The Serpentine Chain Part 1 - Year Of The Snake

The Serpentine Chain Part One

Chapter Eighteen - Driven Like The Snow

The Head of Gryffindor had listened to Christopher's account of his conversation with the Potions master in sympathetic silence. To his eternal credit, Matthew Seraphim said nothing that resembled an I told you so - although Christopher felt it would have been justified. Instead, he was quiet for a moment as he digested what he had just been told, his brown eyes compassionate, and what he'd said next hadn't quite been what Christopher had expected.

"It hurts, doesn't it?"

"What are we supposed to do about it?" Christopher asked, preferring not to state the obvious answer to his friend's question. "What am I supposed to do?"

Matthew looked at him intently. "What can you do? He appears to have made his choice."

Christopher sighed. He hated the very thought of it; that Quintus would willingly, deliberately place Octavius Malfoy and Elspeth Haven over him. Even if the Potions master had his family's interests to look after, it did hurt. And he hated more the fact that despite his naïve hope that Quintus would behave differently, he'd known deep down that it couldn't be any other way. Quintus was the way he was, the way he'd been brought up. However much Quintus had tried to make Christopher feel welcome, that time he'd gone to Summerisle, however much Quintus had protested that he didn't feel the same way as his family about Muggleborns - when it came to the crunch, the Potions master would put blood first. It wasn't always a bad thing, Christopher told himself, loyalty to one's family was traditional in the Muggle world as well; from the ancestor worship of ancient races to the simple dictum honour thy father and thy mother. It was just that this was different. If Octavius Malfoy were working for Grindelwald, the repercussions would be terrible.

And although Christopher didn't want to believe that Quintus would ever do anything to support the Dark Lord, either directly or indirectly, he knew that his erstwhile friend would do whatever was best for his family.

"Yes, he has," the Chantwork teacher admitted, though the words tasted bitter to him. "So - what happens now?"

Matthew exhaled slowly. "Now?"

"Yes, now," Christopher replied. "What do we do? Does - does Dumbledore know?"

"No. Not yet." Matthew paused. "But he will have to be told."

"And afterwards?"

"We follow his lead," the Head of Gryffindor said, almost apologetically. "I don't know what he'll say. Or do."

Silence followed, as both men occupied themselves with their thoughts. Christopher had grown to hate it, silence, since the death of his brother. No longer the peaceful companion he'd known and appreciated since he'd been a child, no longer the two-bars rest that heralded the return of a familiar well loved tune. Silence itself had taken on new meaning. It had texture. It had form. Between himself and Quintus, silence said more than words. Silence had a voice. He hated everything about it.

"The Ministry has already stepped up security here," Matthew said eventually.

"I know." There were Aurors all over Hogsmeade. Around the Ministry, Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley. For the first time in approximately two centuries, the wizarding world had a strong military presence. It was headline news, and it wasn't enough, not nearly enough to satisfy the growing discontent amongst the wizarding community. The owls that had delivered warning letters to every seventh year, depriving Dippet's carefully worded speech of any real meaning, they'd hit the news tomorrow. The wizarding world didn't have the terminology, had never needed it. Warfare amongst wizards had never been on this large a scale. Had never been like this. The Muggle word had echoed in the Great Hall. Conscription.

Christopher and Matthew were used to the idea. They had relatives in the Muggle world, knew how it worked. Their parents had seen the First World War through. For the majority of students, it was something new. Something unfamiliar, frightening.

"The Headmaster's going to stop Hogsmeade visits too," Matthew said.

That, Christopher hadn't known. "For everyone?"

His friend shook his head. "Seventh years can still go. But in supervised groups; and certain areas of the town are off limits."

"How do you know?" Christopher asked, although he thought he could guess.

"Albus and I were talking. It was his idea."

"But if the students are attacked -"

"He said that the Aurors ought to be sufficient to deter any attack," Matthew said doubtfully. "But I got the impression that he thinks the seventh years should have an idea of what it will be like for them - next year. I don't think he'd deliberately send them into danger - but I can't help feeling he wants them to know what they'll be up against."

"It's risky." Christopher was somewhat surprised at the seemingly mild Transfiguration teacher's idea. "What if there was real trouble? The students could be in serious danger - not to mention that Dumbledore could lose his job over it."

Matthew shook his head, smiling a little. "It's the Headmaster who will have to take responsibility," he said. "Not Albus. The idea might have been his, but it's Dippet who will enforce it."

The Chantwork teacher thought about that for a while.

"It's always been about Albus," Matthew added softly. "It's harsh, and a little unfair, I admit - but we need Albus more than Dippet. Our side needs him."

*

"If it's not over soon, we'll have to join up next year," Richard said, scowling darkly at his Potions essay. "Do you have any idea how much that will ruin my plans?"

"What plans?" Aurelius asked. "You've never had any plans."

"Just because I haven't seen fit to pour out my heart to you doesn't mean I don't have anything planned," Richard replied, his scowl deepening. "And there's no point in me telling you now, because no doubt we'll all be packed off to the front and slaughtered. Without even a say in the matter."

"We have another year," Aurelius pointed out quietly, although he in truth wasn't happy about the situation, not in the least. It would really fling a spanner into the Snape works in the unlikely event that he were sent abroad to fight.

Richard looked at him. "I have another year. You won't have to go anywhere, will you?"

Aurelius blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You're too important to lose," his friend said flatly. "You being the only son. Your father will have sorted something out with the Ministry. He can afford it."

And that was the reason for Richard's bitterness, Aurelius realized then. His family was wealthy and powerful enough to get him out of any situation - but the Marlowes' financial situation hadn't been healthy for a very long time. Nor did the status of a pureblood wield as much strength as it once had in the eyes of the Ministry. Richard would have no choice but to obey his summons when it came.

If

it came. Aurelius had not forgotten his father's fury at the Ministry's betrayal. A helping hand from the Snapes might be all Grindelwald needed to tip the balance in the struggle for Britain. And no doubt the Lord of Webs would be more than willing to accommodate the needs of the Snape family - and their friends.

"The war might be over by then," Aurelius said, distracted. "Besides, there's more to it than just fighting. We'll all be assigned to different departments depending on our strengths; you'd probably end up doing something tactical. Or strategic. Because of your Arithmancy thing."

Richard shrugged impatiently. "It's not the getting hacked to bits by a bunch of Grindelwald's friends that bothers me - well, it does, obviously - but I just don't want to be involved in any way whatsoever. I said I had my own plans."

"You don't mind if Grindelwald wins, then?" Aurelius said cautiously, his voice lowered so that the students seated nearby couldn't hear.

His friend scowled, but answered with what seemed like startling honesty. "Would it make any difference whatsoever to me and mine? We're dirt poor now; we'd be dirt poor if he won. The only we could make any change in our situation is if we had something to sell someone. The Ministry, or Grindelwald. I'm not fussy. But we don't."

"Is that the way your parents feel?" the Snape heir asked.

"No," Richard answered shortly. "But like I said, we've got nothing special to offer either side. I want to make my own way."

"How?" Aurelius was curious, aware that Richard had never mentioned what he planned to do after leaving school, not in any serious way. "What would you do? If you could?"

"Work in the City," his friend answered promptly. "There's a fortune to be made if you're willing to take the risk, and it's not like I've got much to lose."

"The Wizarding Stock Exchange?" Aurelius queried, puzzled. "Surely waiting until the war's over won't affect your plans that much."

Richard looked embarrassed. "Well, maybe not, but I'm not going into the WSE. I'm going into the City."

It took Aurelius a moment, then, "The Muggle City?"

"Indirectly," Richard answered, looking more and more uncomfortable. "You see, I got offered a job at Gringotts after the NEWTs -"

Aurelius cut him off. "You never told me! Explain."

Richard proceeded to do so, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. "Well, because of my Arithmancy result in the OWLs, I was introduced to some people on the Board at Gringotts by one of my father's friends, and, along with some others, had to take an impromptu examination in front of them. I didn't hear anything from them during them summer, but my confirmation letter came from the Board today, offering me a post in the Investment Department."

"Don't you need your NEWTs?" asked Aurelius.

"The offer's conditional," Richard replied. "But I only need to pass - Arithmancy's the important one."

"But what's it got to do with Muggles?" Aurelius was mystified.

"Muggle activities and wars often affect the wizarding community," Richard said knowledgeably. "Studying their politics often means that certain Gringotts clients get distinct advantages in investments, or business deals. And I'd be in the middle, sort of, as the Gringotts Investment Department works very closely with Muggle financiers."

"Oh," Aurelius said, thinking privately that it sounded like a respectable version of the way in which various well known wizarding families had gained wealth through initiating and taking advantage of Muggle conflicts in previous centuries. His respect for his friend increased somewhat. "So you've been learning about the Muggle world to further your own career purposes?"

Richard grinned. "Well, it certainly wasn't for fun," he said.

"Have you told anyone else?" Aurelius asked.

"Not yet," Richard answered. "I wanted to test the waters first - Muggles aren't exactly a hot topic amongst Slytherins."

Aurelius laughed. "So that's why you've been dropping in casual references to Muggle culture from time to time? You idiot, it's not like you're going to snap your wand in half, is it?"

"No," agreed Richard. "But you wouldn't catch a Malfoy having anything to do with Muggles," he pointed out.

Aurelius shrugged. "Not now, maybe," he said. "But it's the same with all the very old families - nobody knows exactly what we got up to in the past. A couple of hundred years adds respectability to anything."

"My family's always been - linked - to Muggles," Richard admitted dismally. "You know, four hundred years ago, one of us actually went and lived as one. Even though he came back to the fold, it doesn't create a good impression."

"Just try not to marry one," Aurelius said, smirking. "Teresa would be devastated."

Richard continued, ignoring his friend's last remark, "I also don't want everyone to say, "well done Richard," and then later discover that I've failed all my NEWTs and have to scrub tubeworms off your cousin's desks for a living, either."

"My cousin wouldn't have you," Aurelius said, mockingly. "You need qualifications to assist Potions masters, I'll have you know."

Richard pulled a face. "There was a subtle hint in what I just said, by the way."

Aurelius got it. "Well done, Richard," he congratulated his friend.

For a while after that conversation, Aurelius' mind kept returning to the conscription issue, amongst other things. He wrote to his father, to find out if he would gain exemption from military service after his final exams, and was somewhat relieved to learn that Valerius Snape had matters well in hand. It was one less thing to worry about, at any rate.

*

Dippet's announcements had been met with mixed feelings amongst the staff. The decision to stop Hogsmeade visits hadn't surprised anyone, although several teachers had wondered aloud why the seventh years would still be allowed into what was potentially a risky environment.

"And just who is expected to supervise them?" Octavius Malfoy had asked, with more than a little disgust.

Armando Dippet peered at him. "Why, you are, of course," he'd said placidly.

"All by myself?" the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher had said, rather piling on the sarcasm in Quintus' opinion.

"No, no," Dippet said, "all the staff, in turns. I'll be drawing up a rota naturally."

"Oh, naturally," Octavius had replied, "we wouldn't want the whole thing to be a complete shambles."

It had been Dumbledore, sitting to the right of the Headmaster, who had frowned then. Gazing at the blond haired teacher, he'd asked with a hint of steel in his usually mild voice whether Octavius doubted the Headmaster's judgment.

"I think it's a good idea," Matthew Seraphim had said then, before the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher could reply. "Gives the students a bit more experience, even if it is only in safety drills."

"It's nothing compared to what they'll have to face when they leave anyway," the Head of Ravenclaw said gloomily. "Such a pity - they're so young. I'm not criticizing the Ministry's decision, mind you, I just wish it wasn't necessary."

"Alas," Dumbledore replied sadly, "these dark times call for unpleasant measures."

"I agree," Christopher said with what Quintus thought was unusual determination. "The more we can do to prepare them for what's coming, the better. It's not going to be easy for them when they join up. It's going to be awful."

The Potions Master wasn't sure exactly how he felt about the Hogsmeade issue. He'd been more concerned with the gathering of teachers, the first time he'd been in the same room as both Octavius Malfoy and Christopher Cale in quite a while. His mind hadn't really been on the subject at hand, but was wandering back to the last time he'd talked to Christopher. He hadn't spoken to his friend since the Chantwork teacher had walked out of the staffroom after trying to warn him about Octavius and Elspeth. It wasn't that he wanted to do without Christopher - he'd found that he missed his company badly - it was that things had just changed too much for them ever to regain the easy familiarity they'd once had. The blood issue had finally become personal for them, and there was no way to change that. There would only be silence now, or worse, awkward, meaningless conversation.

"Knut for them?"

Unmistakable, her voice, and that was another thing he worried about. But he'd made a private resolution during the staff meeting to sort this business out once and for all, and he would stick to it.

"They're not worth even that, I'm afraid," he replied.

"If there's anything I can do to help," she said then, her hand resting lightly upon his shoulder, "do tell me. Sharing the burden makes the bearing so much easier, after all."

"So I've heard," Quintus answered, then took a deep breath and went for it. "Perhaps you should tell me about your spider tattoo, then?"

Elspeth's fingers, which had moved upwards to entwine themselves gently in his hair, were still as he turned to look at her, and her face was solemn. "Ah," she said. "I wondered if you'd seen that."

"After the Halloween feast, in your room. You must have known I'd seen it. I was certain that Octavius had seen me looking."

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "he did. But - you didn't say anything about it for so long. He began to think he'd been mistaken. That you'd just been, well, eyeing me up."

"No," Quintus said, refusing to be distracted. "I saw it. I want to know what it means."

She was silent for a long moment, then, her hand slipping away from him. "I won't insult your intelligence by asking why you didn't think to find out yourself," Elspeth said, slowly, as though thinking out loud. "The information you'd find from books is limited, to say the least. But you must have drawn some conclusions yourself."

The Potions Master smiled thinly. "I suppose I needn't point out that Grindelwald's emblem is a spider. I can only assume - from what little I've been able to pick up - that the image of the arachnid is important to all Seers. Not just visionweavers."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "You want to know whether I'm working for Grindelwald? Or whether I'm a visionweaver? Two rather opposing positions, don't you think - and I could just like spiders, after all."

He didn't bother answering, but waited for her to continue.

"I suppose you've worked out for yourself that I'm no visionweaver," she said then, resignedly. "My situation here would be impossible if that were the case. But I have never worked for Grindelwald, in any capacity. The tattoo - is personal. And not something I intend to discuss with you."

"Is that the truth?"

"Would you believe me if I said yes?" she countered instantly.

"Has Octavius?" Quintus asked, ignoring her question. "Worked for Grindelwald?"

She smiled at that, although her eyes looked tired. "Do you really think he tells me everything? That I share everything with him?"

"So your information is limited," the Potions master said, deliberately throwing her words back at her. "But you must have drawn some conclusions yourself."

"And I am not bound to share them with you," she answered coolly. "I have given you an answer to your first question - but I will not speculate about Octavius' past for your benefit. If there is something you want to know, perhaps you should ask him."

"An interesting conversation that would be," Quintus said snidely. "Hello Octavius, I've been screwing your girlfriend, oh, and have you been working for Grindelwald lately?"

"Do you really think it's anything he hasn't had to discuss before?" she asked. Her voice was scathing.

"I don't know," the Potions master retorted, wondering why he'd let the conversation become so pointed. "I've no idea what you've been up to in the past, although you seemed to have no qualms about switching from him to me - so maybe I've attributed too much significance to the whole situation, you're just fickle and I'm only the latest in a long line."

With some satisfaction, he noted that her cheeks were slightly flushed and her eyes sparkling. She was furious, he could tell. And perhaps a little hurt. Maybe it would make her more talkative. "Hit a nerve, have I?" he asked.

"I don't - I've never -" she began tremulously, then paused to compose herself. When she did speak, it was with the iciest, coldest tone he'd ever heard. Impersonal, as though she were deliberately trying to detach herself from what she was saying. "I have been with Octavius since I was fourteen. Since then - until you - there has been no one else for me. Do you understand that? Do you think that he can say the same, that he has been faithful only to me? Do you think that after nineteen years of overlooking these other women, other men, I would do this - with you - because I'm fickle?"

In stark contrast to her cold tone, she almost spat the last word at him. He flinched slightly, feeling a pang of guilt. "I didn't mean to offend you," he said, not exactly truthfully. "I would just like to know where I stand."

"Ask me then," she said, her voice suddenly calm again. "I will answer as best I can - for myself."

He nodded slowly, accepting that and what she'd left unsaid. "I asked you once before," he said, "if there was something you wanted from me. Now I ask you again. Why did you start this?"

Her eyes sought nothing from him but met his gaze squarely as she answered. "Because I needed you."

The truth, at last, and although it wasn't exactly flattering he welcomed it. "Why?"

She hesitated. "You are a Potions master," she said at last. "And I am a Seer."

Quintus exhaled softly. "I - had thought of that," he admitted. "Only I'd thought it was visionweavers who tended to die young, not Seers."

"In general, yes," Elspeth answered. "But it's different for me. I've been visioning longer, and more intensely - my body has been exhausted too many times. If I carry on like this -"

"So you only wanted me for my skills as a Potions master," Quintus said quickly, to cut her off before she could say exactly what would happen. "And I presume Octavius knows all about it."

"Yes," she confessed. "Well. To a certain extent."

"Does he know I've slept with you? Or was it his idea?" He wasn't sure which of the two possibilities disturbed him the most. And, thinking about it, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer either so continued quickly, "You could have just asked me for my help. You didn't need to - go as far as you did."

"I didn't need to." It wasn't quite a question, wasn't quite a statement. There was something in her eyes that he couldn't read, couldn't begin to decipher. "But perhaps I wanted to."

He wondered whether he could believe that, and decided against it. Then decided it didn't matter anyway. She'd done what she felt she had to, he supposed, and although he didn't like it, it was understandable. "What is it you want me to brew?" he asked, almost gently. "I'll see what I can do, but I can't make any promises. You know the consequences if we're discovered. Life in Azkaban won't do either of us any good."

Elspeth smiled bitterly. "You'd be prepared to risk it, even after what I've done? I doubt that."

"I'd think about it," he answered, not prepared to give her any more at that point. "It wouldn't be easy. Not with the extensive background inspections the Ministry's starting to carry out. I'd have to be so careful - a slip from either of us would send us both to prison."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to me!" That made him angry, and he didn't feel bad about showing it. "I'm not going to prison for you. Certainly not now. If I ever would have done, that is."

"I meant - it doesn't matter about the potion," she explained patiently. "I couldn't ask you to do it. It would be too great a risk, and for nothing."

"Nothing?" he repeated, confused. There was something about her fatalistic tone that went against the grain. It was hard, to equate the woman standing before him with an ailing invalid - but he had seen for himself how much visioning took out of her. She's withstood that, for thirty odd years? "The potion would help. It'd give you extra time, it'd keep you alive - admittedly it's risky, it's not exactly moral - but it's not for nothing."

She looked uncomfortable, and shockingly, close to tears. "There's something I haven't told you."

"What?" he asked warily.

"I said that when I started this, it was because I needed your skills. That was true," she said, and now she could not meet his eyes. "I'd had various signs, you see, and I thought that you were the way out but - I Saw it, clearly, it's nothing to do with potions, it's nothing to do with me having the Sight, it's just me in the wrong place at the wrong time and there's nothing I can do about it!"

"Oh gods," he murmured as her words rang out in the still air, and the gravity of her situation sank in. What must it be like, to see your own death? "Elspeth - are you sure?"

She nodded dumbly.

"There's nothing that can be done?"

"You can't cheat death," she said, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. "And Octavius doesn't know, you see, he thinks I'll be fine if I take a few potions - I don't want him to know."

He couldn't take his eyes off her. He couldn't imagine what it would be like, to have foreseen your own death. It was worse than anything he could imagine. "I won't tell him," he managed. "You have my word on that."

"It means a lot to me," she said. "Thank you."

"Is there anything I can do? To make things easier?" he asked then, and instantly cursed himself for being a tactless idiot. He'd only meant to offer her comfort, instead it had sounded as if he were offering to put her down.

Elspeth looked at him sharply, and then as if coming to some decision she said almost apologetically, "I'll understand if you want to refuse - only, I don't want to be by myself. Not tonight."

Knowing what he did, Quintus didn't think there was any way he could refuse her. Even though he now had a great many questions - why would she not tell Octavius? Why was she with him instead? Why had she continued with her pursuit of him knowing how fruitless it would be? - he ignored them and stepped forward to hold her.

*

Although she'd seen them several times in the Zalaras Wing at nights, and knew that they too were part of Tom Riddle's group, Constance had learned not to publicly acknowledge Felix DuPré or Regal Rosier any more than was absolutely necessary. Although they were her brother's friends, she was to spend as little time as possible in their company during school hours. Tom had gone to great lengths to impress upon her the need for absolute secrecy. Anything out of the ordinary, he'd said, any change in her usual social routine could be spotted. And she had to admit; it didn't bother her too much. She'd known Felix fairly well, although he'd never been a particularly close friend of hers - but she'd never liked Regal and had never had any plans to cultivate his companionship.

"He's always seemed false," she said quietly to Marcus, as they sat in the darkest corner of the common room. "I know you think he's one of us, but are you really sure he's trustworthy? I mean, it's not as if he knows who Tom really is. He's probably just in this for the thrill of it."

Her brother shook his head. "He knows Tom's descended from the Zalaras line," he said, "although he can't grasp the connection with Slytherin until the bloodbinding is dissolved, obviously. If we were to say to Regal outright that Tom was the Heir our words would just sound like gibberish. He won't work it out from the anagram, either. He could stare at it for years and never actually see it."

"Yes, yes, I know all that," Constance said impatiently, then paused as a thought struck her. "How is the bloodbinding dissolved, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," Marcus answered pensively. "Octavius is the Secret Keeper; the ritual of undoing is something he and the Heir must carry out together."

"Do you think he will?" she asked. "Want that. The dissolving, I mean."

Her brother stared at a blade of grass contemplatively. "At some point in the future, I expect so. Although I couldn't say any more than that. But it was Regal we were talking about, wasn't it?"

She nodded, frowning. "I just don't think he's right. Maybe it's just that he's not one of us. I can't really say why." Although if she were honest with herself, as she was not with Marcus at this moment, she thought her dislike of Regal might have had something to do with the way he eyed her - and most girls for that matter - with a mingled lust and malice. There was something about him that made her flesh creep. She wondered that Marcus couldn't see it.

Her brother laughed, then. "No, he'll never be one of us," he said, amused. "If that's what's been worrying you - we'll always be number one to him. For better or worse, and all that."

"Oh, I know that," Constance said seriously, gazing across the room to where Regal Rosier sat playing wizard's chess with the Head Boy. "We're his, the way no-one else could ever be."

"Then don't worry about Regal. If I didn't think he was suitable, I'd never have brought him into this."

"Brought him into what?" asked a blithely cheerful voice, and the two Malfoys jumped. Turning, Constance saw Richard's grinning face peering over her brother's shoulder.

"Mind your own business," she snapped, wondering just how much he'd heard. "Can't you tell when we're trying to have a private conversation?"

Despite Marcus' scowl, Richard didn't look particularly ashamed of himself. But then, he never did, Constance reflected as her intrusive friend pointed out that the Slytherin common room was not perhaps the best place to have a private conversation.

"And you've brought my curiosity upon yourselves," he added, "by looking so suspicious over here in this shady corner of cunning-ness. So what's Regal suitable for?"

"Harassing Verity Black," Marcus said waspishly, "it's what he does best."

Immensely grateful for her brother's quick thinking, Constance agreed. "It's all part of the plot to ensnare the virtuous one."

Richard looked incredulous. "You've been after McGonagall for months," he said, "and you haven't got anywhere yet? You might as well give up, Marcus my boy, cause if she cracks it certainly won't be for you."

"I'd prefer not to discuss my business with you," Marcus answered coldly, his face contemptuous. "Although you're quite wrong in every respect. Now, did you come over here for a reason, or was it just to make yourself even more insufferable than usual?"

"Oh, if only you knew how those cold words wounded my tender aching heart," Richard said indifferently, "but actually, what you just said certainly explains a lot - I was wondering why Black was sitting in the corridor outside with the look of death upon his noble visage. I think he's waiting for you."

"Could you talk any more rubbish?" Constance asked in disgust, just as Marcus stifled an expression of fury.

"Why didn't you tell me that immediately, idiot?" her brother said shortly, getting up. "Regal," he called out across the common room. "REGAL!"

Regal looked up from the chessboard inquiringly.

"The good times are here again," Marcus said gloatingly, "are you coming?"

"Er - where are you going?" Constance asked, then clicked. "Oh! Can I come too?"

Her brother shook his head. "Not this time, we're doing this the traditional way." He smiled smugly. "Doubt I'll be long, though."

Constance doubted it too. If Marcus and Regal's illicit training sessions had been anything like the ones she'd had with Tom, it would be a marvel if Verity Black wasn't in the hospital wing within ten minutes. She and Richard watched the two boys go.

"Oh, it's all scandal here in Slytherin," the brown haired boy said gleefully. "He must've shagged McGonagall to get Black horrified enough to call for a proper duel. They've got seconds and everything."

"He hasn't said anything about such goings on to me," Constance said huffily. "Last time I heard him mention her it was Christmas."

"Yeah, well," Richard said, "you haven't been around enough for anyone to tell you anything. I was quite surprised to find you here and not off looking up obscure references to some crackpot Seer, just so you can forget it all for your exams - which are, I might add, still months away."

That was a fair point. She'd surprised herself with her ability to actually keep on top of schoolwork, what with the countless nights she'd spent wearing herself out in one way or another with Tom. She wasn't doing that much better than before, either, but at least she wasn't falling behind. Her efforts had at least bought her one rare night off from homework; she'd almost forgotten just how good it felt to do absolutely nothing.

"Go on, admit it," her friend said, watching her closely, "you're sick to the back teeth of working, aren't you? You really want to come and advise me on my troubled love life instead, don't you?"

"Your love life's been troubled ever since you realized the difference between girls and boys," Constance said snidely. "What's going on with you now? Has Teresa proposed again?"

"Dear me," Richard exclaimed, "you really are behind the times, aren't you? Don't you talk to the people in your dorm anymore?" Then, answering her puzzled look of inquiry, he went on to explain. "I told Teresa to move along last week! Arya says she's been plotting my death ever since - especially," he added with a satisfied smirk, "especially as she knows there's another woman involved."

That did come as a surprise to Constance, and rather a nasty one at that. It wasn't good that she'd become so out of touch with her friends. They were bound to wonder what she was up to eventually, and although Aurelius already knew, she didn't want anyone else to find out. For his sake, as well as her own. "I make it a rule never to listen to a word that comes out of Teresa's mouth," she said loftily, "simply for the benefit of my sanity. The girl could whine the ears off a Gryffindor. But who is this other woman? And why was I not the first to know? Wouldn't have killed you to track me down and tell me something interesting like that, now, would it?"

"Mph," Richard said indifferently, "I've been a bit preoccupied with the new light of my life. She's the scrumptious jammy scone to Teresa's bit of broken mouldy old biscuit. Haven't had time to think about you."

"Oh, what a flattering comparison," Constance said, laughing, "but unless you tell me who she is, I'll break your legs and hand you over to the broken biscuit."

"Oh very well," her friend replied hastily, "but don't you laugh, or I'll get the scrumptious scone to break your legs. It's the Lessops girl. Susanna. No, Aurelius isn't happy about it either."

Constance stared at him for a moment, then laughed. "You - and her? I bet Aurelius is fuming! She's been downright cheeky to him for years. The Quidditch thing, I suppose."

"True, but I've been more than downright cheeky to him for years as well, and he loves me as if I were his own brother," Richard said happily, "in fact, sometimes I feel we're almost closer than brothers. But I thought it'd be you crying over it, actually, what with the bet and all that."

She blinked. "Susanna told you about that?!"

He grinned at her. "No secrets between me and my lady love," he said, "and I've got to say that although I was absolutely intrigued by several of the wagers - the menage a trois, for example - I'm much happier with Lessops. I wish you and Aurelius all the best; and although I know it's hard to let go of the past, I think Aurelius will get over me eventually."

"You jumped up little git," she said, trying not to laugh. "I take it that all bets are now off, then?"

He sighed. "Yeah. Pity, really, because I was actually hoping to place my own and pocket the jackpot - but 'twas not to be."

"Anyway," Constance began, ignoring him, "if you're so happy with the Lessops girl, why do you need advice? What's so troubled about your love life?"

"Only the sad consequences to others," he said with mock sorrow. "I'm quite disgustingly happy, you see, and although I keep getting baleful looks from She Who Got Dumped, I'm ever so worried about Aurelius. I just don't think he's taken it too well. He's always off with the French people chattering away in some foreign language about how great things are on the Continent, and how great French history is, and honestly, I was quite happy to forget about Aurelius being half-French until he started to go all bilingual on me. I think he's still in shock about the whole thing."

"There's French blood in me, too," Constance said smugly, "or so I'm told. From centuries ago."

"But you can't speak a word of it, because you're thick and uncultured," Richard retorted, "which is what Aurelius should be."

"My ears burn," said the boy in question then, flinging himself down into a chair beside them. "Is Richard complaining? Again?"

"Oh, Richard would never complain," Constance replied with a smirk, "he's far too well-bred for that. Besides, he's got the female population of Hogwarts eating out of his hand, haven't you?"

"It's a burden that someone must bear, and that someone might as well be me," Richard said modestly. "But where've you been," he asked Aurelius, "I was left to fend for myself here, thanks very much. I had to talk to Constance."

"Oh, thanks a lot," Constance retorted, just as Aurelius said "I've been working. You should give it a try from time to time. You never know, you might surprise yourself."

Richard looked at him scornfully. "Working? Babbling on about French pride with Camille and Remy? Sod off and live there if it amuses you so much. We don't need you."

"Evidently not," Aurelius replied, and Constance thought his answer was only half in jest. But there was nothing she could say or do about that, not now.

*

An unpleasantly dreary month at the best of times, the still-grey days of March seemed to pass interminably slowly as the school - and the country - waited for Grindelwald's next move. Several of the staff had already received notification that checks upon their background had begun; checks that would be much more intensive than the ones all teachers had to undergo before being accepted into the Hogwarts faculty. It was rumoured that the families and associates of the teaching staff would also be examined, and any misdeeds or what were deemed as "harmful attitudes", however remotely connected to the teacher, would be noted and entered into a register. Nobody had said it out loud, but presumably if the inquiry turned up something disturbing that would be it for the teacher in question. Nobody was happy about it but the general consensus was that it was a necessary evil. After all, there was a war on.

It was during the last days of the month, shortly before he himself was due to partner Lydia Grey in the supervision of the Ravenclaw seventh years out in Hogsmeade, that Christopher found himself summoned once more to Dumbledore's rooms. He knew that Matthew would be there, and felt fairly certain as to why he had been invited. The Head of Gryffindor had undoubtedly informed the Headmaster about the rift that had arisen between Quintus and Christopher - perhaps he had been called to discuss the potential dangers that would arise if Quintus continued to associate with Malfoy and Haven. But then, he couldn't really see the point. It was clear that there was nothing left to say to his school-friend; the matter was best left to Dumbledore's discretion. If Quintus had made his bed with the two Slytherins, he would have to lie in it. Even if it didn't bear thinking about.

With such dark thoughts, Christopher knocked heavily on the Deputy Head's door. Surprisingly, and rather disquietingly, only Albus Dumbledore was there.

"Sit down, do," the Transfiguration teacher said pleasantly, waving him over to a chair.

Christopher obeyed, smiling nervously. It occurred to him that he'd never spoken to Dumbledore alone before; Matthew had always been present. He felt rather like he was a student again, obscurely guilty. "It was very nice of you to ask me to tea," he said.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, "not at all. I always find that the drinking of tea is a charming social pastime, wouldn't you agree?"

Christopher blinked. "I suppose so," he answered. "Is this a social visit, then?"

"Mostly," the older man replied, although there was a watchful look in his eye as he continued, "although I must confess to having a number of ulterior motives. My main interest, however, is you."

The Chantwork teacher was a little uncertain of how best to respond. "Oh," Christopher said. "Er - why?"

Albus Dumbledore took a moment to pour them both a cup of tea. The odd cottage-shaped teapot was still functioning, Christopher noted as he waited for the Deputy Head to reply. "Well," Dumbledore said finally, "I imagine things have been a little - difficult - for you of late. I thought it would do you good to talk."

Confiding in the Deputy Head was quite possibly the most unnerving prospect Christopher could think of, other than asking Octavius Malfoy out for a friendly drink and trip to the sweetshop. Even though the older man was looking at him with a most understanding expression, it still felt odd to be in this situation with someone Christopher still thought of as his teacher. Don't be so ridiculous, he said to himself firmly, you're hardly going to get a detention now, are you?

"Well," he began, hesitantly, "I suppose Matthew's told you about - about Quintus, then?" He couldn't quite keep the resentment from his voice when he mentioned his old friend's name.

Dumbledore looked at him almost regretfully from behind his teacup. "He's told me nothing I couldn't see for myself," he said gently. "You and Quintus used to be inseparable - now you barely speak to each other. Mealtimes, in the staffroom - one of you always makes a speedy exit."

"He has other friends now," Christopher answered. He felt a little foolish, and in truth, when phrased that way it really did sound petty. But the consequences of Quintus' choice were what mattered, he told himself. And Christopher would always be the afterthought, for want of a better expression, as far as Quintus and his family were concerned. He said as much to Dumbledore.

After a long pause, the Deputy Head leaned back in his chair, gazing thoughtfully at the Chantwork teacher. "It must have been quite a blow. Especially after recent events."

"You mean my brother?" Christopher smiled awkwardly. "You can talk about him, Professor, I won't break down. And yes. After what happened to John - it makes this even worse."

Dumbledore nodded. "Quintus, I think, is not a genuinely bad person -"

"I know that," Christopher interrupted, "he's been my friend for years. He wouldn't willingly do anything wrong, but he'd never choose not to. If that makes sense."

"He will do as his family dictate rather than what he himself may wish?" the other man said, though he seemed to be speaking to himself rather than to Christopher.

The Chantwork teacher nodded miserably. "He said as much himself. And - I just don't think he knows what he's getting into, and he won't listen to me. There's nothing I can do to change his mind, make him see things differently. It's all down to Valerius."

"Ah, yes," the auburn haired wizard said then, "Valerius is something quite different to our Quintus, I fear."

"But Quintus will do whatever his uncle wants," Christopher reiterated. "And if that means what I'm afraid it does - that he'll ally with Octavius and the Dark, I can't have anything to do with him. You must understand."

"Completely," Dumbledore replied, reassuringly. "Although we can't be entirely sure that Professor Malfoy is working for Grindelwald, you know."

"But Matthew -"

"Matthew judges by Octavius' actions towards himself - which are entirely reprehensible, of course, but have no bearing on his present loyalties. He's no angel, of course, and he's certainly been involved in some rather dubious affairs before. And yet all may not be as black as it seems for Quintus."

"What about the background checks?" Christopher asked. "They're bound to turn up something; and with his record..."

"Oh, they'll definitely turn up something," Dumbledore replied. "Quite a lot, I should imagine, and I am familiar with a great deal of his affairs - more than even he, I think, is aware. I still think that it will be best if we contain him here, under our surveillance. If I can persuade the inspectors to allow him to remain, despite his record, I think that could be very helpful to us."

"You have that kind of influence?" Christopher was amazed. "And isn't that illegal?"

Albus Dumbledore smiled at him in a positively sheepish fashion. "I have very understanding friends on the Board of Inspectors," he admitted, "who are aware that sometimes, rules must be bent a little. For the greater good."

Not for the first time, Christopher was taken slightly aback by Dumbledore's devious qualities. The Deputy's plan made sense, though, especially when taken into consideration with the notion that he himself had been gradually developing. "These friends of yours," he began slowly, "and your contacts at the Ministry. And the arrangement you have with Matthew...I'm not really sure how to put this, and do tell me to mind my own business if you like, but is this something official? Something sanctioned by the Ministry?"

For the first time since he'd entered the room, Dumbledore gave him a whole-hearted smile. "Well done, Christopher!" he said delightedly. "Although we're not exactly official, and the Ministry as a whole knows very little. The Minister, another old friend of mine, and I decided that something rather more innocuous than undercover Aurors would be needed to protect the school in case of any attack," he explained. "So a few chosen comrades and I are doing the best we can to watch and protect."

"And Matthew's one of you?" Christopher asked.

"Oh, yes. He's been invaluable. But what I was wondering, my dear boy, was whether or not you would like to join us?"

A sudden, loud knock on the door prevented Christopher from answering as Matthew Seraphim entered almost immediately. "Am I too early?" the Head of Gryffindor asked earnestly. "Only I've been hassled by at least five members of my Quidditch team in the past half hour, and I need an escape. It doesn't matter where I go - they always seem to find me."

"Quite all right, Matthew," Dumbledore said calmly, "although perhaps a little early. Christopher and I were just discussing our little group. Do come and sit down."

"Oh," said Matthew, moving towards the table, "oh. Are you in, then?"

"I don't know," Christopher said honestly. "I'd like to ask a few questions first."

"I would have been surprised if you had not," the Deputy Head nodded. "Joining anything without full knowledge is always - unwise."

"Unless it's us," Matthew added. "You can trust us."

Christopher looked at them both, at Matthew's earnest expression, at the oddly inscrutable Albus Dumbledore, and nodded. "Alright," he said, slowly. "Why me?"

The Deputy Head smiled brilliantly. "Well, the obvious answer is of course - why not?"

"But I haven't got any wonderful or special talents," Christopher pointed out, "I'm not subtle, I'm not particularly observant, I'm not exceptionally gifted at duelling - unless I sang my opponents to sleep, or something," he added ruefully. That particular incident seemed like a lifetime ago.

"It's not your talents we're after," Matthew said gently, "it's who you are, idiot. We know you, we trust you, we know you're one of us."

"Do you want to see Grindelwald and his ilk stopped?" the Deputy Head added. "From the bottom of your heart?"

"Of course I do," Christopher said indignantly.

"That's all we need from you."

"But it's not exactly going to help us win a war, is it, just wanting him stopped," Christopher replied sceptically.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Alas, no. But you needn't worry yourself about having to play a major role yet, young Christopher, we have matters well in hand at present."

"So, er, what exactly am I supposed to do?" It all sounded extremely vague to him. "Or do I just sit and listen into conversations over cups of tea?" He hadn't meant to sound quite so acerbic.

"Well, actually," Matthew said then, eyeing him speculatively, "you'd probably bring a fresh perspective to some of the things that have been happening lately."

"What things?"

Albus Dumbledore sighed. "You won't have heard about this," he said, "but there was an attack on the Ministry a few nights ago."

Christopher stared at him. Then kept on staring. "No prizes for guessing who was responsible, I bet," he said, after he'd taken it in. "What happened? And how was it covered up?"

"It was easily covered up because nothing actually happened," Matthew said. "The intruders - they didn't do anything. Smashed a few windows, made a few threatening noises - then disappeared."

"Grindelwald, I presume?" Christopher asked.

"Actually, it was us," the Deputy Head said, almost apologetically. "Well, not personally, but we were responsible."

"You broke into the Ministry?" the Chantwork teacher asked in disbelief. "Can I ask why?"

Matthew shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "To speed things up a little," he explained. "Copernicus wants to act. But he can't do anything without a majority vote, you see, and he found it difficult enough to get the few measures that have been taken passed. And whilst the Ministry's dancing around pretending nothing's happening, Grindelwald is doing God-knows-what. We're practically sitting ducks."

"It's a very Slytherin plan, isn't it?" Christopher murmured.

Dumbledore beamed. "It helps when there's one in the family. Young Aberforth has been quite the blessing."

"Wasn't he the one who -" the Chantwork teacher started, then stopped abruptly. It probably wasn't the brightest idea to dredge up the Dumbledore family scandal.

Albus didn't seem at all bothered, though. "Yes, that unfortunate incident with the goat," he said, directing his gaze to the heavens. "Although there was a perfectly rational explanation ... I'm sure he'll share it with the rest of the world when he's good and ready."

"Do you disapprove?" Matthew interrupted, eyeing Christopher shrewdly. "About the Ministry thing?"

He thought about it. "No. But do you think it will work?"

Dumbledore gave him a resigned smile. "We hope so," he said. "I don't want war in Britain - nobody in their right mind would - but it's coming. And we have to be prepared."

*

Aurelius studied the French girl in silence, watching her profile as she worked. For a number of reasons, she and Remy had taken to sitting with him when they found each other in the library. He was pleasantly surprised to realize that this arrangement suited him well; he appreciated being around people fluent in his mother's tongue, who were familiar with his mother's family, history and country. He'd sooner have bitten off his tongue than deny his birthright as a Snape, of course, but it was more than a little refreshing to be able to express his mother's heritage as well.

It wasn't just that, either. It was, and he accepted this too, also somewhat liberating. To be away from Richard, Constance and the whole complicated tangle they'd managed to spin - or rather, that Constance had managed to spin - over the past few months. It was good being away from the very thought of Tom Riddle, and Aurelius' own decision to let Constance do whatever she wanted.

So it wasn't as difficult as he'd thought, forging some kind of friendship with Camille and Remy. He liked their company. It was an enjoyable task, although he never let himself forget that there was more to it than simple companionship. He wasn't rushing into it, either, he knew he'd have to make his approach slowly, delicately - and back off swiftly if he was, in fact, barking up the wrong tree. He'd been working on the pair of them gradually, ever since the attack on Guernsey. From the occasional comment he'd dropped here and there he'd worked out that even if Camille and Remy weren't affiliated with the Vichy Collaboration, they certainly weren't crying themselves to sleep at night over it.

"How are the students grouped in Beauxbatons?" he asked Remy, during a History of Magic lesson that had reached heady new heights of tedium. He could see Constance flicking paper pellets at Richard across the classroom, her hair glinting in the sunlight. He shifted slightly; he didn't need any distractions. "Are there Houses, like here?"

He knew the answer, obviously, his mother had told him plenty of stories about her time at Beauxbatons. He was working up to something, though, and this was as good a way as any to begin.

"No, not Houses," Remy replied, flashing him a careless smile. The French boy's eyes were glinting with amusement, probably at the complete transparency of the opening. "I'm surprised your mother never told you," he continued, "she was Captain of the Girls' Quarters, after all."

"Oh," Aurelius said, innocently, "she may have mentioned something about it. The sexes are separated, aren't they?"

"From the day they start school," Remy answered, playing along. "And then each group is further divided by ability. We don't have a Sorting Ceremony like yours, though. Only intelligence and aptitude tests."

"Stops idiots holding up the classes, I suppose," Aurelius murmured balefully. "And I suppose there's less silliness if boys and girls aren't in lessons together."

Camille snickered then, drawing their attention to her. "Oh, not always," she said, laughing softly. "Girls can be ever so - silly - without boys around, believe me."

"I imagine it's not so different for the boys with certain proclivities," Aurelius said, eyeing Richard Marlowe in a disgruntled fashion.

"But why do you ask?" Remy continued. "After all, I'm sure Grindelwald's made a number of changes to the system since his lot took over."

"Curiosity, mainly," Aurelius answered. "I find it so hard to imagine that had things been slightly different, I might never have been a Slytherin. House loyalties, they last longer than school here. I can't imagine it being any other way."

"Oh, but surely you'd have been evacuated out of Beauxbatons like us, if you'd been properly French and all," Camille said, all wide eyes and sweetness. "And then you'd have been a Slytherin again!"

"Perhaps, perhaps," Aurelius said neutrally. "I'm not sure what my parents would have chosen, I must say. Everything would have altered if we lived over there. A Slytherin by any other name is still an ambitious little sod - perhaps my family would be better off with the Vichy people. Perhaps not."

A muscle in Remy's cheek twitched slightly. "Not with the Resistance being sneaky enough to start murdering the families of all involved with the Collaboration," he pointed out, "I imagine you'd have been evacuated regardless."

And that, Aurelius thought, was very much what he wanted to hear. It gave him more than enough to work with. He'd not been able to discuss this matter with Quintus, even if he'd wanted to. It'd been some time since their last late night Potions-making session. Quintus had seemed, not absent minded exactly, but certainly distracted. Although he never lost his focus, there'd been a very vague look in his eyes as he handled ingredients that would have had both he and his cousin shut away in Azkaban for quite some time had the Ministry caught them.

Quintus hadn't even seemed particularly concerned about that. He'd asked Aurelius if he wanted to help, had given him a summary of just what they were making and what the consequences would be with an air of almost complete indifference. He hadn't even raised an eyebrow at Aurelius' enthusiastic response.

Wondering if Quintus' distracted state would let him get away with asking certain pertinent questions, Aurelius had casually wondered aloud what the Ministry intended to do with the Sustenance Potion that they were making.

His cousin had looked at him, half exasperated, half something else. "It's not for the Ministry," the older man had answered repressively, his eyebrows lowering into a frown.

Aurelius digested that, silenced for a moment but not deterred by his cousin's uncommunicative state. "I can't imagine my father required it," he said next, emphasizing the possessive slightly. After all, he, not Quintus, should be the one kept informed now.

The Potions Master didn't exactly slam the bowl he'd been holding onto the table, but there had been a rather definite thud as he straightened up and glared at Aurelius. "It's got nothing to do with the Ministry. And it's got nothing to do with the family. This is - personal."

Quintus wasn't looking his best, Aurelius noticed then, he was much paler than usual and the dark circles around his eyes made him look like a deathly owl with an addiction to illegal substances.

Still. "So Grindelwald doesn't come into the equation at all, then?"

Quintus had looked at him sharply, then, but shook his head. "No," the Potions master replied slowly, "this is a purely personal matter. To help someone in need," he'd added, smiling bitterly for reasons that wouldn't become clear to Aurelius 'til much, much later.

It probably wasn't the wisest move, then, continuing his inquiry, but Aurelius hadn't been brought up to put his family's interests first and foremost for nothing. And he hadn't put a lot of time and effort into his History of Magic assignment for nothing. It was almost too easy to put two and two together and come up with - "Professor Haven? Are you doing this for her?"

Quintus looked pained, then resigned. "I should have known you wouldn't let it rest," he muttered.

"Is she a visionweaver then?" Aurelius asked, considering the ramifications of that. Grindelwald had been after visionweavers since practically forever and that meant that he'd be after Professor Haven eventually, and that made it more than a personal matter, whatever Quintus said.

"No," his cousin said flatly. "Seers have short lifespans. If you were better versed in the arts of Divination you would know that already."

Aurelius scowled, thinking about all of Constance's enthusiastic ramblings about how fantastic Divination was without Lockhart. "So why are you making this for her? When there's such a risk -" he broke off, seeing something in his cousin's face that he'd never seen before. "Oh. Well. I'll just keep shredding these mer-eggs, then." And I won't even ask what Octavius Malfoy has to say about all this. Dear gods, that was definitely something to be placed in the Don't Tell Constance list. Although, and he knew this to be a most base and unworthy - and therefore satisfying - thought, it was nice to see a Snape screwing over a Malfoy, rather than the reverse. Even if he had given Constance permission for her antics - it was nice.

He'd finished with the mer-egg, had decapitated a Four-Headed Frog with relish, and was cheerfully removing a mer-baby's spine when he thought of something that might lighten the atmosphere somewhat. "The background checks, how have they been going?"

Quintus didn't look up from the gently bubbling cauldron. "I got through it. Well, there shouldn't be any surprise about that. The least the Ministry could've done to compensate for the inspection, and so on."

"Not that you had anything to hide, of course," Aurelius commented dryly, smirking at the ever so slightly illegal ingredients arranged neatly on the table.

Quintus flushed. "Well, I heard that they were taking it very seriously. Looking into very minor and very youthful discretions. Checking school records too, that kind of thing."

Aurelius started to laugh, then. It was just too precious. "You mean to tell me," he snorted, "whilst we're making yet another naughty potion that you were worried about that mushroom crop you and your friend tried to raise back in school?"

His cousin sneered at him. "Hallucinogenic substances have the power to disturb the fragile human psyche in ways even we can't fully comprehend," he said loftily. "The Ministry couldn't be blamed for having doubts about my sanity and behaviour if they'd stumbled across such information."

The Slytherin snickered. "Except you didn't even get to try them out," he said gleefully, "because you got caught."

"...Shut up, Aurelius."

"Are all the staff in the clear, then? Seeing as the Ministry's been so thorough?"

"No," Quintus said, frowning again. "Octavius Malfoy's been confined to school grounds."

"Really? Why?"

"I imagine that's information privy only to the Headmaster, the inspectors, and Octavius himself," the Potions Master said thoughtfully. "And it isn't common knowledge, Aurelius, so treat it accordingly. I'm not even sure whether his family know."

"So he won't be supervising any Hogsmeade visits, then," Aurelius said, ignoring his cousin's unnecessary reminder. "Pity, if it were me out there I'd rather have him alongside. As opposed to idiots like Seraphim. He'd probably just leave us to fend for ourselves, anyway, and go rushing off to defend his poor beleaguered Gryffindors. He probably holds their hands and wipes them down after they've been to the toilets," he added bitterly, "but he wouldn't lift a finger for us."

Quintus hadn't replied.

*

With the end of year exams not far away, the atmosphere within the school was predictably tense. Even though the sixth years weren't facing their OWLs again - thankfully - and were still a year away from the final NEWT examinations, they were still considerably fraught. Even the fact that Hogsmeade visits had been denied them due to the Grindelwald threat was no longer a major grievance; many of the students were too busy in the library, or in disused classrooms to care. The seventh years especially, despite being the only ones allowed to go, had taken to staying behind to work.

Constance wouldn't have mentioned it to anyone other than her brother and Tom, but she was almost grateful that the Ministry had refused to allow Octavius Malfoy to supervise Hogsmeade visits, even though they'd not been able to pin anything concrete onto him. They'd been cross about it when the news had leaked down to them, of course, it being rather a slight on her uncle's character, but as he was more than willing to spend his time assisting their own private study sessions, it was something of a blessing.

They met and worked in the Zalaras Wing during weekends, and Constance had been delighted to finally work with her uncle. Although he rarely came to the late-night meetings, due to his other obligations, it felt in some strange way as though her family were finally home. As she looked at Tom, flushed with exertion, she knew that he felt it too. This was where they were supposed to be, here, with Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Casting her first Unforgivable in front of her uncle's critical gaze had been something of an interesting experience, though. She'd expected Tom to have tutored her in this privately - but, of course, he had had to learn himself, and it had been her uncle who'd taught him. Who better to oversee their joint progress, then, than Octavius Malfoy?

At least, that had been the theory. In practice she felt that she would have been a lot more comfortable had she been able to practice in front of Tom alone. Her Imperius Curse was weak, as her uncle told her bluntly. She was lacking in both brute mental force, which would suffice for an effective yet unsubtle result, and the kind of insinuating power that allowed Tom to overwhelm her with very little effort. She'd managed to cast it on several animals brought specifically for that purpose, but had failed miserably with people. Her uncle wasn't especially happy with her inability to withstand the curse, either. She could hold her own against a sole casting of the curse, although there were times when her fatigue meant that her resistance was even lower, but when both her uncle and Tom joined forces against her, it was a different story. Two minutes resistance, and then a sudden collapse. She hoped she'd improve with practice. Although it was entirely possible that that particular curse just was not her forte. Her uncle had explained to her that each of the Unforgivables would vary in strength and precision according to the individual mindset, or personality, of the caster. He hadn't gone into great detail, but he'd said enough. Constance didn't feel especially thrilled to know that she wasn't particularly strong in the self-discipline department, or in will-power, but could accept it. After all, there were other curses. She'd be taught them in time, and although she felt she ought to practice in advance, there simply wasn't time. It was better to master what she was already struggling with than try to spread herself too thinly.

There had been rather a lot to occupy her mind, of late.

"Oh, very funny I'm sure," she muttered huffily, after having found herself tapdancing around the practice room as a result of her uncle's curse.

"You need to focus," Octavius Malfoy replied calmly, lowering his wand and turning to speak to Tom.

She'd never have dared do something like this before, still wouldn't dare do it if she thought about it for longer than a second or so, but the memory of her first training session with Tom spurred her on - and her uncle had let down his guard, he wasn't even looking at her - and so she pointed her wand, channelled all her strength and shouted "Imperio!"

The surprise in her uncle's eyes as his head snapped back to face her was gratifying, but she couldn't afford to dwell on that pleasant distraction for long. Even though he should have been unprepared, had been taken by surprise, she could feel the deep, still resistance of his mind. She didn't turn her head to look at Tom, but kept her eyes locked with her uncle's, willing him to submit to her in this.

For a moment, at least, she thought she had him. Bow, she urged, bow to me. Just a little thing, although it seemed appropriate for an Imperius-command. She shaped her thought like an arrow, and felt it batter against his defences. The smooth mental shield he seemed to possess so easily shuddered against the impact of her demand; she saw his face tighten as he held on. Bow.

I think not, little niece, he said then, sounding almost amused, and then she felt his mind turn glassy and the tentative hold she'd had over him was lost.

Blast.

"Well," Octavius said out loud, smoothing down his robes, "thank you. That was - quite illuminating."

Constance scowled.

"As I said before," he continued, "you need more focus. And a different style. When a battering ram will not suffice, you need to learn how to be a slow, steady trickle of water, eating away at the other person's will. That was, however, an improvement."

With that, he nodded once more to Tom, then brushed past her to the door, glaring in a not-entirely-displeased fashion as he went. She watched him leave, waited for an instant to gather herself, then turned to face the Heir of Slytherin.

One eyebrow raised, it was nonetheless difficult to determine what he was thinking. "Illuminating indeed," he murmured. "Not entirely unexpected, of course."

"Well really," Constance began, "wasn't it you who told me that nobody's going to be fair and open in a real fight? I'm sure my uncle's pulled dirtier tricks than that in his time, anyway. I don't see what was so illuminating about it."

Tom grinned at her, boyishly, and she felt herself growing distinctly warmer. "You look extremely vicious when you're concentrating," he said, changing the subject. Not that she minded.

"Can't help it if I'm scowling," she retorted mulishly. "It's what I do best."

"Is that entirely accurate?" Tom Riddle answered swiftly, his grin deepening. "I'm sure you have many talents."

"Oh, lots of them," Constance responded, smirking. "I'm charming and quite accomplished. You should know that."

He gazed at her a second longer, then, with a swift striking movement that startled her, darted forwards to pin her against the soft walls of the practice room - cushioned they may have been, but she was still winded by the force of the impact. A faint noise of protest escaped her, and was immediately smothered by his hand, warm and dry and pressed firmly against her mouth.

"Oh, I do, I do," he murmured, his voice practically a purr and his face so close to her own. "But it's your complete inability to put up any form of resistance that I appreciate most about you."

She tried to speak then, but felt the pressure of his hand increase slightly. Somehow, she knew that he was only exerting a fraction of his true strength as his body pinned hers to the wall, and his free hand grasped the wrist of her wand-arm. Tightly; it hurt, and she felt her grip on her wand weaken. He didn't miss her sudden sharp intake of breath as he squeezed, harder, until she had no choice but to drop her wand.

She hated being without her wand, hated feeling so defenseless. But could she really try to fight back against him? She'd never held back in a duel, but she was less experienced, he could easily defeat her - to fight him physically would be different, somehow. And he was her superior, of sorts.

"Yes," he breathed, his eyes burning into her, as if he'd read her mind, "remember this."

And then his grip on her lessened, and his wand was pointed directly at her, and then she felt the all-too-familiar dreamlike effect of the Imperius curse wash over her.

Don't do a thing,

he said, and then his body was against hers, pushing her back against the wall again, his mouth descending, teeth meeting painfully in the soft skin of her throat. Be still.

Without any thought of doing otherwise, she went limp in his arms, passive and entirely open to his vicious embrace. She could feel her skin tingling as his hands roamed freely over her body, ripping her blouse open with no regard for the buttons, pinching viciously at her exposed breasts. It hurt, yes, but in a good way, a pleasurable burning sensation filled her even though she wasn't allowed to respond. It almost heightened the intensity, really, as she fought to obey and remain still.

He pulled her down to the floor with him, not particularly gently, she saw him grin and then his lips met hers fiercely and he was on top of her, crushing her. She felt something deep within her stir, her body acknowledging his warmth, his weight, against her will - or against his will, it was almost impossible to tell where she ended and he began now.

She shut her eyes and let him touch her as he wanted, as he knew she wanted him to, felt her body moving against his and then she couldn't ignore it anymore, despite the subtle command imprinted into her to be still. With a sigh of pleasure, her arms gathered him in and pulled him closer.

It wasn't until afterwards, as she lay trembling on the floor beside him, that she realized the curse had gone. It hadn't been lifted; it had simply gone. She'd broken it - during -

"I wondered whether that'd work," he said, amused. "If you had the right incentives."

- and there must be an exceptionally dirty joke to fit this situation somewhere, only she couldn't think of one. "Well," she said, still breathless. "It's nice to know that I can do it. Only, you're not going to be able to do - that kind of thing - to me when my uncle casts the curse, are you?"

"You sound almost hopeful," he said, smirking. "It's charming."

"Mmm. They say hope springs eternal. Pity I can't do a blasted thing about the Imperius under - normal circumstances, isn't it?"

"You'll improve with practice," he said, rolling over to retrieve his shirt.

"And I'm sure I'll have plenty of opportunities," she said gloomily. She examined her ruined blouse regretfully. "Look what you did to my buttons."

He ignored her, dressing himself swiftly then striding to the door. "Hurry up and dress," he ordered, "then come through here. We have things to talk about."

*

"And Marcus finishes this June - he's not happy about this conscription thing. Not that it's at all likely that he'll have to go, but that's not the point. He - and Father too - find the whole idea really insulting. I mean, what has the Ministry ever done for our family that we should support it?" she asked dramatically. Despite the lateness of the hour, they'd consumed far too much tea to think about sleeping, and she was still excited about having flung off the Imperius Curse. Besides, there was a lot to discuss.

"Given you a certain amount of leeway over the centuries," he suggested dryly, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

"True up to a point, but still. They turned very repressive at the end of last century," Constance said, hoping she sounded surer of her facts than she felt. History had never been her favourite subject, and although her father had often proclaimed the evils of Ministry policy she'd never really paid as much attention to him as Marcus had. "I bet we'd all have a lot more freedom under Grindelwald."

Tom's lip curled scathingly. "It depends on how you define freedom, I'm sure," he said coolly. "The current system certainly isn't getting in my way."

She looked at him. "I'm not saying I'd rather Grindelwald won - I just don't think it would affect us that much. He's bound to want the support of families like mine; and it's not like he's got any scruples about the use of Dark Magic, is it? He'd never have got anywhere without it."

"And by that reasoning, he's not likely to want anyone else practicing it," the Heir of Slytherin pointed out. "He's bound to be a lot more efficient at rooting it out than the Ministry - not that that's saying much. You've seen the newspapers. You've heard the stories. Does Grindelwald sound like a liberal?"

He was right.

Constance felt herself flushing. "He wouldn't want any challenges, of course not," she said. "So - is that what we are, then? A challenge?"

"By the very nature of who I am, yes," Tom replied impatiently. "Salazar Slytherin's Heir has a greater claim to this country than anyone else. Grindelwald knows nothing of that, fortunately, but I'd say his regime would be a lot harder to overthrow than our Ministry."

She mulled that over, staring into the fire. "You're aiming for that?" she asked quietly, more than a little awed by his audacity. There had been no serious challenge to the stability of wizarding government for - well, she couldn't actually remember, but it wasn't something to be taken lightly. And she couldn't for the life of her figure out how he'd do it, not with the war on. "When?"

"Not tomorrow," he said with a tinge of sarcasm. "Not for years. It will take far longer than you imagine to set my people up in the Ministry, and I cannot do anything myself until I am ready. You know the state of affairs amongst the pureblood families. So much corruption - I doubt even half of them would respond to my call if the Ministry collapsed. Not the way I am now. They'd try and control me, and take power for themselves."

"What do you mean?" Constance asked tentatively, noting the undercurrent of venom in his voice. "You're the Heir - surely there's nothing that would impress the Slytherin families more."

Tom shook his head, frowning. "It's not enough to be the Heir, although I'm sure it would have sufficed only a century ago. But you know I'm going away, after we finish here - when I return I should have something to really tip the balance in my favour."

She looked at him expectantly.

"Imagine," he continued softly, "the fall of the Ministry. Confusion, chaos everywhere, people living in fear, not knowing which family to turn to for leadership. The great families would tear themselves apart in the struggle for power. Who better to claim the country for himself but a man made immortal, a man with a powerful group of followers behind him, a man whose bloodlines lead straight back to Salazar Slytherin?"

"Immortal?" Constance repeated stupidly. She'd known he was ambitious, he'd have to be - but this? It beggared belief. It went beyond anything she'd ever dreamed of - and she had only ever dreamed, had never seriously imagined that one day such dreams could become reality. Tom was the Heir, she thought she had learned to accept that, but it seemed she'd given very little thought to what that actually meant. It wouldn't be enough - of course it wouldn't be enough for him to sit and bask in his ancestor's laurels. He had a role to play today, in her lifetime, and it was only fitting that he should be as great, as terrifying and as powerful as Salazar Slytherin himself had been.

It wasn't so much that she doubted he could do it, rather that she was, perhaps, a little afraid of him. "I believe you," Constance said, almost to herself. She knew enough about him now to know that he was capable of things she could only dream about. Though that could be a little frightening - or perhaps, she thought, that isn't the right word. Awe inspiring?

"That's irrelevant at the minute," Tom said then, startling her. "What matters is that the Ministry wins this war. It'll make everything so much more complicated, otherwise."

Constance did not voice the thought that things were already far too complicated for her. "The Ministry should," she said with authority, although she really didn't have that good a grasp on the politics of the war. "If all the families back it -"

"I don't want all the families backing the Ministry," he interrupted her shortly. "It'll work out much better if some families aren't rewarded at the end of the war. It might make them more open to suggestion, later."

That concept at least she could grasp without difficulty. "You want them to be - less powerful?"

He nodded.

"But how?" she wondered aloud. "How can you do that? How can you influence people's allegiances here, at school?" It seemed an impossible task, even for someone as determined as Tom. Then again, compared to gaining immortality, it would no doubt be a piece of cake.

"I am served by very capable members of your family," he said, all irritation seemingly erased. "You should know that by now. Trust me, it's all taken care of."

********