He hadn´t meant to sound quite so terse, and regretted his clumsiness. They had that effect on him, though, the pair of them. So he´d tried to change the subject. "You´re walking to Hogsmeade?"

"As are you, I presume?"

"Christopher´s already there," Quintus said, almost apologetically. "He´s waiting for me." He´d hesitated momentarily, then, as though making amends for his curtness, "Would you like to join us?"

"Your friend will be with Matthew Seraphim, will he not?" she said neutrally.

"I think so," Quintus replied. For whatever reason, Christopher and the head of Gryffindor had been almost inseparable for the past few weeks. He couldn´t see the attraction, himself, but then Christopher, like Seraphim, was Muggle-born. These things mattered. "In which case," he´d added, suddenly feeling quite reckless, "you should definitely join us."

"Shall I save you from the great Chudley Cannons debate, then?" she asked. "Not to imply that Matthew Seraphim has only one topic of conversation, not at all."

"Well, whilst the children chatter..." Quintus had said, smiling, wondering where he´d heard that before.

"The adults can converse," the Divination teacher ended. Octavius Malfoy´s words from the pub only a few weeks earlier. Of course.

"And if truth be told, I loathe, despise and detest Quidditch. With a vengeance."

"Entirely understandable," she´d murmured, placing her hand on his sleeve again, manoeuvring him onwards, to where the lights of Hogsmeade beckoned in the distance. Lights that had become considerably dimmer since the outset of the Muggle war, despite the fact that Lumos Inc Fireflies were supposed to be invisible to people without magical blood. It was necessary to make some concessions, even if it was just for form´s sake. "Boys fiddling with their big broomsticks, and all that innuendo whizzing about..."

"You just can´t help yourself, can you?" he said, mostly to distract himself from the presence of her hand. She´d kissed his cheek when she´d thanked him, after Halloween. "Is it a Slytherin thing?"

"Probably," she said, flashing a brief grin. "We do seem to have rather dirty minds."

"Yes, well." He´d been mildly uncomfortable at that. "You´re all bloody good at it," he added.

"Don´t worry," she replied swiftly, ignoring the obvious response to that one and smirking as she did so. "I will leave your mind as innocent as I found it, Professor. You do have to set a good example to your cousin, after all."

Ignoring the fact that his cousin could probably do with a lot less innocence - at least, in that area - Quintus had sighed. "True," he said. "It´s a burden, but I can cope."

"It is what you´re here for, after all," she´d continued blandly.

He´d looked at her sharply, then controlled himself. It was fairly obvious - the Snape family most certainly did not need the small salary that he earned as a teacher, and he could have quite simply joined his family business after leaving school. If he hadn´t been ordered by Valerius to ensure his cousin learned what was necessary, of course. Elspeth Haven came from a good family, and, although he didn´t know her very well, he felt sure that she possessed the inevitable Slytherin cunning. And he knew damn well that Octavius did. The Defence against the Dark Arts teacher was undoubtedly fulfilling a similar role at Hogwarts for the benefit of his own family. After all, the Malfoy-Snape union depended upon how well he and Octavius succeeded with their respective relatives. It was a ritual performed by all the important families, irrespective of house. Wasn´t Lydia Grey, the head of Ravenclaw, keeping an eye on various distant relatives herself?

Nevertheless.

"I´m here to teach," Quintus had murmured quietly. It was necessary to maintain some small façade, after all. Especially when talking to someone closely linked to a Malfoy. "To expand young minds. Spread my hard-earned knowledge. Same as yourself, surely."

"Young minds are always in need of expanding," she´d agreed, her green eyes sparkling maliciously. "But you´re not much older yourself, are you?"

He glanced at her sideways. "Not by far," he admitted. "Does age bring more experience?" he asked, innocently, and had been pleased to see her mouth crook into a half-smile as she acknowledged - reluctantly - his barb.

"Age brings all kinds of experience," Elspeth had said, with the kind of smile that left him in no doubt as to which kind she was referring to. And no doubt that she´d be quite happy to expand his mind personally. Which was something he wasn´t averse to, as such, but still. He wanted to know the rules of her game before he committed himself.

"I supposed I shall have to wait and see," he´d hedged, skilfully negotiating a large puddle that was barely visible on the darkened road. "Only time will tell."

"Exactly," she replied, accepting what he had left unsaid with apparent satisfaction.

He´d delayed, but not refused. And wondered what he would do when the time came to make a choice.

"About time," Christopher - who was obviously already well on the way to complete inebriation - exclaimed plaintively as the Potions master and the Divination teacher entered the pub. "You´re already three drinks behind!"

"Only three?" Quintus said, as he sat down. He was impressed. "You´re outdoing yourself, Christopher. There was a time when you´d have been hopelessly paralytic after two."

"He´s had three small glasses of wine," Matthew Seraphim interjected, nodding coolly at Elspeth as she slid into the remaining empty seat. "All of them extremely watered down, I might add. So he´s not doing that well."

"I am a lightweight," the Chantwork teacher admitted gleefully. "But I like it."

"It´s fair enough," Quintus said. "Means I don´t have to include you in the next round. And, speaking of which, would you like a drink?"

Elspeth, to whom the question had been addressed, nodded and specified a very expensive and rare brand of white wine that, apparently, Gilly Grey held in stock purely for her.

"Oh, this wonderful world of purchase power," the head of Gryffindor muttered, very quietly.

The Divination teacher smiled, too sweetly. "And if you could order for Octavius as well," she said to Quintus, still smiling. "He´ll be joining me shortly."

"Certainly," Quintus said. It wasn´t as if he was strapped for cash. Valerius gave him a very generous allowance.

"What?"

"Vodka - Siberian Sizzle," Elspeth said, glancing at Matthew Seraphim. Quintus, following her gaze, saw the Flight instructor´s eyes narrow. "I personally find the stuff disgusting," she continued, her voice almost entirely free from inflexion, "which leads me to doubt Octavius´ standards somewhat - but perhaps it´s an acquired taste."

"Would that be straight?" Quintus asked, wondering what subliminal messages he was missing here.

"Oh, I expect so," Matthew had cut in, trying and failing to disguise a certain vicious sting in his tone. "He doesn´t strike me as the kind of man to sully pure vodka, after all."

"Oh yes," the Divination teacher replied, turning from Seraphim to Quintus with a rather nasty smile. "Straight. If you don´t mind?"

"Not at all," the Potions master had said, somewhat disconcerted by what he thought he´d understood from this little exchange. Octavius and - Seraphim? Although potentially amusing, it had been an uncomfortable reminder that Octavius Malfoy appeared to have set his sights on him. Is the man planning on going through all the Hogwarts staff? Seraphim. There really was no accounting for taste. And that goes for both of them. He was pleased to see that he wasn´t alone in his discovery - although befuddled by alcohol, Christopher, too, had noticed the interplay and was frowning thoughtfully at a splash of liquid on the table.

With the scene thus set, then, he´d headed off to the bar. But he´d been in no danger of missing the main action that night. Octavius, the key player, had already arrived by the time Quintus returned, and the play, written so carefully by the two Slytherins, could proceed.

Christopher, left alone to mediate between the two Slytherins and the Gryffindor, hadn´t seemed to be doing a particularly good job. Despite his highly colourful, and undoubtedly highly fictitious account of how Henry Jones Binns claimed to have discovered the Holy Grail - he does tend to run on at times, Quintus thought tolerantly - Christopher couldn´t prevent Matthew Seraphim from glaring murderously at the ice-blond Slytherin man. Nor could he have prevented his friend from seeing Octavius Malfoy return a slow smile that was more a twisting of the lips. It was the undisguised contempt in the blond man´s eyes that had the greatest effect upon the head of Gryffindor, however. His knuckles had turned white as he´d gripped his glass, his lips half parted and eyes narrowed in undisguised hatred.

"Drinks," Quintus said lightly, in an attempt to diffuse what had looked in danger of becoming a rather explosive situation. "Here."

Elspeth thanked him prettily, and had allowed her fingers to touch his as she took her glass from him, Octavius nodded without taking his eyes off the Flight instructor. And Matthew Seraphim matched him, glare for glare.

"Read any good books lately?" Christopher addressed Quintus directly, flippantly, obviously despairing of subtly defusing the tense atmosphere. His speech wasn´t quite as slurred as it had been a few moments earlier - obviously the close proximity of the DADA teacher hadn´t just had an effect upon Seraphim.

"No more so than usual," Quintus had replied, wondering just what was going on. "Yourself?"

"Only a few," Christopher said lightly, as Elspeth Haven murmured something inaudible into Octavius´ ear. "The trouble with teaching is that it takes up so much time."

"True," the Potions master said, feigning weariness and keeping a watchful eye on the other occupants of the table. Octavius had slipped a proprietary arm around his partner, who didn´t look at all displeased as she smiled at Quintus. "The children just don´t know what we´re giving up for their sakes, do they?"

"If you´re not up to the job," Octavius said, addressing the table apparently at random, "you could always resign. Find something more suited to your - talents."

It wasn´t what he said, as such, but the way he´d said it.

"I´m quite happy where I am," Quintus replied, knowing perfectly well that Octavius hadn´t been speaking to him. "Besides, young minds are always in need of expanding."

The Divination teacher buried her smile in her glass.

"He didn´t mean you," Matthew Seraphim said then, speaking for the first time since the blond man had joined them. His eyes were accusing. "Did you?"

Octavius Malfoy´s expression could only have been described as unpleasant. "Glad you decided to join the conversation," he said, with mock sincerity. "And of course, I had no doubts that Quintus would be able to fulfil his duty towards the witches and wizards of the future."

Just enough emphasis for Quintus to realize another thing. He´d known it before, of course, and it had been an issue before - but not recently. Not that he knew of, anyway, and not since he and Christopher had been pupils themselves. Now, perhaps, it would be slightly more awkward. To say the least.

"Quintus being pure-blooded, of course," Seraphim said, his voice dangerously low. "That is what you meant, isn´t it?"

Christopher, although drunk, had gone very still. Quintus cursed himself for not having foreseen such an occurrence earlier. With a Malfoy involved, for pity´s sake, it really had been exceptionally shortsighted of him.

"I said nothing of the kind," Octavius had said then. "But if you really want to make this a matter of blood purity -"

"You didn´t need to say it. And everything is about that, with you." Seraphim´s voice dripped venom, almost rivalling the DADA teacher´s.

Although Quintus had known that Christopher accepted his limited status as a Muggle-born - at least, theoretically - and had faced various slights due to this before - he also knew that with Octavius Malfoy and Matthew Seraphim involved, this had always been likely to get nasty. Personal. And although he´d made it a rule not to get overly involved in regards to this kind of thing - after all, he had his family to think of and he knew how Valerius would react were he to suddenly start championing equal rights - he knew that Christopher, more sensitive than was immediately obvious, would not take this particularly well. There was tradition, and Quintus accepted that, and then there was simple abuse.

"Oh, not everything, surely," Elspeth said, her voice laced with honey. It was almost too perfect - but the predatory glint in her green eyes, in stark contrast to her tone, reminded Quintus she, too, was a Slytherin. And, although he was in no danger of forgetting this, on very good terms with at least one Malfoy. He´d simply not seen this side to her before. "Why, I´ve heard Octavius has been most - open-minded - about such things in the past."

The head of Gryffindor favoured her with a scornful glance. "I´m sure you have," he´d said, coldly.

"Have you heard otherwise?" she asked, innocently. And leaned back slightly, against Octavius, making her position quite clear. In more ways than one. "Do tell."

It was going to get a lot more awkward, the Potions master had thought then. It wasn´t Seraphim he was bothered about, though. The Gryffindor could take care of himself, and obviously wasn´t going to let himself be intimidated by Octavius Malfoy. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Oh, I´m quite sure you´ve heard everything," Seraphim said viciously. "You´re as bad as each other."

"Just two dedicated teachers, trying to do our best for our pupils," Octavius said, not even bothering to conceal his smirk. "Just trying to be sure the rest of the staff shares our dedication."

"After all, it´s the children who´ll suffer," Elspeth said piously. "If your heart´s not in it, better to find yourself a more suitable job."

"Maybe you could take up professional Quidditch?" Octavius suggested, with an air of exaggerated solicitude.

"Oh?" Seraphim asked, controlling his evident fury. Quintus was actually impressed - the head of Gryffindor was being surprisingly restrained. For the moment. "And which of the three teams that don´t ban mudbloods would you recommend?" He´d practically spat the insult at them - getting there first, Quintus had thought. It wasn´t a bad tactic, although it certainly opened the way for more to follow.

"Please don´t use that type of language," Octavius said, with aristocratic languor. "There´s a lady present."

"The mudblood is sorry," Seraphim said, his attitude distinctly lacking in contrition. "The mudblood didn´t notice. The mudblood hopes she didn´t feel uncomfortable."

"Don´t be cross with us," Elspeth said wide-eyed, deliberately ignoring the insult. "Octavius is simply trying to be helpful. He just wants to make life easier for you, that´s all."

"We should all play to our strengths," the blond man - Constance´s uncle - said. "If flying´s what makes you feel more like a real wizard, then go for it."

"I´m touched," Seraphim sneered. "I didn´t think you cared."

"But there´s the rub," Elspeth Haven said then, with more than just a hint of malice as she ran her hand along Octavius´ arm. It was, Quintus had thought, almost as though she was staking her claim. And, if what he thought he´d learned earlier was correct, she very probably had been. "You did."

At that, the other man had turned a remarkable shade of pale. For a split second, Quintus, unsure of what he was looking for, had seen a variety of unreadable emotions flit across the Gryffindor´s face. Then -

"You bastard."

It had been said, quite simply, quite calmly, as if stating a well-known fact. It was as if Seraphim´s anger had suddenly drained out of him.

"My father would have had your heart ripped out if he´d heard that," Octavius replied, his voice the more deadly for its complete lack of anger. Calm. Matter of fact. "My brother and I might yet have you flayed. So just be grateful I´m feeling open-minded."

The head of Gryffindor just looked at him, and it was almost worse than it had been when he´d looked at Octavius with hatred, Quintus thought, because there was nothing in Seraphim´s eyes.

"I´m getting another drink," Christopher said suddenly. "Are you coming, Quintus?"

The others had barely noticed the Chantwork teacher stand, albeit somewhat uncertainly, caught up as they were in the intensely private drama unfolding. Quintus, however, had shaken his head, with a momentary pang of guilt as his friend shuffled over to the bar. The focus, however, wasn´t on Christopher. It wasn´t even about blood purity, as such. This was about Seraphim and Octavius and Elspeth. And Quintus had had to stay, because he´d wanted to know just what the two Slytherins wanted with him, and what they were capable of doing with him once they´d finished their game. Seraphim, then, there, was the end product, a warning to him. And maybe a warning to Christopher, too, he´d thought suddenly. A warning - to stay away from Seraphim? For what reason? He examined the obvious, and rejected it outright. Not that. These things were never as straightforward as they seemed.

"Cat got your tongue, little bird?" Octavius asked then, very, very quietly. His grey eyes were burning, alive. And so full of amusement.

"Shut up."

The softly spoken words hadn´t seemed to be coming from Matthew Seraphim. He´d been barely moving his lips. And, Quintus noted, there was still no discernable trace of emotion in his face whatsoever. There was just - nothing. It hadn´t even sounded like his voice.

"Can´t you fly, little bird?" The amusement in the blond man´s eyes reached his voice. Elspeth had glanced up at him, then and Quintus wondered whether she´d intended things to get quite this far. He could only guess at the significance of what Octavius had said - no doubt Elspeth knew perfectly well.

"I said shut the fuck up," Matthew Seraphim repeated, and this time he was anything but quiet. His voice carried as he half-stood, and quite a few people in the pub fell silent as they turned to watch. Elspeth slipped free of Octavius´ arm, distancing herself slightly. In anticipation.

Thank Merlin there aren´t any students, Quintus thought, glancing around uncomfortably. Christopher, at the bar, was steadfastly refusing to look, and for that he was grateful. His friend hated confrontations. Especially this kind.

"It would probably be best -" Quintus had begun, then stopped. Aware that a very public scene was only seconds away, aware that he had no idea how to break this up.

Nobody had been listening to him, anyway.

Octavius Malfoy smiled, arrogant and lethal. "You sang a sweeter song last time, little bird," he said, and although only three others heard, the entire room saw Matthew Seraphim kick back his chair and launch himself at the blond man, the table rocking wildly, ignored. The entire room saw Seraphim´s hands reach and find Octavius´ throat, saw Octavius´ face twist into its own brand of fury, saw the blond man´s chair topple backwards, spilling the two men onto the floor. Heard, most shockingly of all, Octavius´ laughter as he broke Seraphim´s grip with ease. Rich and vibrant and, appallingly, amused.

The silence that had reigned for a brief moment erupted into chaos. As Quintus and several others attempted to drag the two men apart, Gilly Grey, transformed into a scarily efficient peacekeeper by anything that disrupted the smooth running of her pub, snapped out a few words in a language that the Potions master didn´t understand. Trollish, he´d presumed whilst clutching rather feebly at Seraphim´s flailing arms, and he was more than grateful to see two sour looking security trolls emerge from behind the bar - heading their way. The crowd of people gathered around to watch Octavius and Seraphim make spectacles of themselves had dispersed quickly once the trolls had been sighted - no-one wanted to get on the wrong side of a troll, after all - and Quintus, too, stepped back.

Trolls, even when in what would pass for a calm mood, still weren´t particularly gentle - and these particular trolls were decidedly less than calm. Trolls did not like their drinking time interrupted, especially not by the antics of humans, and consequently Octavius Malfoy and Matthew Seraphim had received quite a few blows during the process of their separation. One troll fist caught the DADA teacher square on the jaw, but to his credit, Octavius Malfoy hardly responded. Although the look he shot at the troll in question wasn´t exactly friendly, not by a long shot. But Seraphim hadn´t come off any better, Quintus noted, after this, the Flight instructor would have several bruises that he couldn´t lay at Malfoy´s door.

"Enough," Gilly Grey had said then, addressing the entire pub. Her usual smile replaced with an angry scowl, she´d been watching it all from the bar. "This is a reputable Hogsmeade establishment, not a Knockturn Alley dive. If you want to fight, go elsewhere."

The trolls looked at her expectantly.

"Escort these gentlemen outside," she´d continued, "without any further scrapping. And I will have no further occurrences of this, do you understand?"

"Perfectly," Seraphim had said, through a bloody lip. Disentangling himself from the troll´s grasp - albeit with some difficulty - he stalked out without a backwards glance. As the door slammed behind him, Christopher, who´d been watching with what was, for him, an entirely unreadable expression, had looked down at his shoes.

Octavius Malfoy smiled. He would be sporting a black eye in the morning, and there were already red marks where Seraphim had gripped his throat, but he´d still managed to stare down the troll who was restraining him.

"I do apologize for the inconvenience," he said, smoothly regaining his poise, "I can assure you it won´t need to happen again."

Once was quite enough to make your point, Quintus thought. Or points, he´d amended, his eyes meeting Christopher´s from across the room. His friend, though, hadn´t smiled, and looked away.

Gilly Grey nodded, but she didn´t look particularly pleased. "Make sure it doesn´t," was all she said, however.

As the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher made a remarkably dignified exit, Elspeth Haven had followed with only a fleeting goodbye smile at Quintus. The Potions master, alone, had gone to join Christopher at the bar.

"Are you alright?" he´d asked. It hadn´t been pleasant for anybody - but Christopher was more likely to have taken offence. Octavius Malfoy had undoubtedly known that when he´d started the argument. He wasn´t the type to miss an opportunity, after all. Quintus thought he´d understood most of what had just happened - but it didn´t take a genius to work out that there had definitely been undercurrents that he´d missed.

The Chantwork teacher had smiled thinly, by then almost completely sober. "I´m better off than Matthew, at any rate," he said.

"He got a good few punches in himself," Quintus had replied, in what he´d hoped had been a reassuring manner. "They´ll both have some nice bruises tomorrow."

"He thinks we´re dirt," Christopher had said, abruptly, and he obviously hadn´t been referring to Matthew Seraphim. "I knew he didn´t like us. But I hadn´t realized it was quite that bad. Perhaps I´m just stupid."

Quintus looked at his friend, concerned. "Octavius is ... a trifle overzealous," he´d said. "To say the least. And," he added, although he wasn´t certain, "I think what just went on had more to do with matters of a more - personal - nature."

Christopher laughed, bitterly. "You can´t really get more personal. Family´s everything, isn´t that what your kind´s all about?"

Your kind. With those two little words, Quintus had realized that he was on dangerous ground. More so, in a way, than he´d felt whilst talking to the two ex-Slytherin teachers. This wasn´t a game, or politics; this was about him and Christopher. And, although he personally couldn´t care less whether Christopher´s parents were Muggles - they could have been Veela for all he cared - he knew that his friend would never be accepted into his world. His family´s world - Valerius Snape would never acknowledge Christopher, nor would any of the leading wizarding families. And, when he thought about it, he´d realized that that was the way it had to be. But he´d felt strangely guilty, then.

"Our kind," he´d said, quietly. "Ours."

"Matthew was right," Christopher continued, hardly listening. "All along, but I wasn´t sure. I thought he was just jealous, really, but I was wrong."

"Our kind," Quintus had repeated, more urgently. "Say it, Christopher."

His friend had just looked at him, almost blankly. "I´m going back to the castle," he´d said. "I´ll see you later."

*

"Far be it from me to come across as a git," Richard said casually, "or to give you the impression that you´re not welcome," he added, "but honestly - why do you bother getting the Hogwarts Express? Your little island paradise is all of half an hour away from here!"

"You ask me this every term," Aurelius said, carefully folding a pair of black silk pyjamas and tucking them into his suitcase. "And every term the answer´s the same: London. Shopping. Knockturn Alley. You just never listen, do you?"

"Far be it from me to come across as a heartless, insensitive cad," Richard replied, "but no. Either that, or I´ve just forgotten."

"And here I was, thinking that you hung upon my every word," Aurelius countered, his words weighted with sarcasm.

"Oh, I do," the brown haired Slytherin responded. "I was just trying to play hard to get, that´s all. Creating an aura of mystery, so to speak."

"How droll. Do it somewhere else, will you? I´m trying to pack." Leaving things to the last minute really isn´t advisable, Aurelius thought, ruefully. The Slytherin common room was awash with students frantically searching for their lost socks - or worse. The ancient green sofa had been turned upside down many times that week, and Aurelius just didn´t want to know what had been found down its back.

"And that´s another thing I don´t understand," Richard said miserably, looking at his own possessions with an air of complete dejection. "My suitcase looks like a bomb just went off in it."

"I feel your pain," Paul Tudor interrupted, looking over Richard´s shoulder as he passed by with an armful of crumpled robes. "Oh wait, I don´t. At least I let the house-elves wash my clothes from time to time."

"They use horrible washing powder," Richard said loftily. "My skin´s very sensitive. And screw you, my clothes have been washed!"

"By hand," Aurelius informed Paul. "In the lake. Still, whatever works for you, Marlowe."

"I´m wounded," Richard announced. "No, really. I am. Aren´t my housewifely skills enough for you? I´ve tried so hard!"

"Yeah?" Aurelius said unfeelingly. "Obviously not hard enough - look, don´t just squash all those trousers in like that, you need to fold them so they take up less room -"

"I´ve tried," Richard protested, eyeing his trousers dolefully. "But they seem to have developed sentience, and they just won´t behave."

"That is the most pathetic excuse I´ve heard for laziness in my life," Aurelius sighed. He took the pair of trousers from his friend, and began to fold them deftly. "And I´ve known Potter for six years, so that´s really saying something."

"Oh, do the world a favour and drink poison," Richard retorted. "And do me a favour whilst you´re at it - don´t look in those trouser pockets."

"Why not? Have you been growing cabbages in them, or something?"

"Not - quite," the brown haired boy said with a snigger. "Do mushrooms count as cabbages?"

"That is disgusting," Aurelius snapped, flinging the trousers across the room. "Fold them yourself."

"Oh, for pity´s sake, it was a joke! You know, those things that end in a laugh? You might remember them from those seriously brilliant books in the library like Carry On Laughing, or That Joke Isn´t Funny Anymore: So What Happens Now?"

"Oh, I´m sorry," Aurelius said scathingly. "But whilst you were reading those weighty tomes, I was obviously out reading trivial rubbish like How To Slice And Dice A Man In Ten Seconds Flat, or Don´t Look At Me Like That You Insufferable Git Or I´ll Kill You!"

"You know, I can feel an awful lot of hostility coming from you today," Richard said thoughtfully. "Was it something I said?"

"You really are just a simple creature," Aurelius Snape sighed, exasperated beyond words.

"My God," Paul said softly. As both boys turned to him, he began to laugh.

"What?" Aurelius said. "What´s so funny?"

"You two," he said, still chuckling. "You´re like an old married couple, or something. It´s pathetic."

"But at the same time, quite amusing," came the sepulchral tones of the apparently non-slumbering Simon Harper, startling them all. "And very sweet."

"Oh, yes, I´m not denying the saccharine nature of their love," Paul said swiftly. "But still, there´s a definite hint of pathetic."

"I´d go along with that," replied Simon, without opening his eyes. He lay resplendent, tucked up in a green and silver checked duvet. And he hadn´t done any packing whatsoever, Aurelius noted.

"Pathetic my arse," Richard replied. "I´ll have you know that I´m the saccharine one in this relationship. If you want pathetic, look at Aurelius. He´s still having trouble accepting things. I´m sure you know how it is."

Paul Tudor nodded sympathetically, and, before Aurelius could find words to express his outrage, "Just give him time, Dicky my dear. Time´s all he needs."

"You know, Paul, for once in your sorry life, I think you might be right," Richard said. "And if you ever call me Dicky again, I will slit your throat."

"Not if I slit it first," Aurelius growled. "And don´t think I´ve forgotten you, Dicky my dear."

"Are you planning on embarking upon a killing spree today?" A quiet, low-pitched voice that nevertheless carried across the room. "Because I´d rather you waited until the end of term. I´ll have to report you otherwise."

Aurelius eyed Tom Riddle suspiciously. Mind your own business, he thought, then rebuked himself. The half-blood hadn´t done anything wrong. That he knew of. Yet. "Probably not today," he said coolly. "Don´t worry."

"But if I wake up dead tomorrow," Richard said gleefully, "I want you to get Aurelius for me, alright Riddle? Extract a brutal and bloody revenge. Cut his tongue out, for starters, then use your imagination."

"Make him eat his parents," Paul chipped in. "He´s threatened me too, you know. I feel quite vulnerable now."

"Well," Riddle said, his face expressionless as he looked at Aurelius. "Aren´t you the dangerous one?"

What does he think he´s playing at? Aurelius wondered. He was quite sure that the half-blood had to be aware of the delicate relationship that existed between himself and Constance, and equally sure that Riddle was trying to create his own - delicate relationship. Even more sure that Riddle knew he wasn´t pleased about this situation. Even less pleased since Marcus had decided to invite the boy to Malfoy Manor for Christmas. Is he deliberately trying to piss me off?

"Don´t worry," he repeated, controlling his rising irritation very carefully indeed. There was no point in moving too swiftly towards a confrontation. He didn´t have the full measure of Riddle yet, he knew that, and although Aurelius knew that he himself was not half bad at dueling - the half-blood was an unknown. It wouldn´t do to be too cautious, however. "I´ll let you know if you´re in any danger."

"Thank heavens for small mercies," the half-blood said, and although Aurelius couldn´t be entirely sure, he thought there was more amusement than mockery in Riddle´s voice. Constance´s newfound friend was probably playing the same game. There would be no open conflict until one of them was certain of his advantage. But when that would be, Aurelius didn´t know.

*

"So which one is it?"

Without taking her eyes away from the mirror, Constance looked at reflection of the girl standing next to her. Admittedly, standing might perhaps have been an exaggeration - what Susanna Lessops was doing was more along the lines of lounging, sprawled against the bathroom wall. There was very little space in the girls´ toilets on the Hogwarts Express, but the dark haired Ravenclaw seemed determined to take up as much as she possibly could. Her cosmetics bag - which was rather nice, Constance noted - took up at least two thirds of the little shelf above the sink.

"Excuse me?" Constance said coolly. She hardly knew the girl, apart from exchanging the odd comment during Divination lessons, and didn´t consider herself the type to befriend random Ravenclaws. Not without good reason, anyway, and Aurelius had never stopped grousing about this girl during his Quidditch days. His disgruntlement might have been amusing (for about a week) but still.

"Which one is it?" Susanna repeated, entirely indifferent to her lack of warmth.

"Which one is what?" Constance asked, running a comb through her hair. She´d left Aurelius and Richard to their own devices in their shared carriage, glancing through the window of the carriage her brother had been sharing with Tom and several others as she passed. Regal Rosier and Felix DuPre had been deep in conversation, whilst Tom had been almost completely absorbed in his diary. He´d looked up as she´d passed, and although he hadn´t smiled he´d nodded slightly. She hadn´t seen Marcus at all. She wondered whether he was with Minerva McGonagall.

"Because it´s not fair if you´re doing both of them," the Ravenclaw continued blithely. "Unless you´re planning on sharing. Otherwise, like I said, it´s not fair."

No. I have not been that indiscreet. "At the risk of sounding ignorant, Lessops," Constance said, making her voice as frosty as possible and adopting what she hoped was an aloof expression, "I have no idea what you´re talking about. Now, run along and read a book or something. So much holiday, so little study time, after all."

Susanna arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Both of them, then? And digs at my house won´t offend me, by the way, because we´re above that kind of pettiness."

"Both of whom?" She wasn´t particularly keen on hearing the answer. "And, for the record, your house is only above that kind of pettiness because you´re all too boring to participate."

"I´m only asking because there´s a lot riding on it." The dark haired girl looked remarkably unruffled at the insult as she extracted a packet of cigarettes from the depths of her pocket. "I would like to prove Potter wrong. Even more than I´d like to win the jackpot, actually. It´s a matter of pride."

Constance sighed, aware that she´d have to investigate this. "Firstly, what are you talking about? Secondly, what´s Potter got to do with anything? And thirdly, what jackpot are you talking about?"

Susanna looked at her in mild surprise, before giggling. "You really don´t know, do you?"

"I don´t know anything other than the fact you´re talking shite," Constance said, beginning to lose her patience as the Ravenclaw lit her cigarette. "Although that explains why you keep your mouth shut in lessons - after all, you wouldn´t want to lose any more points, would you - I do wonder if you´ve confused me with someone else."

"Oh? Why would that be?"

"Because I don´t know you, for starters, and I´m not in the habit of indulging in conversation with complete imbeciles," she replied. "Unless we´re actually friends, and I´m suffering from selective amnesia. Either explain yourself, or go away."

"You´ve really hurt my feelings now," Susanna said. "But I forgive you. I must have you confused with another blonde Slytherin upon whose sexual habits the entire sixth year - and some of the sevenths too - are taking bets."

Constance turned away from the mirror. "What did you say?"

Susanna, assured of her audience, smiled and breathed out smoke. "You heard. So which one is it?"

"What, exactly, does this - bet - consist of?"

"A girl can´t stay friends with two boys for six years and not have something else going," the Ravenclaw said calmly. "It´s against nature. So, I ask again - is it Snape or Marlowe?"

Constance was outraged. Relieved, because Susanna obviously didn´t know anything about Tom, but still outraged. They´re taking bets on this? That´s pathetic. "Just how much is riding on this?" she asked, calmly. "And just how pitiful are the other three houses?"

"Jackpot´s standing at three hundred Galleons, so far," Susanna replied cheerfully. "It´s quite a bit, I think.. Oh, and your house is involved too. At first we were worried they´d be able to get inside information and clean up - but I have to say, you´re very good at hiding it."

"My house? Who?" Constance made a mental note to painfully torture any Slytherin stupid enough to get involved in such an enterprise. Paul and Simon - it has to be.

"Can´t say, sorry." Susanna took a long, slow drag on her cigarette, then exhaled equally slowly. "Gambler´s honour, that kind of thing. Wouldn´t be fair. Are you going to tell me?"

"Don´t be ridiculous," Constance said scathingly, and out of curiosity, "how much have you put into this? And what exactly does this bet consist of?"

"Well," the dark haired girl said smugly, "I´ve put in about thirty Galleons. And there are five options - either you´re screwing Aurelius, or Richard, or both - which would impress quite a few people, actually - or you´re a virgin, or you´re actually sleeping with one of the Slytherin girls. Seeing as you are of the immoral and evil Snake house, we were going to include incest, or inappropriate relations with either Professor Snape or Professor Cale - but we decided that that just might be too improper even for one of you hisslings."

Constance´s sense of outrage hadn´t diminished, but her sense of humour was rapidly growing. She wondered just how many people had placed the correct bet - but she certainly wasn´t going to ask. Not that. "You´re all wrong," she said, with an air of nonchalance. "If you really want to know, I´m sleeping with Professor Haven."

"Very funny," Susanna said, unimpressed. "We´ve done our research into that one already - one member of the Malfoy family´s enough, and that member isn´t you."

"You´ve done research into her? For what purpose?" She was impressed, actually. Never let it be said that the Ravenclaws´ obsessive attentiveness to detail doesn´t yield interesting results. What else do they know?

"We have complete dossiers on all the teachers," the Ravenclaw said casually. "Scandalous stuff, some of it. You wouldn´t think Bloom and Boot had it in them, really you wouldn´t. But anyway, answer the blasted question, I´m all agog."

"Before I answer," Constance said, knowing perfectly well that she wouldn´t and that only one of the possibilities was applicable to her - and even that wouldn´t be before long, she hoped - "tell me what Potter´s betting."

"Since you ask so politely, and I suppose it does concern you, he´s betting on both of them. At the same time, of course. There´s nothing he won´t put past you three."

"Well, he´s decidedly wrong," Constance said sternly, running the brush through her hair again. "Although such rumours could hardly hurt my reputation, I suppose. Maybe you could tell him that we´re looking for a fourth? Oh wait, no. Even Slytherins have standards, I´m afraid."

"Hang on to those standards," the dark haired girl said. "Even though you´re not Potter´s type, I can assure you that he wouldn´t be up to the challenge."

"Personal experience?" Constance asked, intrigued. Other people´s sex lives were rather interesting.

"Unfortunately," Susanna replied. "A moment of weakness that lasted two weeks."

"Was he, well...how can I put this in a way that isn´t horribly crass?" Constance asked, thinking about the humiliation potential that her friends could derive from this. Potter will be taught a lesson, oh yes.

"Any good?"

"That´s the one."

"I´m surprised I lasted two weeks, put it that way," the Ravenclaw said wearily. "Two minutes was more than enough, and that´s pretty much what I got."

"Oh," Constance said. "Can I make this public?"

"Information given to a Malfoy is generally expected to be made public," Susanna said. "You´re quite naïve, aren´t you?"

"I was being polite," Constance corrected her. "You should be flattered, because I normally don´t bother."

"Oh, I´m flattered, believe me. Anyway, am I correct in assuming that you´re a virgin then?"

"That´s a very personal question," Constance said, "and one I´m not intending to answer, because it could incriminate quite a lot of people. I do have other people´s reputations to protect, after all."

"I understand. Pringle and Groan would have a hell of a time getting new jobs at their age. Very considerate of you."

"The thought sickens me," the blonde girl said, somewhat revolted. "Although it is quite amusing."

"In a degenerate sense, naturally," Susanna replied. "I take it I´m not going to get anything of worth out of you, then?"

"You assume correctly," Constance said. "And "hisslings" was quite good too. I like it."

"Thought of it myself. I think it´s quite sweet. By the way - "

"What?" Constance asked, as the other girl broke off.

Susanna looked vaguely uncomfortable for a moment. "Well," she began, "if you´re not doing either of them - can I have one?"

Constance blinked. "Dare I ask to what end?"

"I would have thought that would have been self-evident," the other girl replied. "I don´t mind which one, I just wanted to get your consent."

"You don´t need my consent, for pity´s sake," Constance said, almost laughing at the absurdity. "I don´t own them." And it would certainly do Aurelius good. Not for the first time, she found herself wishing she´d been born male. They had it remarkably easy. Nobody would raise an eyebrow if Aurelius and some other girl had an arrangement similar to the one she herself had with Tom. It simply wouldn´t matter - in fact, it was normal. It was, in fact, quite surprising that Aurelius hadn´t set himself up already. And that, too, was something she´d have to think about. With Christmas coming so soon, and all that it entailed. Without wanting to, she winced. There will be blood.

"I´m not stupid," Susanna said, breaking her chain of thought. "But in situations such as this, it´s probably best to clear the way a little. Wouldn´t want to get on the bad side of a vicious little snake, after all."

"This vicious little snake doesn´t want to be scratched by a nasty old claw," Constance retorted. "Aurelius has told me what you´re capable of - and if it´s him you´re after, you might want to work on your technique a little. He´s not masochistic enough to enjoy being insulted."

"Good point," Susanna sighed. "But it is fun. What about Richard?"

"You might have to kill Teresa Symmonds if it´s Richard you´re after," Constance said knowledgably. "Or get yourself a lot of Slytherin friends so that when the proverbial shit hits the fan, you´ve got protection."

"Oh, I´m not bothered about her," the dark haired girl said, grinning. "She´s a bit - feeble. If you don´t mind me saying so."

"Not at all," Constance replied, only half sarcastically. Teresa probably wasn´t the best representative of House Slytherin to grace the hallowed corridors of Hogwarts, after all. "I´ve only known and shared a room with her for six years. Besides, you already insult Aurelius, why stop there? Take the piss out of all of us, why don´t you?"

"Another good point," Susanna commented. "You´re not as thick as you look. Anyway, with that out of the way, I´m off. The bet, however, isn´t, so feel free to stir things up a little. Live dangerously - make us Claws proud of you."

"My goodness," Constance said, unable to suppress a smile. She is the principle of Richard made Ravenclaw. And female, she added as an afterthought. "You Ravenclaws really are a sick little bunch, aren´t you?"

"It´s all in the name of research," Susanna retorted. "Rowena taught us well, and we love her for it. Anyway, you lot aren´t much better. The lovely little link between our two houses didn´t end with the Founders, you know."

"Salazar and Rowena," Constance mused. "There´s no actual historical proof of that. If I remember my third year History of Magic correctly, that is."

Susanna smirked. "If you say so, oh secretive Slytherin one. Just accept that I know more than you, in lessons, in life, in short - everything."

"Secrecy or not, my house is still better than yours." Then she took in the latter half of Susanna´s last remark. "And if you´re short of things to do, I recommend dropping dead."

"If I´m short of things to do, I´ll bear that in mind," Susanna said blandly, shoving her scattered possessions back into her cosmetics bag. She glanced into the mirror, scowled at her hair, and then headed for the door. "I´m off," she said unnecessarily. "Lovely talking to you, I´m really flattered that you deigned to acknowledge my existence, and now I´m going to drink various illicit beverages with a number of people in carriage number sixteen. I´d invite you to drop in, but they´re all scared of you."

"You´re not."

"I´m just a good actress. Really," the dark haired girl said, rolling her eyes. "I quiver, I shake, I shudder - and Potter´s not even in the room. Wonders will never cease."

"Oh, get out, do," Constance said. "Incidentally, you might stand a better chance with Richard. Teresa or no Teresa. Aurelius when mortally offended isn´t exactly welcoming."

"Well, put in a good word for me!" Susanna chirped, and with that, she was gone.

Right, Constance thought, staring at herself in the mirror. Aurelius. There was no polite or tactful way to express what she was planning on doing, even less so if Susanna was going to get herself involved. And, for the information that Susanna had shared with Constance, the Slytherin thought that she couldn´t, in the name of exchange, deny the dark haired girl the right. For a moment, she marvelled at the Ravenclaw who appeared so deceptively shy at least ninety percent of the time, then shook herself. She needed organization. Once she´d done what she needed to with Aurelius, it could only improve the situation with Tom if he were to turn his attentions elsewhere - to Susanna, in fact. But until then, she didn´t want any competition. Not on that front. There was a time and a place for everything, after all. And, Constance thought, scowling at her reflection, she´d make damn sure that those people involved in this bet would pay for it. Sooner or later. Even if this wasn´t top of her list of priorities at the moment, it was simply a question of dishonour. However amusing Richard might find it - and he would - she wasn´t the type to let something like this go unpunished. Neither was Aurelius.

I do seem to have a wonderful talent for complicating things, she thought, pensive for a split second. But she was perfectly capable of coping with it. Chewing her lip thoughtfully, she left the bathroom.

*

"Ambition isn´t something you can define in terms of morality," Tom said, turning away from the car window to face Constance. "It´s neutral," he continued. "It transcends such over-simplification. It´s possibly the purest emotion - if you could call it that - that´s possible to man."

"Or woman," she supplied unhelpfully. She couldn´t help but wonder how their conversation had taken this turn, but it was obviously something that Tom had given great thought to. Marcus, since guiding them to the car that had been waiting for them outside the train station, had shown little or no interest in talking. He´d been engrossed in a copy of his favourite book - undoubtedly perfecting the minutiae of his assault upon Minerva McGonagall. The driver, one of her father´s men, was separated from them and probably wouldn´t have been interested even if he could have heard.

Tom didn´t frown, exactly, but a faint flicker of impatience crossed his face. "Woman too," he said, "but you understand."

"I think," Constance said, planning her words with care, "we´re the same in that respect. All Slytherins are - and if they aren´t, they should be. Ambition isn´t evil, and therefore the baggage that that term carries shouldn´t be applied to it?"

"It´s beyond good and evil," Tom replied. "Whatever those things are. I´m afraid that I don´t share the black and white world view that so many others seem to subscribe to."

"You don´t believe in them?" Constance asked, only slightly surprised. They were rather abstract terms, but still.

"Good and evil imply that there´s a universal code of morality," the son of Styliane Zalaras said seriously. "A higher law. And as I don´t believe in a god, rather, the ability of humankind if you will to become Godlike, no, I can´t say that I do believe in good and evil."

"The universe is entirely indifferent," Marcus said lazily, flicking past a couple of pages then putting his book away. "There´s no-one to judge us."

Tom nodded. "Exactly," he said, satisfied. "And, as the only way to become Godlike is to rid oneself of such fallacies as morality - after all, if God exists, he doesn´t exactly show much interest either way - then we, as Slytherins, already possess the key quality."

"Ambition?" Constance asked. She wasn´t used to philosophical discussions - she found them entirely too logical for her liking - but it was a fascinating insight into Tom´s mind and not an opportunity she was about to pass up.

"Ambition," Tom confirmed. "If we can take it to its purest level, with no hypocritical concessions to meaningless moral codes, then we are the ones who will find it easiest to become divine, and the only judgment that matters will be our own."

"I´m not entirely sure I understand," Constance admitted. "I´m not cut out for philosophy. Or logic. Or thinking, for that matter. I just am, I don´t think about why."

"Cogito ergo sum," the half-blooded Zalaras stated. "But that´s the difference between us, because whereas you live without the need to reason, my life is a constant - and conscious - exercise in philosophy."

"To put things simply for your young and inexperienced mind," her brother said, smirking at her, "Slytherins are the best, and Gryffindors are just a bunch of virtuous idiots."

"That was - something of an exaggeration," Tom Riddle said mildly. "Gryffindors confuse bravery with virtue. That´s their only failing."

"And it´s quite a serious failing," Constance said, feeling that she was on safer ground. "They can get incredibly self-righteous about it."

"And thus endeth the lesson in ethics," Marcus said. "Because we´re home."

Although Malfoy Manor was certainly no novelty to either Constance or Marcus, they still fell silent as the car drew to the end of the long, winding Northumbrian road. The first view was always the most impressive, she thought, both pleased that Tom would see just how aristocratic wizarding families should live, and abashed at the same time. Tom´s mother´s blood was as good as her own, and yet he lived with Muggles and Constance did not.

And the first view was, indeed, impressive. Even to her. The road, which had been heading downhill, ended at ornately wrought iron gates - not the only way to get past the stonewalls which circled the grounds of her home, she and her brother had found at least five others from which to get out, but the only way in which anyone could get in. The walls were, as far as she knew, all that was left of the original Malfoy estate - the manor itself had been reconstructed about a hundred years before, along Regency lines, but the walls dated back to the eleventh century. Beyond that, an invited visitor could see the lake and the family gardens - stretching quite a way, too - and then, of course, the Manor itself. The architects her family had employed in the early 1800s had had only one thing in mind - elegance. The white marble, the Queen Anne windows, in fact, the visible aspect of the house was a far cry from the grim, imposing home of the Snape family - but then, the remote area in which Aurelius lived had been prone to far more wizarding conflicts right up until the end of the last century, in fact. It had been necessary for the Snapes to maintain a decidedly intimidating appearance - and Constance personally thought it rather suited them. Aurelius´ home could never be described as welcoming, but it had its own beauty. Stark, austere, and designed to terrify. It was rumoured that their gargoyles could actually be awakened in times of need - but that certainly hadn´t happened within living memory. Not that Aurelius would share with her all his home´s secrets. Some things were strictly family business. The architects who´d redesigned her home hadn´t known the half of what had been done by Alexandre and Analivia Malfoy afterwards.

Elegance, of course, could be intimidating in its own way. It was a calculated display of wealth - and those found lacking would know about it. And apart from that, her family home had its own defences. Unwanted visitors, undesirables, or even the plebeians as her father liked to call them when he was waxing lyrical, would find them out for themselves.

As the gates swung open, and the car passed through to travel along the white gravel pathway, Tom was silent, looking out of the window. She wondered, not for the first time, what he was thinking. And also wondered - mentally sighing at her own slowness - why she´d never found out just what had happened to the Zalaras family home. By all rights, he should have been living there.

"Incidentally, mother´s not in," Marcus said, as they passed the two carved dragons that flanked the main entrance. "She´s in New York."

"And why is it that I did not know about this?" Constance demanded. "And what´s she doing there, and how long will she be?"

"She´s shopping," her brother informed her. "Under the pretext of visiting the Unmentionables."

Constance repressed the urge to snort. "A very thin pretext indeed."

These particular Unmentionables, of course, were the Malfoy émigrés. That branch of the family, having moved to America in 1888, and her branch of the family, were not on speaking terms. There was a reason for this - and it had a lot to do with her great-grandfather and his cousin taking opposing sides during the last wizarding war of the nineteenth century. Peace would undoubtedly be made at some point in the future - after all, family was family, but Constance´s mother had been born a Zabini and apart from that, was decidedly lacking in the necessary diplomatic skills to reunite them. As much as it pained Constance to admit it, the only diplomatic skills her mother possessed involved the ability to inform someone that their colour co-ordination was entirely wrong - and she wasn´t really much good at that, either. Tact had never been a Zabini trait, and her mother was no exception.

"Wars may rage, and the world might end tomorrow, but mother will always find a way to spend our hard-earned money on something," her brother said, for a brief instant sounding very like Richard.

She´d fill Tom in that area of her family´s history later, although if truth were to be told, he seemed far more interested in the décor than her mother´s American antics. As Marcus disappeared down the central passage leading to the kitchens, Tom was looking at the chandelier, the paintings, the spiral staircases, with undisguised fascination. And something more, something she couldn´t identify. His eyes were shining. It could have been delight, it could have been envy, or it could have been something else entirely.

"The elves have our things in hand," she said softly, looking at him as, head tilted back, he began to turn in a slow circle, taking in the hall again. "I´ll show you to your room - dinner won´t be long."

She wasn´t sure if he´d heard her at first, he showed no acknowledgement that she´d spoken - but then he turned to her so swiftly that she almost jumped.

"Yes," he said, smiling as he took her hand, "this is the place. This is right."

Constance smiled back. This was her home, this was her place, and he was part of it. Part of the spell, part of the family that was for some reason entwined with her own, and it was fitting, very fitting, that the blood magic of the Fidelius Familia Charm would be performed here, in Malfoy Manor, very soon. And then everything would be clear. The blood would wash away to reveal the secret, and if there was a sacrifice to be made with Aurelius, then it was all right, it would be worth it, because it was a sacrifice made upon Tom´s behalf. They had been linked for centuries. Her family and his, and he was the last of his line.

Loyalty mattered. Always.

*****