Chapter 6: Making Friends with Future Enemies

The returning students swept into the castle like locusts a day before Classes were to begin again, leaving me to deal with two things at once.

Catching up with Hermione and Neville and tracking down one Lyra Malfoy to finally start getting some answers for the gift she sent and her actions prior.

Of course, actually getting Malfoy on her own was another difficulty entirely.

I stowed my gift in my robes and slipped through the hallways, tracking Lyra on the map to where she was walking down a corridor with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering along behind her like two blundering bodyguards, along with a trail of other Slytherin students, including one Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, and Tracey Davis.

I wasn’t entirely sure that I should be engaging my opponent in this manner, not to mention other people, in a style more resembling an ambush than natural conversation, but with the gift she had given me, now was the time for answers, and I thought it better to start upon her arrival than wait weeks to catch her on her own.

So, as natural as you please, I dropped my disillusionment charm and turned the corner, my expression cool as I saw Lyra walking in the middle of the group, small expressions of surprise flitting among the members assembled.

Neville’s book wasn’t exactly light reading, but the more I had read, the more some things had become clear to me.

“Malfoy,” I said, “A word?”

A brief look of surprise flickered across Malfoy’s face before her eyes narrowed as she glared at me, “What does Potter’s lapdog want with me?”

Unwillingly, my lips turned somewhat upward in amusement, “I’d like to thank you for your Christmas gift. I was unaware that you wished to have more than the acquaintance we share now. I’d like to make up for my own absent gift.”

The smallest look of interest flashed through her grey eyes, grey eyes I noted that were almost exactly the same shade as mine, “Who taught you manners, Black?” Malfoy asked, though her tone had shifted slightly, not nearly as aggressive anymore.

“Neville Longbottom sent me a book for Christmas,” I shrugged my shoulders, “It made me aware of some missteps I had made, but I admit I’m not aware of everything. I ask that you forgive any missteps I have made and understand that I will try my best, but I was raised in a Muggle orphanage.”

It was amusing to watch the somewhat simultaneous recoil of the assembled students as they looked like I had expressed something truly horrific out loud.

Daphne Greengrass spoke, somewhat uncharacteristic for the typically quiet girl, her frigid blue eyes narrowed at me, “The Heir of Black was raised in a Muggle Orphanage?”

And wasn’t that one of the stranger things about my existence? Prodded on by the book I had read, I could only wonder why it was exactly no one had taken me in.

“Yeah,” I shrugged easily, “I’m therefore completely unaware of whatever relationships my family shares with others.”

The group seemed to relax a bit at my words, and a strange expression of what seemed to be relief flit across Malfoy’s face.

“So you weren’t disassociating…” she mumbled almost to herself.

Disassociating: the act in the Wizarding World of removing oneself from the company of former allies to pledge allegiance elsewhere.

Spending time with the friends I had made had created such an impression.

To be fair, I wasn’t not pledging allegiances elsewhere, but there was a longer game to be played here as uncouth as it sounded. I wasn’t keen on destroying whatever goodwill the Black Family had left, especially knowing my Father was set for trial, and on a personal note, I wasn’t so ungracious a person as not to thank someone for a Christmas present.

“I was not,” I confirmed, “Please forgive any offense that I have incurred,” I dipped my head the slightest of amounts, the most that could be allowed for a house like Black, or so I believed from my reading.

I reached into my robes, pulling out the gift I had purchased, holding it out to Lyra with a small painted-on smile.

Slowly, Lyra reached out and took the package from my hands, grasping the box carefully, her eyes flicking down in interest at the black box, yet she did not open it in the moment.

Which was all well and good because the gift was nothing special, a package of high-quality inks to match the quill Lyra had given me.

I then straightened and slapped on my usual smirk, “I’ll see all of you in class.”

I turned, walking away, turning a corner, and making some distance before I slumped slightly from my straight-backed position, shaking my head, “What a load of tosh.”

My Father better be glad for everything I was doing for him.

-

It was on the morrow that we marched to class as I listened idly to Ron Weasley practically glow about the owl he had received for Christmas to replace his missing rat.

“And he can actually fly through windows and not just into closed ones and-“

Leaving aside that being a frankly strange positive qualification given Ron’s pet history, I amusingly thought to myself that perhaps I should check if this pet was also an animagus.

My private joke had to remain private, and my classmates were deprived of my impeccable sense of humor as we settled into Charms class.

I rolled my pale grey wand between my fingers, small tingles trailing up my arm as I did so, as if I was holding a massive animal on a leash and the animal was gently but insistently tugging on the leash, wondering when it would be allowed loose.

It wasn’t actually a disconcerting sensation, though; I actually liked it in a strange way.

Of course, it could sometimes complicate things as the taste of strawberries would become insistent at one point, with the crackling tingles up my arm.

I was pretty sure the strawberries, just because they desired to be used, weren’t dark magic…

It wasn’t the first time I had the thought.

Though if it was dark magic… wouldn’t that make the still somewhat consistent rumors about me in Gryffindor and the other houses have some weight?

Flitwick was teaching the class as per usual in a light and cheerful way, “-the Severing Charm ‘diffindo’ can be used in many useful circumstances when one needs to cut something, such as the parchment in front of you. I must warn you, though, that the charm can be a touch dangerous as it will cut based on intent, so that must be focused as much as possible.”

As well as being influenced by the magic power poured through the wand, while magic existed within the body, it was difficult to run out, even with high-level, constant casting like the Disillusionment Charm. Even for a first year, it had taken me quite a while to drain myself doing so before.

I sighed, shaking my head, gesturing my wand in the correct motion for the severing charm, about to speak the charm into existence.

Strawberry instantly submerged the beginnings of flavor gathering on my tongue, and violet light flashed.

The parchment split neatly in half, as well as the desk beneath it, a small groove appearing in the stone, kicking up a patch of dust.

The classroom stilled as gazes turned towards me. I stared dumbfounded as the desk remained standing simply from how clean the cut had been, and no force had been applied to the wood yet.

Flitwick appeared and clicked his tongue as he shook his head, “Just like your mother,” he sighed wistfully before he flicked his wand, and the desk was mended, though the small groove in the floor remained, he looked at me a sympathetic look on his face, “You’ll want to use as minimal power as possible for a spell like that Mr. Black.”

I was still struck by his words and unwilling my own spilled forth from my lips as I looked at Professor Flitwick, “You said that I was just like my mother,” I said softly.

Flitwick cocked his head, and a small but sympathetic smile emerged on his face, “Ah, you wouldn’t know, would you?” he said before wincing uncharacteristically and shaking his head, his eyes flicking to the rest of the class seeing their eyes on us, “Please remain after class Mr. Black, I have something to discuss with you.”

I nodded somewhat numbly, my heart thudding in my ears for reasons I couldn’t determine as adrenaline flared through my system.

The class continued for some unholy time before finally, the students were dismissed. Iris’s eyes flicked to me before she left after I gave her a small nod, leaving me in the classroom with Professor Flitwick, who was looking oddly wistful.

With the students gone, Flitwick settled on top of his desk, his feet dangling as he looked at me, “I had wondered how a First Year had dealt with a troll, I suppose I don’t wonder now. You, Mr. Black, have the gift of the McKinnons, one they treasured dearly.”

“What gift, Professor?” I asked.

“I was a duelist once, so as one might expect, I studied combat magics. Pureblood families can have knacks for certain types of magic, gifts.” Flitwick hesitated, “I am perhaps not the best to explain this.” He said softly, his expression far from his usual cheerful attitude, “Your mother’s family had the gift for something they called vorpal magic. It was a magic uniquely focused on two aspects: force and severance, and in those aspects, it was unmatched in sheer effectiveness. It was a sight to behold…” he trailed off.

I hesitated, but these were the first real words I had heard about my Mother’s family, “You talk as if you’ve seen it before, Professor.”

Flitwick gave me a small smile that looked more like a grimace than a true smile, “Sometime ago, during more troubled times, I witnessed your Mother’s usage of such magic. It was she who explained it to me.”

There was something still troubled in the normally cheerful professor’s expression, and I had a feeling that I knew what it was.

“No one’s told me about her, Professor,” I said, unsure of revealing this vulnerability but hoping that by doing so, he would reveal more.

Flitwick opened his mouth and then closed it, seemingly struggling with himself.

“I’m sorry, sir, I should head to my next class,” I said quickly, not wanting to push the man.

Flitwick shook his head and reached down and pulled a scrap of parchment out and began to scribble on it, “Who is your next Professor, Mr. Black?” he asked.

“Professor Binns,” I said.

A small smile emerged on Flitwick’s face, “Then stay a moment, this information about the past, I daresay, you’ll find a tad more relevant.”

He flicked his wand at the parchment, and it formed into a paper airplane before it zoomed out of the room.

Professor Flitwick seemed to gather himself a moment, staring off into space, “Your Mother was a gifted witch, Mr. Black, outshone in her year only by Ms. Potter’s mother, in fact. She was quiet, studious, and incredibly focused on developing her magical talent. If she smiled, it was a rare thing, but that didn’t make her an unkind person. She consistently saw the best in people, it was probably why-“ Flitwick hesitated, “It was probably why she ended up dating your Father, there was a time when people only saw your Father as the scion of the Blacks, even as James Potter's friend. She always treated your Father kindly, quick with a smile and a gentle word. Your Father-“ Flitwick hesitated once again, and I had a moment of internal amusement as he seemed to be figuring out how to describe the man in a way that wouldn’t scar an eleven-year-old. “He did well with his fellow students of the female persuasion, but he never quite committed.”

“You make it sound like he changed,” I said.

“He did,” A small smile flicked across Flitwick’s face. “There was an incident with some Slytherins, I believe, who were harassing your Mother about joining He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as a pureblood. Sirius attempted to step in and deal with them in full dashing Gryffindor glory, but your Mother handled the situation too fast for him to do so.”

“And?” I asked, hanging on his next words.

Flitwick shrugged, “Your Father was smitten and foreswore his pursuit of all others but her.”

Trying to think of the situation logically, I sighed and shook my head, “I bet that went well.” If my father had been chasing girls that consistently, I didn’t imagine someone like my mother would take his new attention well.

“On the contrary,” Flitwick smiled in amusement, “Your mother was quite receptive, and within weeks, they were dating.”

I looked at my Professor, confused, “Just like that?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Flitwick nodded, still smiling in soft amusement, “Just like that, there was talk that they would get married, but well…” Flitwick sighed and his face dropped entirely, “The war truly kicked into swing, and suddenly there was no time, the McKinnons disappeared into hiding as did many, yet eventually they were found, killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named only a couple of months before his defeat.”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, I said my next words, “So no one knew I existed, did they?”

Flitwick nodded, “Until your name was written into the Book by the Quill, no one knew of your existence, and it was a rather late addition at that. You appeared the day you turned eleven, which is,” Flitwick hesitated, “Unusual.”

I had never heard any of those terms Flitwick was using, “I’m sorry, Professor, I don’t understand,” I said quietly.

Flitwick sighed, tapping his chin, “It is like this, it is generally understood at the first sign of magic that the Quill will write in the book the student's name for admission, the fact that your name appeared at quite literally the last minute, it’s strange.”

I nodded my head slowly, contemplating the man’s words, thinking over the man’s words. I had been able to use magic since I had first really come to consciousness, yet…

I still remember the day I came to consciousness in my crib; my memory of this life was clear, so very clear to that moment. Yet the night of the Troll, I remembered hearing words that I could swear I had never heard before in my life.

Something uncomfortable twisted in my gut. What exactly had happened to my Mother?

Another thought immediately follows that one, did my Father even know I existed?

Another even worse thought, did my Father think I was dead?

I slapped my smirk on because I didn’t want any other expression to cross my face, “Thank you for telling me, Professor Flitwick. I should head to class.”

Professor Flitwick looked at me, and I saw genuine concern in his eyes, “I had worried telling you this too soon would upset you,” he said softly.

“Really, Professor,” I shook my head, “I’m fine, it’s not a big deal, I should just go, don’t want to fall behind in History of Magic,” I gave him a flaccid smirk before turning and exiting his office, taking the class doors at a slow walk.

I turned down the corridor immediately, but I wasn’t headed to History of Magic. Running down the halls, I tapped my wand over my head, letting myself disappear, making my way toward the one place I knew no one would be.

Some minutes later, I found myself sitting on top of the rails of the Astronomy Tower. Unfortunately, I was young enough that I knew this would be considered moping and not the much more mature teenage brooding, but I couldn’t imagine sitting through a class right now.

I sighed, letting the disillusionment fade as I stared into cool January skies.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, but the sun had barely shifted by the time I tasted a familiar presence walking up the stairs.

They arrived at the top behind me and stopped.

“Marauders Map?” I questioned into open space.

“Yeah,” Iris said.

“You should be in class,” I remarked.

“So should you,” Iris replied, coming up to stand next to me, leaning onto the railing next to me.

I nodded my head, acknowledging the point.

“What happened with Flitwick?” Iris asked, her words somewhat hesitant.

I sighed, shaking my head, wondering how to say these words so they would not sound like a dramatic child, “He told me about my Mother,” I said.

Iris turned to me, her expression completely calm, her eyes sympathetic, “What did he say?”

“He told me about her, just a bit, really, it shouldn’t affect me, I don’t even know why I care so much,” I remarked, the words tumbling out of my mouth without rhyme or reason.

Iris’s hand gently settled atop my left hand on the railing, gently trailing her thumb over my skin, “No one had ever told you about her, had they?”

I nodded once, still staring into the sky, “But I mean it shouldn’t matter, right? I don’t know her.”

“Ares,” Iris said, tugging on my hand, and I turned to meet her emerald eyes, which were regarding me seriously, “I understand.”

Ah, well, now I definitely felt foolish. Iris, of all people, would certainly understand feelings about dead parents; I must have come off as a bit of a tosser.

“Ah, I’m sorry, Iris,” I shook my head, “I wasn’t really thinking,” I admitted.

Iris gave me a look I could only call incredibly gentle, stroking her thumb over the back of my hand again, “It was a lot at once, wasn’t it?” she asked.

I turned, unable to meet her eyes because my own were starting to burn for undeterminable reasons, and mutely I nodded my head.

I felt Iris step in closer, letting go of my hand, before she gently circled her own arms around me, gripping my stomach and pulling herself flush against me.

We remained in silence for some time, but it wasn’t uncomfortable; rather, we both seemed to be soaking in the environment.

There were words we could have said then, there was meaning to this moment I was sure, but right now we left that particular conversation for the future.

-

Hogwarts fell back into a familiar rhythm of classes, homework, and the general trappings of education.

Yet there were small shifts unbalancing the day-to-day of my life.

I settled uncomfortably in my seat, glancing to my side to see Iris primly dicing some tubers that would be going into our potion.

To my right, Lyra was shaving claws into her potion next to one Daphne Greengrass.

It was unusual for Gryffindors and Slytherins to work in such close proximity, especially in Potions, and I could feel the gazes of other students occasionally flitting our way.

That wasn’t my main concern; I looked at Neville, who was working alongside Hermione to our immediate left.

He was my typical partner in Potions, but today that seemed not to have been an option; things were going normally as we entered the classroom until Lyra had settled into the table next to me.

Iris had rapidly taken a seat to my left, her nostrils flaring slightly.

I almost expected for wands to be drawn, but the girls seemed to leave it at that for now as Professor Snape began the class.

Once we got into potion making, though, the sniping between the girls truly started up. Comments about clothes, technique, and broom handling all seemed to be fair game.

“Training for the ballet, the way you fly-“

“-at least I can manage a transfiguration without leaving my needle still flammable-“

And then it got worse as Lyra dragged me into it.

“Do you have to hang off Black so desperately, Potter? You’re practically throwing yourself at him.“

Iris stiffened at those words, though her motions in stirring the potion remained diligent.

“You’re the one bothering us as is,” Iris whispered harshly, “We’re actually friends, unlike you two.”

Lyra shook her head, raising her eyebrow at Iris, giving her a mock sympathetic look, “Do you not know? Black is a cousin of mine, his Father and my Mother are both from the Black family, bonds of family trump that.”

Iris stiffened, and I tasted her magic rapidly thickening as her green eyes flashed, “Some family,” she sneered, “Ares’s had to live his entire life at an orphanage, you call yourself family after that?”

Lyra stiffened as well, and I felt her own magic stir slightly, though she didn’t have the same power as Iris.

“What did you say, Potter?” Lyra growled.

I coughed lightly, and the stirring magic was disrupted as both girls turned to look at me in surprise, evidently having forgotten I was there.

“I don’t think we need to do this here, do we?” I asked.

Lyra sniffed and looked back at her potion. Iris turned back to our potion, her eyes far more guilty, “Sorry, Ares,” she mumbled.

I stroked my fingers over the back of Iris’s hand soothingly, and she relaxed.

If only that were the final instance of conflict.

-

Weeks passed, and the conflict between Iris and Lyra escalated; the words became harsher, the glares longer, the snarls deeper impressed on their faces.

I was quite frankly at a loss; it wasn’t like they had gotten along before, but previously, they seemed content to ignore each other for the most part, aside from the occasional clash.

My presence was the inciting incident, it seemed, now that Lyra was pushing in from the side, dragging her other Slytherin friends with her, what had once been occasional conflict became constant.

At least for now, the wands had stayed stowed, something I could only be grateful for, especially as Quirrel began to teach us more combative jinxes in class.

I was unsure of what the proper solution was for what I faced.

It was as I walked through the library, puttering up and down the shelves looking for a distraction, that I encountered one Daphne Greengrass, who was ostensibly doing the same thing as I was.

Our eyes locked, and I was taken by surprise as she nodded at me, “Black,” she said politely.

“Greengrass?” I said, unable to help, with the questioning note to her name, surprised that she had engaged me by herself.

“Your shadow’s missing,” Greengrass said, her eyes flicking to my side, a small touch of amusement to her words.

I sighed, giving her a long look, “She’s not my shadow,” I said defensively.

Greengrass shook her head, her face still twisting into a small, amused smile, “She very much is, but I suppose I can’t say much considering that Lyra seems to be doing her best to mimic her.”

I sighed again, letting the breath gust out of my lungs explosively, “You wouldn’t happen to know why exactly Lyra seems to be antagonizing Iris?” I asked, not with much hope, but honestly, I was running low on options.

Greengrass gave me an even more amused look, “You’re such a boy,” she sighed.

I raised an eyebrow, unsure of whether to be amused or offended, though my feelings were tending toward amusement, given this was the third girl to call me as such.

“That’s not very helpful,” I admitted, shaking my head.

Greengrass gave me a long, cool look, her blue eyes flashing at me before she seemed to nod to herself, “If I explain I want something,” she said bluntly.

Bemusement caused my brows to raise as I looked at her, “You want something? And what might that be?”

Greengrass shrugged, and I saw the smallest flicker of uncertainty across her face, “I don’t know yet,” she admitted, “But I’m definitely not doing this for free.”

For a moment, I contemplated the nature versus nurture of the argument of whether Slytherins naturally would always try to seek an advantage because they were Slytherins, or they would, by the very nature of being in the house, seek to do as they thought they should by others' expectations.

Or a third option was that Greengrass was just like that.

Of course, I was curious what exactly she would ask of me, so… “Sure,” I shrugged my shoulders, “As long as it’s not unreasonable.”

“That’s not a very firm promise,” Greengrass remarked as she glared at me with narrowed eyes.

I smirked at her, letting amusement shift my features, “What you offered wasn’t a very firm benefit.”

Greengrass sighed but nodded, seemingly accepting my reasoning, “Lyra’s jealous, she has been since the incident with that stupid glass ball at broom practice.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, “Jealous? Of what exactly?”

Greengrass gave me a long, hard look, “You dote on Potter, more than it seems any other student, you treat her like you would a fragile glass object, you’ve given her more time and energy than anyone else, at a direct detriment to Lyra, your family.”

“I see,” I didn’t. Just because I was nice to Iris didn’t mean anything in the slightest, and I didn’t see either way how that harmed Lyra.

“Lyra wants to give you the benefit of the doubt, but you’re making it difficult for her,” Greengrass shook her head.

“I don’t see why I need the benefit of the doubt to talk to my friend,” I remarked, raising an eyebrow at Greengrass.

Greengrass muttered something under her breath that I didn’t quite catch, but from her dour expression, it was probably for the best.

“Either way, Lyra sees that you favor Iris; therefore, she’s an opponent, not a friend. That’s how Lyra sees it.”

I raised an eyebrow at Greengrass before reluctantly nodding my head, accepting her answer, “I see,” I repeated, and this time I meant the words, not that I accepted the conclusion Lyra had come to, but as it was, I had to accept the current circumstances.

“So,” Greengrass said, raising an eyebrow at me, “What will you do?”

I raised an eyebrow at Greengrass, forcing amusement onto my face, “Do? What makes you think I’ll do anything?”

Greengrass’s lip curled in seeming distaste, “You’ll do something,” she said, “You’re not the kind of boy to do otherwise.”

I sighed, shaking my head, “You’re making this more complicated than it really is. I can be friends with both.”

Greengrass gave me a disbelieving look before she shook her head, “Whatever, you owe me Black.” She turned and walked away, notably without a book underneath her arm, as if she had waited at this particular bookshelf to encounter me and not for a book.

I really didn’t think Greengrass had done much, if anything, for me, but it wasn’t a conflict worth fighting right now, especially when there were other conflicts to resolve.

-

I fiddled with my telescope, gazing into the sky during the midnight astronomy lesson, focusing down on the stars as I carefully marked out their formations.

The astronomy lessons, as typical, were with the Hufflepuffs, the night sky beaming its cold smile down on us as Professor Sinistra directed the practical lesson.

It was a pain to be up this late for someone like me, as a person who appreciated their sleep; this lesson was something I frankly didn’t appreciate. Despite the fact that the lesson took place at midnight, we still had to get up at the same time.

Neville was fiddling with his telescope next to me, seemingly engaged beyond all reasonable expectations as he excitedly whispered with a blonde Hufflepuff next to him that I vaguely recalled was Hannah.

I had vaguely noted that Hannah had occasionally struck up a conversation with the boy as the year had progressed. It was kind of amusing to see Neville returning to the shyness he seemed to demonstrate at the beginning of the year, and that had faded somewhat as the school year had progressed.

I imagined part of the reason was that his spellcasting had improved noticeably over these past few months. I hadn’t noticed at first, but strangely enough, over time, it seemed that Neville’s magic was less and less changed by the wand he used.

I hadn’t noticed it till a recent transfiguration class where Neville had managed his transfiguration on his first attempt, drawing a rare nod of approval from McGonagall.

I had no idea how such could be occurring, though. The wand was the same, yet perhaps it was Neville who was becoming different.

Stronger, more confident smiles, fewer clumsy fumbles in potions, the change now that I thought about it had occurred well before winter break, but even now, giving it thought, I couldn’t pinpoint the change.

Perhaps sometime after the troll incident?

It was the type of change in a person that was only noticeable after the fact, but once apparent, you wondered how it could have been missed in the first place.

A small, proud smile leaked onto my face as I watched Neville interact with Hannah, seemingly at ease as they muttered together.

“You’re staring, Ares,” Hermione muttered somewhat sternly next to me as she adjusted her own telescope.

“Ah, right,” I turned back to my own telescope, consciously turning away from the scene, “I was just surprised, I didn’t realize Neville got on so well with other students.”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders next to me, “I’ve noticed for a while, I think doing well in classes gives him confidence.”

An opinion that was most certainly one that I would assume Hermione would have, but on the other hand, I couldn’t say with certainty she was wrong.

“You would say that, wouldn’t you?” I raised an amused eyebrow at Hermione.

To her credit, Hermione’s cheeks simply flushed slightly before she shrugged her shoulders somewhat helplessly, “Don’t you think that makes the most sense?”

It wasn’t out of the question, and honestly, I wasn’t really concerned about what exactly had helped Neville gain a bit more confidence; the mere fact that he had done so was enough.

“Iris is concerned about your relationship with Lyra Malfoy,” Hermione said with a somewhat forced casualness, her words soft enough that they were only heard by me.

“Mmm?” I hummed in response, surprised despite myself about this new avenue of conversation, “Did Iris tell you that?”

Hermione visibly froze slightly before she nodded just the smallest amount, “Yes,” she said.

“Did she give you a reason?” I asked, taking a look at Mars through my telescope, gazing at the small red dot that seemed to glimmer in the night sky.

Hermione nodded her head but didn’t say anything for a moment, before finally she said, “Several, in fact, I don’t think any of them will change your mind though.”

I grimaced, trying to submerge the twisting feeling in my gut, “I’m always willing to listen,” I said quietly.

Hermione gave me a small smile, an almost pitying look, “That’s the problem, I think Ares, she knows that if she were to talk to you, that you would listen to her, she doesn’t want to cause problems, her and Lyra just have,” Hermione hesitated as she seemed to search for words, “Issues.”

I turned to raise an eyebrow at Hermione, “Does this have anything to do with that broom race they had all those months ago?”

Hermione nodded, “Iris told me that since then, she and Lyra have continuously been exchanging words, but it does seem like recently things have reached another level. I’m worried that they’ll start trying to hex each other in the corridors.”

“You can’t be serious?” I sighed, looking at Hermione, “Why do they hate each other so bloody much?”

Hermione looked stricken at my language, her cheeks paling, “Ares, you shouldn’t use that language!” she whispered harshly at me.

I shook my head, “I just don’t get it. What exactly is such a huge issue between them? Why does Iris hate her so much?”

I knew it as stated by Daphne from Lyra’s side, but Iris…

Hermione gave a long-suffering sigh, “You’re the issue, Ares. Lyra told Iris that you belonged to her, that, as you’re a part of her family, Iris should leave you alone.”

My fingers froze on the telescope, and I turned to look at Hermione with a raised eyebrow, “This whole thing can’t be just about me?”

Except isn’t that exactly what Daphne had said?

From Lyra’s side, I could see it, but from Iris’s as well?

Hermione gave me a long look, raising a single eyebrow at me, “I know you’re smarter than that, Ares,” she said simply before she turned back to her diagram, evidently done with the conversation.

I sighed, fiddling with my telescope idly. There really wasn’t an easy way through this, was there?

-

“Antares! Did you see that?” Neville exclaimed, his wand still pointed at the well-transfigured goblet in front of him.

I had indeed, the transfiguration had only taken him a couple of attempts, and the magic that had flowed through his wand had remained untainted by the instrument.

Neville focused once more on his transfiguration, reverting it with a tap of his wand and mummering the reversion spell.

I grinned at the boy before relaxing back on my chair, letting my gaze become unfocused on the wall as I attempted to ignore the flickering flavors of magic erupting around the room.

It was just another mark of Neville’s improvement that he had managed the transfiguration within the first twenty minutes of class.

I consciously avoided looking at Professor McGonagall as she assisted some other students with some advice, not wanting to draw her attention toward me.

Professor McGonagall had remained relatively cold towards me, but truth be told, I didn’t much care.

Professional distance seemed to be the name of how our relationship was now, though there were the occasional strange moments.

McGonagall drifted by me, her eyes landing on the perfect silver goblet before me, patterned swirls tracing over the rim of the goblet, creating the image of a howling wolf, its jaw opened as if to swallow the moon.

She looked at me and she bit her bottom lip slightly before she glanced back down at the goblet, “Acceptable work, Mr. Black, five points to Gryffindor.”

I was pretty sure those were the first points I had ever earned from her, and for a transfiguration that I wasn’t even particularly proud of.

The nails on my hand underneath the table bit into my palm slightly as I clenched my fist. It wasn’t anger, just frustration, pretending that there weren’t unspoken issues between us, at least on my part was fine.

It just soured any interaction with her, to see her eyes as she looked at me, because it was clear that the person she saw wasn't me.

It was my Father.

-

I cautiously fiddled with my cauldron, doing my best to ignore the looming presence of one Severus Snape behind me.

Every move I made was watched with the air of a man simply waiting for a mistake on my part, but Potions I had found was not a subject in which I made many mistakes.

“The directions say grind the quills, yet you shaved them,” Snape commented dryly.

I shrugged my shoulders helplessly, “The grinding is less effective; it somewhat muddies the magic within them,” I replied.

Snape gave me a long look before he nodded and walked off in a sweeping flare of his cloak.

Neville relaxed his shoulders next to me, having stiffened up on Snape’s approach, “Why do you keep modifying the directions, Antares? Professor Snape always asks you about it,” he asked quietly.

I gave the boy a half smile, “I’m in a bit too deep as it is in that regard, I think if I turned in a potion that I hadn’t modified slightly at this point, he would give me an Acceptable.”

Snape's teaching, if anything, had gotten harsher and more exacting upon me, even if I turned in a potion that would give a normal student an O, Snape would give me an A instead. He would hover behind me, watching my moves and vocally criticizing my knife work. I didn’t know whether to think the man hated me or simply had higher expectations.

Truth be told, it at least made my potions classes more interesting than I could say for some of my other subjects; I had yet to be truly challenged in Transfiguration or Charms. DADA had remained almost entirely theoretical, at least that which was intelligible from Quirrel. History of Magic tested my patience more than anything. Astronomy was interesting until about one in the morning, which is when I started to feel less fascinated by the stars and more intrigued by the idea of my dormitory bed.

Herbology… Well, my grade in Herbology, frankly, was being carried by Neville and Iris. Even if my head wasn’t seemingly constantly swimming from the tastes and smells clashing within the greenhouses, I had found little to interest me as far as the subject went.

A part of me was curious from an empirical standpoint why Herbology was seemingly the worst experience in the world for me, and Potions was a walk in the park given how both strongly interacted with my sense of taste, but truthfully, I had no idea how to go about testing it.

If I were to hazard a guess, magical plants gave off much more magic and potions, concentrated magic into something that was more intelligible for my brain, preventing a headache.

-

In all classes, my education continued, but it was outside the classroom walls that I found myself able to focus entirely on what I thought was most valuable.

Namely, mastering the vorpal magic, which now I knew to be my heritage of the McKinnons. As time passed, the dark figure grew larger in my mind, so naturally, I practiced as often as I could with the strawberry-tasting magic.

I slashed my wand, and my magic sang, flashing across the room to slice cleanly through the teacher's desk. A thin, straight line carved neatly through the entirety of the wood was the only sign of what had occurred.

I hummed, flushing the poky prickly feeling of rememberall magic through my head as I had taken occasion to do as often as I could hoping that something would dislodge.

The feeling was slowly chipping away at the ice inside my head, and while the dark figure had not been revealed, other parts and pieces had emerged, not that I had been able to make much sense of them. I had flashes of dark cloaked figures and something with massive green scales, but these weren’t much to go off of.

I flushed the magic one more time through my head, and my vision flickered the smallest amount.

Slivery blood, pure white hair, a massive equine form, a figure bent over, sucking something from a wound.

I blinked, took a couple of steps backward, and nearly stumbled into the desk behind me. Had I actually finally gotten something?

It had looked like some kind of magical beast, which unfortunately led me to one conclusion: the only place with magical beasts at Hogwarts was the Forbidden Forest.

And the person who knew the most about them was likely to be the Gameskeeper, one Rubeus Hagrid.

-

“So what can I do fer ya?” the great burly man hulked over my assembly of first years, Hermione and Neville were sitting at a table, their legs dangling from chairs, and Iris sipped from a cup of tea on the couch next to me.

The eyes of my friends turned to me, their expressions varying mixes of confusion and questioning.

It had been rather sudden that I had requested Iris to contact Hagrid about sitting down with him. I knew that she had somewhat of a friendly relationship with the man ever since his escorting of her to Diagon Alley and had even had tea with her several times, though she had warned me in no uncertain terms not to have any of his biscuits.

We had walked down on a weekend afternoon to Hagrid’s hut and had been invited in warmly by the man.

We had talked for some time, sipping our tea, as Hagrid asked about our classes, but I noted specifically that the man hadn’t mentioned anything going on in his job, keeping the conversation focused on the events of our lives.

Which meant I would have to push.

“Hagrid, you’re the gamekeeper, which means you need to go into the Forbidden Forest sometimes, right?” I asked.

Hagrid’s warm smile froze just the smallest amount, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, “Well, suppose that’s true…” he said, smiling at me warmly though he couldn’t hide his uneasiness.

“Well, I was just wondering, about the Forbidden Forest that is, what exactly resides within it?” I asked, moving straight to the point.

Hagrid blinked, looking at me in confusion, “What did you wanna know bout that fer?

“I heard from some of the students that something’s been going on in it was all?”

Hagrid’s eyes narrowed at me before seemingly a realization came to him, “Yer friends with Fred and George ain’t cha?” he sighed, seemingly relieved by the conclusion he had drawn.

“Uh, yeah?” I admitted attempting to keep how confused I was by the change in topic out of my voice.

“Those boys have served more detentions with me than most, not surprised that they’d mention it,” Hagrid nodded to himself, “The Forest is unsettled, is all I can say, there’s-“ he hesitated, looking at the other students, “Well,” he shook his head, “I shouldn’t say.”

Even as he said so, it very much seemed that he wanted to say more. Hagrid himself seemed uncomfortable with whatever was going on.

Hermione spoke up, “There’s not anything- well, dangerous going on in the Forest, is there, Hagrid?”

Hagrid shifted very uncomfortably now, “There’s been some spooked movement of course of the creatures within, but I don’t know-“ small beads of sweat were dotting the man's reddened face, and it was evident he was lying almost immediately.

“Wouldn’t our knowing more prevent anything dangerous from happening?” Iris asked innocently.

Hagrid crumpled like a poorly constructed tower of exploding snap cards, “I shouldn’t be saying this-“ he prefaced hastily, “But there’s something in the Forest hunting Unicorns.”

“Something?” Neville questioned, his face paling slightly.

“Something,” Hagrid affirmed, “Don’t rightly know what, but it’s there.”

Hermione looked stricken, “But Unicorns aren’t something that any creature just hunts-“

Hagrid sighed, nodding his head, “Even a werewolf would not be able to accomplish much against a Unicorn, they’re so fast, you see, perhaps a wizard could, but no one would have any real reason to hunt them. We use their hair for wands, but you couldn’t use their blood for anything, it’ll curse ya.”

“Curse?” Iris questioned.

“Curse,” Hagrid repeated seriously, “Don’t know much ‘bout it but it’s no good for potions or consumption.”

“But you said something’s hunting them?” Hermione questioned.

Hagrid shrugged, taking another sip of his tea, “As far as I can tell,” he sighed, looking incredibly morose before he straightened up, and looked at us, “Not to worry, I’ll find it eventually, and I’ll deal with ‘em," he looked meaningfully at his crossbow by the door.

Hagrid didn’t allow for any more discussion of the topic, pushing the conversation back to our schooling.

We exited his cabin as the sun began to set, and I found myself gazing at the forest, my fingers uneasily tracing along my wand in my robes.

Something, which from the proddings of my memory I was almost sure was the darkness.

I looked at the rest of my friends warily before my eyes once more focused on the forest…