Chapter 3: The First Months are Rarely Better

Waking up after the midnight astronomy lesson wasn’t pleasant by any sense of the word, but I still managed to roll out of bed with reasonable alacrity.

The day of our first flying lesson had dawned as a break between the classes we typically had to see to.

I readied myself for the day before I got Neville moving by shaking his arm after drawing back the curtain that surrounded his bed.

Neville was a terrible morning person, but he still managed to get ready as well within a reasonable span of time, albeit with much cajoling.

We began our journey down to the Great Hall, chatting lazily with each other about the classes for the day. Having spent more time with Neville, I had discovered that the wand he was attempting to use distinctly changed the flavor of his magic whenever he attempted to cast a spell.

Something in my memories had reminded me that in another world, Neville had been having to use his father’s wand; I could only assume the same had happened here.

Of course, I had no idea how to deal with this issue whatsoever.

I couldn’t exactly talk to Neville’s Grandmother, and it wasn’t like she’d have much reason to listen to me in the first place, and while Professor McGonagall was another potential option as our Head of House… Well, considering how things had gone with her so far, McGonagall was out for obvious reasons at this point.

Which left me frustrated watching Neville fail, thinking he had no potential, while he used the wrong wand.

It honestly kind of pissed me off; a small sliver of anger and frustration burned in my gut that I had found myself unable to muster for my own situation.

We sat down at the Gryffindor table, gathering the food we liked most for ourselves.

Well, Neville did, I had determined the most nutritious foods at this point that would keep me full enough not to worry about collapsing.

It didn’t matter much to me what they were; I wouldn’t be able to taste them anyway.

I ate methodically, shoveling food into my mouth, doing my level best to taste the least amount of it as possible.

An owl flew by, dropping a package in front of Neville, who picked it up along with the letter attached to it, struggling with the packaging, which was wrapped rather thickly.

“Let me Nev,” I said, holding out a hand.

Neville gave me a relieved smile and passed me the package.

While class had been an area almost entirely bereft of learning, I had found some small magic tricks that I focused on learning with the new access to the taste of spells from the professors and other students.

I sharpened the taste of strawberries on my tongue, narrowing it to a fine point before running a finger along the paper, slicing a clean line through the brown packaging with ease, revealing a glass orb within.

I passed it back to Neville, who looked down at the object, surprised, before glancing at his letter. He sighed and shook his head, “My Gran’s sent me a Remembrall,” he groaned.

At his words, my memory flushed through me; this object had existed in my memories, but how?

“To help you remember things?” I asked.

Neville nodded glumly, “Sorta, I don’t know why my Gran bothered, it’s pretty much useless because I won’t remember what I’ve forgotten anyway, it just clouds red when you forget something.”

“Never mind it, Nev, your Gran’s just trying to help, “I said bracingly.

Neville nodded, giving me a faint smile as he stored the glass ball in his robes negligently before he returned to his own breakfast.

“Excited for flying lessons today, Antares?” Neville asked, seemingly not having my own issues with the food, as he enjoyed his breakfast with a pleased look on his face, biting through the casing of a sausage with a pleased sigh.

Excited, that was a word that I wasn’t confident in using, but to be fair, I also wasn’t dreading it.

“I’m ambivalent,” I replied with a shrug.

“Ambiva-wha?” Neville frowned at me, confused.

“It’s just,” I placed one hand to the side, “On one hand flying on a broom sounds kind of cool,” I held out another hand, “I at the same time kind of doubt how much they’re going to let us do, so, I’m ambivalent, I’m somewhat unsure of how to feel about this.”

“I mostly just feel scared,” Neville confessed, “My gran never let me fly a broomstick, I imagine I’ll be just as rubbish in this area as well,” he glumly remarked.

“Give it your best, Nev,” I said firmly, “You can’t know you’ll fail till you actually try.”

Neville perked up slightly, “Alright then,” he said, nodding his head once, before giving me a grin, “Let’s get going to class, huh, Antares?”

I nodded, grabbing my bag as I went to stand with him, “You know you can call me Ares?” I said not for the first time.

“Sorry, Antares, you’re the heir of the Black family, it’d be impolite to use a nickname,” Neville said, shaking his head.

“Pureblood,” I chuckled derisively, “I use a nickname for you.”

“You’re also a Pureblood,” Neville grimaced at me.

“No, I’m Ares, who gives a damn about my parents?” I snorted, ignoring Neville’s wince at my words.

Considering what Neville’s situation was likely like, I could have chosen those words better, but I wasn’t going to pretend to love the idea of my parents.

I still had to deal with too much bullshit because of them.

Though internally I could acknowledge a small part of myself wanted to learn more about my Mother’s family, though how I would find out was anyone’s guess, people weren’t exactly beating down the doors to talk about my Mother with me.

Or talk to me in general.

I consciously pasted my expression into a smirk as I left the table. It was the expression I had decided upon to give me maximum protection.

I couldn’t let anyone see me get upset about my treatment; that would just encourage things.

-

Classes passed slowly, and I did my best to assist Neville with his spells, though there was only so much I could do with his wand at issue.

Still, today was a good day. Neville managed the spells we were learning by the end of class, which I was satisfied with, and I had discovered the taste of char, which apparently generated flames.

The flavor was kind of an accent, so a part of me wondered what would happen if I combined it with another flavor.

Like charred strawberries.

Violet flame trickled over my palms, and I hastily suppressed my magic with a wince.

I hadn’t even meant to cast a spell; the flavor just actually seemed like something tasty to my brain.

Why was it exactly that I liked strawberries so much, anyway?

“Stupid,” I mumbled to myself.

“Alright there, Antares?” Neville asked.

I grinned at Neville with the smirk I was mastering, “Never better.”

We stepped out onto the Quidditch field with the Slytherin first years.

Brooms lay in neat rows, and I followed Neville as we walked over to them, taking position as other first years milled about, having conversations with each other.

I kept my mouth closed as we stood by the brooms, but a slightly airy texture rolled over my tongue regardless, as I was unable to keep the magic out.

I frowned in thought, the airy textures seemed, for the most part, ‘correct’ for lack of a better term, but they also tasted slightly worn, perhaps overused was the best descriptor.

Our teacher arrived, walking across the field gracefully, Madam Hooch. She had short, gray hair, and bewildering yellow eyes that were shaped like a hawk's.

“Well, what are you all waiting for?” she barked. “Everyone, stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

Unwilling, my eyes flicked down the row of Gryffindors, catching sight of Iris standing somewhat nervously by her broom directly next to Hermione.

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch from the middle of the lines, “and say ‘Up!’”

“UP!” the students shouted, though I didn’t bother with the words.

I reached out for the unique flavor of my broomstick and then beckoned with my magic.

The broom snapped into my hands instantly, one of only a few that did with Iris also accomplishing the same thing, but my mind was distant from the ongoing occurrence; there was something I was forgetting, something jumbled in my mind.

Eventually, after repeated ups, brooms found their way to the children's hands, and we directed them to mount our brooms.

I had no clue how to grip a broom, so I took grateful direction from Madam Hooch on holding the stick, not able to shake the feeling of foolishness from doing so.

Iris needed little direction, as well as the blonde Slytherin girl with dark grey eyes, whom I had noted in potions, who I noticed was drilling holes into me with her gaze for some reason

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –“

Neville, jittering with anxiety, must have pushed early because he shot into the air, rapidly ascending, set loose from earthly bounds.

“Ah, damn it,” I remembered, ignoring the looks askance directed to me by my fellow Gryffindors, more specifically, Hermione, who looked like I had killed her cat.

Wait, she didn’t have a cat?

“Come back, boy!” Madam Hooch shouted.

I had lost focus, and Neville was even higher now.

We had been directed to leave our wands with our school bags, a prudent measure at the time but now inconvenient.

Flitwick’s fall flicked through my mind, the taste of marshmallow that had emanated from him.

Seeing no better option, I flicked my mind to the taste of marshmallow and gestured at the ground beneath Neville with a flick of my fingers.

Just in time, as Neville slipped off the side of his broom and plummeted back towards the ground, only for the air to ripple underneath him, slowing his fall at the last second, like he had bounced on a bed before he settled on the ground, looking bewildered.

“Did I use accidental magic?” Neville mumbled, pale-faced and confused, as I stepped up to him, offering the boy a hand, “You must have,” I grinned at him, “Up you go,” I pulled, settling him on his feet before giving him a gentle pat on the back.

Madam Hooch stormed up to us with all the placid fury of a hurricane, though her expression was rather pale, “Mr. Longbottom, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Neville said, still pale.

“Best to make sure,” Madam Hooch nodded to herself, before speaking louder, “None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are, or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come on, dear.”

Neville trailed after Madam Hooch, still rather pale-faced, but I breathed a sigh of relief. I needed to get these memories under control. How hadn’t I remembered before?

The blonde girl snorted, breaking the long silence, walking across the gap between the Gryffindors and Slytherins, “Longbottom didn’t even see it coming, what an excuse for a wizard, what first year has accidental magic like that?” she giggled a high pitched thing, though not necessarily grating before stooping down and picking up the Remembrall which had fallen out of Neville’s pocket at some point and bounced to that position on the ground.

I examined the girl, raising an eyebrow as I realized something: Iris wasn’t the only difference in this world.

“Give it here, Malfoy,” Iris snarled, stepping forward, her emerald eyes flashing dangerously, and I tasted a bit of her magic as it flared out of control, though I noted there wasn’t a visible reaction from our surroundings.

Strange, you’d think with that much magic, something would happen.

Malfoy grinned at Iris, “Going to make me Potter? What is he, your boyfriend?”

Iris’s eyes flashed dangerously, gleaming bright emerald, and the taste of magic further built up around them.

I needed to diffuse this before Iris’s magic actually flared out of control.

I flushed strawberries through my mouth and held up a hand, making a motion like I was plucking a string floating through thin air.

The remeberall pulled free in an instant from Malfoy’s hand, my magic easily overcoming whatever grip she might have had on the glass ball.

The ball barreled through the air, hurtling straight into my hand as I snatched the ball out of the air.

The crowd that had grown around the two girls turned towards me, finding the endpoint of the ball's path with little trouble. Not a single word was said; their nervous gazes locked onto me.

“Everyone having a good time?” I asked dryly with a raised eyebrow.

It was fascinating. The Gryffindors eyed me with discomfort, but the Slytherins looked altogether interested in what I had done.

“Hey!” exclaimed Malfoy indignantly, “How’d you do that?”

I raised an eyebrow, letting my confident, practiced smirk stretch across my face, “Black magic,” I said dryly.

I noticed the visible flinches from the other Gryffindor first years at my words and widened eyes.

The Slytherins seemed much more schooled, nothing more than a ripple going through the crowd of their first-year students.

Malfoy glared at me, her eyes tracing my robe, evidently searching for the wand she must be sure I used to get the ball from her.

“What do you think you’re doing, Black?” she sneered my name like a curse, though there was something off about her words, fake almost, in a way they hadn’t been before, “Sticking up for Potter, are you?”

I saw the briefest of flashes of something that strangely resembled hurt in her eyes,

I wondered why, it’s not like we had spoken or had any sort of relationship so far?

Iris also looked at me, her green eyes widening in what seemed to be surprise, her mouth opening slightly before she closed it, looking away.

Well, that was to be expected.

“Something like that,” I mused, raising an eyebrow at Malfoy, “Moreover, that wasn’t yours.”

I sighed, shaking my head, ignoring the looks I was getting as I turned around.

“I’m going to go return this to Neville, play nice,” I remarked dryly, turning to walk back into Hogwarts without a glance backward.

-

They hadn’t played nice.

I heard about it from the mouths of the student body later. Iris and Malfoy had ended up in some kind of broom race around Hogwarts.

Neither was getting punished, though; instead, it seemed Iris had secured herself a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

I, on the other hand, had unlocked a new level of whispers going on around me.

The ‘Black Magic’ comment had gained a life of its own, as relayed to me by Neville, half the house of Gryffindor was convinced that I was practicing dark magic.

I needed no real second confirmation of the fact; the entirety of my dorm mates now religiously avoided me, except for Neville.

Something that further bothered me was that the twins had seemingly seized on the opportunity with Ron and had convinced him that I wanted his rat for animal sacrifice.

Amusing except for the fact that Ron was now religiously guarding Scabbers, leaving me without the ability to get close to the damn thing in our room, and outside of the room, I had no way of finding the creature.

The idea of a map again continued to edge at my mind.

There was something there, yet it seemed that my memory was unwilling to divulge its contents.

Which had left me with little other choice than to spend countless hours working on occlumency. I didn’t enjoy the task, but I had little other option; my mind wasn’t cooperating, and right now, I very much needed it too.

Which is how I spent the next week.

And the week after that.

The weeks dipped into October, making their way to the end of the month. The day of Halloween had dawned, and I had found myself with little progress to present.

I shouldn’t be disappointed. Occlumency was notoriously difficult, apparently, but I couldn’t say that I hadn’t wished for more.

“Alright there, Antares?” Neville questioned lowly in our charms class.

I flashed him a smile and raised an eyebrow at the boy, “Do I not seem to be?” I questioned.

Neville shrugged, attempting another wingardium leviosa on his cushion, “You seem rather down, is all,” the boy murmured quietly attempting to not draw attention from Professor Flitwick.

Neville himself didn’t seem to be doing all that well either, actually, now that I had returned to the present moment somewhat. He was slumped slightly, and his movements were not at the precision level he had started to master.

“I’m fine,” I grinned at Neville, reaching out a hand to ruffle the other boy’s hair, grinning further as he tried to avoid my hand, “There’s just a problem I’m working on right now, I feel stuck.”

“What’s the problem?” Neville asked.

I sighed, shifting my shoulders slightly. It couldn’t hurt to talk about if obliquely, “I’m trying to find something, but I’m having a devil of a time doing so; it’s maddening.”

“You’re searching for an object?” Neville questioned.

“I think so,” I sighed, “But I don’t remember what the object is?”

Neville looked confused, “How could you not remember what you’re searching for?”

“I-“ I hesitated, not sure how to explain this to Neville, “It’s just something from a faint memory of mine, I’ve tried Occlumency, but that doesn’t seem to sharpen the memory any.”

“Occlumency?” Neville raised an eyebrow at me, “I didn’t know you’d learned such advanced magic?”

“You know what it is?” I asked, surprised.

“I’m supposed to learn it at some point,” Neville shrugged his shoulder, “To protect my family's secrets.”

“Ah,” I nodded my head, staring at the ceiling in thought, “I suppose that makes sense.”

“You want to try my Remeberall?” Neville asked.

“What?” I looked at him in amusement, “Didn’t we agree it was useless?” I asked.

Neville shrugged his shoulders heavily, “I dunno, it’s just you’re trying to remember something, I wondered if the magic would help, was all.”

I gave Neville a warm smile, finding myself appreciating the boy, “Give it here then?”

A relieved smile flushed across Neville’s face and he reached into his bag and pulled free the glass orb, which he handed to me.

The orb misted red dutifully as I held it, and I sighed. That was some kind of confirmation. I held the orb for a minute, wondering what it was exactly I was supposed to do. Idly, I tasted the air, and a flicker of strange magic passed over my tongue.

It was a poky prickly thing, and without much thought, I pumped more magic into the feeling.

It prodded my head, and I grimaced slightly before shaking it.

Something had happened, though.

It was like I had partially melted an ice cube in my head; something cool trickled through my thoughts.

“The Marauder's Map,” I said quietly.

“What Antares?” Neville asked.

I pressed the orb back into Neville’s hands as Professor Flitwick called the class to an end. Some harsh words were being exchanged, it looked like between Iris and Hermione, the girls whispering furiously at each other, but I had no time to wonder at that.

“Neville, bring my book bag back to the tower, alright?”

“Sure, but what-“

“Thanks!” I cried out before turning and sprinting free of the classroom.

I had just been in the class with Ron Weasley, so I grabbed his flavor with my mind and stood in the hall for a second, tasting the air, searching for the flavor of the Weasley twins, a similar but different flavor to them.

My tongue found them quickly, and I started running through the corridor, pushing my body as hard as I dared.

The charms class was the last one for the day so I could only hope the twins had not headed to the feast yet.

Through the windows, I could see the sun beginning its path toward its end, and I picked up my pace.

Right, left, up the stairs, up further, keep running, don’t stop, I spotted two heads of red hair chuckling in a corner, seemingly avoiding the feast that was to begin directly after class, and I ran up to them.

“Fred, George,” I said sharply.

The boys looked up, seemingly unsurprised at my sudden arrival.

“Yes, your Dark Majesty?” they said in unison.

“How much for your map?” I asked.

The boys startled, looking at me with wide eyes.

“Map?” they said again in unison.

“The Marauders Map, I know you have it,” I said, tasting the air, the distinct flavor filtered through that was muddled slightly, but one of the flavors tasted distinctly like my own, mixed with another flavor that tasted a little like Iris, and then the two other flavors.

It could only be the map. How had I been so stupid?

The twins had paled slightly. “You know about the map?” Fred said.

“What map?” George said weakly.

“I don’t have time for this,” I snarled, and both boys flinched, my anger had twisted the flavor of strawberries on my tongue to something strange, something that didn’t have a taste, just… sharp, an edge that cut.

“Please, I’ll pay you anything,” I said shortly, before pulling out my pouch of money and then holding it out and upending a pile of rapidly growing gold in front of them.

The twins startled into action, and George reached into his robes, handing me a piece of parchment that carried the taste of the four magic.

“Here, whatever it is you need it for,” George said, his eyes wide.

I grabbed the map and tossed the pouch to them. Fred fumbled with it slightly before he got a hold of it, “All the gold in it is yours,” I said shortly.

“The password is-“

I interrupted them tapping a shaking finger onto the map, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” I said.

The lines spiraled out, and I opened the paper, flipping through the parchment papers rapidly scanning, scanning.

For a singular moment fear gripped my gut, maybe he wasn’t here, maybe I was imagining-

In a dungeon corridor, huddled against a corner was a singular name, ‘Peter Pettigrew.’

I turned and sprinted away, ignoring the startled shouts coming from the twins behind me.

As I rounded a corner, I cast a spell I had practiced for some time over myself, and I shimmered out of existence, only a slight blur to indicate my presence as I kept running.

Down the staircases, as I heard the beginnings of Halloween dinner stirring through the hall, but I had no time.

No time.

I cursed myself, how long was I going to wait to remember that? My Father had been in prison for eleven years!

“All my fault,” I growled, running faster.

Down further into the dungeons, the flickering of torches was the only light, but I could taste the rat’s magic finally, just as it was on the map.

I turned a corridor running across stone rapidly and my eyes focused on a small brown creature crouched over a pile of sweets obtained from who knows where.

I jabbed my wand forward, and my magic responded to my will, a translucent spell shooting forth, hitting the rat in a second.

It was like watching a movie on fast forward, the rat swirled limbs contorting and jutting out as a man in a shabby suit replaced the animal in a second.

His head was already turning to look around, bewildered, attempting to locate his assailant, “What-“ were the only words that left his mouth before a gesture of my wand blew him against the wall with a crack of bone and he screamed.

I wasn’t done, four rapid jabs of my wand followed, I didn’t even think of a spell, I just knew I couldn’t let this man escape.

Four violet flashes streaked forward my strawberry flavor but not quiet, impacting each limb with cracks, and Pettigrew screamed again as his limbs bent and twisted, and he collapsed to the floor, unable to support his weight on his shattered limbs.

I stepped forward cautiously across the ground my wand trained on the man who was alternating between screaming and sobbing.

“I’m sorry-it wasn’t me- I’m sorry,” the man cried out, “Please don’t kill me!”

“Not yet,” I hissed, “petrificus totalus,” I whispered, pouring as much magic as I dared to into the spell, and the man froze, tears and snot streaming down his face.

I flicked my wand, and the man’s crumpled form rose into the air. I took a deep, shaky breath, relief filling my chest.

It wasn’t over yet, but even if Pettigrew tried to escape, he wasn’t getting far, even as a rat, all his limbs were broken for a reason.

But where did I go now? I needed a teacher, and the best one I could think of was Professor Dumbledore.

I turned back, casting a quick tempus to check the time; it was later than I thought. We were now deep into dinner.

I took deep breaths trying to calm my racing heart, beginning my journey back up to the first floor.

Something was prickling at the back of my mind, and I frowned, I pushed the feeling of the remeberall through my mind again.

“A Troll?” I muttered, confused as the memory passed into my mind.

It was unlikely but… I picked up my pace, cursing the long distance from the dungeons to the first floor.

I was climbing up one of the staircases to the first floor when I tasted it, a massive magical presence, not in strength but in size.

I glanced at my prisoner uncertainly, but I kept walking regardless, turning a corner. I was on the far side of the castle, so it seemed unlikely that if there was a troll, it would be nearer to me than the other students.

I tasted the air again, and there was no presence that seemed to be moving away from me.

There was something I was missing.

I flushed the memory aid magic through my mind again.

The troll had attacked Hermione in another world.

Something like ice flushed through my gut. Iris and Hermione had been arguing, hadn’t they?

I pulled out the map, taking a look at the parchment.

There was nothing near me, but I looked further and spotted a dot called ‘Grog’ and then further still in the first-floor bathroom, where a dot was huddled labeled, ‘Hermione Granger.’

That wasn’t the only thing, though. Out of the Great Hall, a massive swath of dots was streaming, headed presumably to their common room, and diverting from those dots was one ‘Iris Potter’ heading directly towards the bathrooms.

“Fuck.”

I picked up the pace, pushing my young limbs as much as I could, ignoring the small stitch in my side from having sprinted so long through the castle.

The only sound was my shoes on the corridor as I ran, trailing my prisoner behind me.

I heard the screaming first.

On one hand, screaming was a good sign, it showed the girls were still alive.

On the other hand…

I sprinted around a corner and spotted the open door of the girls’ bathroom where screams were emanating from.

Then a massive roar.

I sprinted forward, gesturing with my wand with a wide sweeping gesture, pinning Pettigrew to the wall outside the bathroom as if he were being crucified.

I pushed through the door, spotting the two girls at the back of the bathroom, having tried to avoid the troll as best as they could.

Iris stood in front of Hermonie and had her wand pointed out at the troll. She seemed at a loss though, while her emerald eyes were fierce and her magic was swirling around her, I saw the smallest of traces of panic within her emerald depths. She likely had no spells on how to deal with the situation.

Hermione was back behind her, her face paled with fright, her mouth open in horror.

The troll was preparing to swing at them, its arm raised threateningly.

My gut clenched, and my hand braced on my wand. Yet I realized I felt no fear; unconsciously, it seemed I had suppressed all emotions.

Albeit one.

Absolute rage roared through my system, fueled by Pettigrew, fueled by the fear in the girl’s eyes.

White hot energy burned through my limbs.

A soft voice echoed through my head; it was a woman’s voice that seemed familiar yet also incredibly unfamiliar.

‘Antares, please remember, your father and mother love you.’

The taste of strawberries rippled across my tongue. I had known their taste for all my life, but only now did I wonder where I had learned their flavor. I needed something more focused, more directed.

I flicked my wand out and violet flashed through the room, as I pressed the strawberries together, refined to its pure essence down to a width that was no longer three-dimensional.

My wand sang heat flaring through my limbs as I twirled my wand with a gentle wave.

Violet flashed.

The roar cut off as the troll froze in the center of the room.

Except the beast was no longer whole.

With a sickening thud, the arm holding its club fell off, crashing to the floor, loud in the sudden silence.

The troll staggered to the side, crashing into the toilet stalls, smashing them to pieces as it collapsed.

It let out a low keening wail as it gripped its bleeding stump.

I carefully picked my way across the floor of the room, ignoring the wailing roars as the beast grabbed at the spot where its limb had been, blood seeping through its hand. I walked up to the troll’s head as it blearily stared at me through what must be almost incomprehensible pain.

It opened its mouth to roar, its remaining arm stirring to life to crush me.

I flicked my wand at its forehead and violet flashed again.

A small hole appeared on the troll’s forehead, and a trickle of red blood emerged before it collapsed back against the floor.

I sighed something like relief stirring through me even as my body wanted to collapse, as it realized how much magic I had just expended.

A loud cry echoed out, and several startled shouts echoed out, and I spun as I realized it was outside the bathroom, the cry sounding remarkably like Professor McGonagall.

Into the bathroom stormed a group of Professors, Flitwick, Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore, their magic tasted thick and fierce as if readied for battle.

The magic vanished the moment they laid their eyes on us, the two girls standing in the corner, and me standing over the troll.

“Ms. Potter! Ms. Granger! Are you alright?” Professor McGonagall exclaimed, rushing over to the two girls whose eyes it seemed were fixed on me.

It was Hermione who spoke first, “We’re fine, Professor,” she said, her voice faint and her face pale and wan, making the statement hard to believe.

I ignored that happening for now. Professor McGonagall could handle whatever was going on there; neither girl was interested in interacting with me.

“Professor Dumbledore,” I said, and my voice seemingly silenced the entire room as the man looked at me with a raised eyebrow, “I presume you found the man outside the bathroom?” I asked.

Professor Dumbledore nodded, seemingly as calm as one could imagine, “I did, Mr. Black. It is not often one meets those supposed to be dead.”

“So you know he’s Peter Pettigrew, sir?” I asked for confirmation, unable to keep the faint note of tired desperation out of my voice.

Professor McGonagall made a choked noise, Flitwick squeaked, Snape was stony-faced.

“I am sure of it,” Professor Dumbledore said. “I imagine you have quite the story to tell, Mr. Black,” he said musingly, but his blue eyes were sharp as he looked at me.

“I found him in the dungeons,” I said, “He’s an animagus, sir, a rat.”

“Is that so?” Professor Dumbledore murmured, stroking his beard, looking for all the world as if I had told him a new flavor of bean had been introduced by Bertie Botts.

His eyes flicked to the troll, seemingly glancing over all of it in a second before they returned to me.

“And the troll?” Professor Dumbledore asked.

“I-“ I hesitated, “I don’t know where it came from myself, I heard it as I was coming back from the dungeons.”

Hermione and Iris stiffened, and I saw them glance at each other before Hermione spoke up, “Iris and I were in the bathroom Professor Dumbledore, we were-“ she hesitated, “Well we were talking and then the troll came in,” she glanced at me her eyes wide, though I noted the frustration that was usual in them was gone, “We would have died if it wasn’t for Ares,” she murmured softly.

Odd that she should use my nickname, given our current relationship.

McGonagall looked at a loss for words as she glanced at the troll, at me, then back at the girls.

“Mr. Black, you charged after a troll?” Professor McGonagall said stiffly.

“I-“ I hesitated, “I heard screaming, I didn’t see much of a choice.”

Professor McGonagall gave me a long look, and for perhaps the first time, I felt she was actually looking at me. Finally, she spoke, “I can’t say I approve of running towards such danger, Mr. Black,” she said sternly.

I didn’t so much as twitch as I regarded her.

“But seeing as you were defending your fellow students, foolish as it may have been, I cannot say I disapprove. We will talk later about your actions here, Mr. Black,” she said, her voice just as stern as usual, though there was something off about her tone, not warm, but not the cool way she had been treating me before, a strange inflection.

Honestly, whatever McGonagall was talking about was the furthest thing from my mind; there were more important matters.

“Professor Dumbledore, Sir,” I said.

“Yes?” the man said, raising a busy white eyebrow at me.

“About Peter Pettigrew-” I began, and the man raised his palms.

“Yes, I’m aware we have a long night ahead of both of us. Come with me, Mr. Black. Professor Flitwick, please see to the troll. Professor McGonagall, if you’d be so kind, please assist Ms. Potter and Ms. Granger back to their common room.”

Iris finally spoke, “Ares isn’t in trouble, is he, sir?” Her voice echoed through the room, interrupting the current happenings.

The attention of the room was drawn to the girl who was staring at Professor Dumbledore, her face set in a hard mask.

Professor Dumbledore gave Iris a soft smile, “Of course not, Ms. Potter, there are merely things that must be discussed.”

“But Professor Dumbledore, he saved us,” Hermione exclaimed.

I realized very distantly what exactly had occurred; both girls were under the impression that I was in trouble.

And they were concerned about it?

Any other time, I would have enjoyed the slightly warm flush that swept through my chest, but right now, every moment wasted here was another moment longer my Father was in jail.

“It’s alright,” I said, and I gave the girls my practiced smile. “You should head back to the common room,” I turned back to Professor Dumbledore. “I’m ready when you are, Professor.”

-

Sitting in the presence of one of the most powerful wizards alive, I found myself… confused.

His presence was barely a whisper to my sense of taste, and he had not so much as said a word to me since he had brought me to his office, sitting behind his desk, he had written a letter which he had handed to the phoenix sitting on a stand by his desk, the fiery red bird a vivid flavor sparking at my senses like old dead embers and fresh sparks.

The bird vanished in a flash, and Dumbledore settled behind his desk, his fingers steepled across his chest as he regarded me.

Not to mention the fact that we were both ignoring the fact that Peter Pettigrew was frozen like a statue in the corner of the room, his limbs still splayed awkwardly.

Finally, Dumbledore spoke, but it was not the words I had expected, “Sherbert Lemon?” he asked, gesturing to a bowl of yellow candies on his desk.

I was about to deny his offer, but I could feel my energy drained from no dinner, and I figured some sugar would help.

I prepared myself for a truly awful flavor as I popped the sweet into my mouth, wondering exactly what magic was used to prepare these.

Sour lemon ran through my mouth, a soft creamy flavor, and despite myself, a small smile crossed my lips.

This was the first food in over a month that I had tasted and was able to enjoy.

“I see they’re to your liking,” Dumbledore remarked, and I realized I had taken two more candies without even noticing and popping them into my mouth.

“I-“ I hesitated, “Yes, they taste quite good.”

Dumbledore looked at me for a long moment, “You don’t like the food much here at Hogwarts, do you?” he said, a seemingly innocuous remark.

I froze, looking at the man, surprised, “I’m sorry, sir, what do you mean?”

“House Elves prepare our food,” Dumbledore said, “It’s not enough of an issue to change except to those particularly sensitive to magic.”

I regarded the man, “Why is that, sir?”

“House Elves have particularly strong ambient magic,” Dumbledore said, “Not to mention that because they prepare so much food, they often use their magic to help.”

“I see,” I said. The man had obviously figured out my synesthesia, but it was strange he was choosing now to remark on it, “What does that have to do with anything?”

Dumbledore gently smiled at me, “I had to start wearing glasses in my fourth year after I nearly went blind.”

He peered over his half-moon glasses at me, “They’re quite useful, with them the light I see from magic is blocked to a tolerable extent, though I’ve since been told that now my sense of color leaves much to be desired.”

I regarded the man’s bright purple robes, accentuated by twinkling stars like a midnight sky, “I don’t see why, sir,” I said calmly.

Dumbledore chuckled.

The fireplace flared, and out stepped a woman with a monocle, stern with dark hair and a pretty face, contrasted sharply by the man who followed her, who stomped out of the fireplace across the ground with a large, outsized eye swirling in a face covered in scars next to a squinted normal one; both wore dark red robes.

“Dumbledore,” the woman said sternly, “is this your idea of a joke…”

She trailed off as the eyes of the aurors landed on the frozen man to my right.

“I am not joking, Madam Bones,” Dumbledore said, and his voice carried a stern edge to it that I was surprised to see, “Your Aurors will find Mr. Pettigrew to my immediate left.”

“It can’t be,” the Madam Bones whispered, her eyes trailing over the man. She regained herself seemingly immediately, “His limbs look broken. Was there a fight?”

Dumbledore looked at me, “Well, Mr. Black? What happened?” The tone was encouraging, strangely enough, but I didn’t give it much thought.

I looked at Madam Bones seriously, “He’s an animagus, Ma’am. I discovered him in the dungeons, and after reversing his transformation, I broke his limbs to prevent him from running.”

I noted Madam Bones’s slight, almost imperceptible flinch at my words, something about them disturbing her, but she replied quickly, “And how did you do so?” Madam Bones asked, “How did you know to look for a wizard presumed dead by the world?” It was like she was questioning a suspect, but I suppose in a way I was.

I was unsure where to begin, what to say, how to explain, for some reason, Dumbledore’s words came to mind.

“I noticed him in our shared dorm as he was a rat masquerading as a family pet. Even as a rat, his magic is that of a wizard,” I said quietly, “I couldn’t be sure till I cornered him, but I practiced the animagus reversal spell because I was sure he was.”

Madam Bones looked at me for a long moment, “You can sense a wizard’s magic, Mr. Black?” she asked.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said quietly.

A long moment of silence echoed before a sharp bark of laughter echoed in the room for the man next to her, “A bleeding first year stumbles across a closed case, isn’t that something?”

“Quiet, Moody,” Madam Bones said.

Moody snorted, reaching into a pocket in his robes and offering the woman a vial of clear liquid, “We have to know now, Madam Bones, before this gets buried.”

Madam Bones turned to look back at Peter Pettigrew, before she accepted the vial of clear liquid. She pried open Pettigrew’s mouth and then carefully dropped three drops onto the man’s tongue.

Moody gestured with his hand, and Pettigrew’s head unfroze, his head twisting and shaking about the room, his mouth opening before his eyes grew hazy and his head slumped.

“What is your name?” Madam Bones asked.

“Peter Pettigrew,” the man said listlessly.

Moody sneered something like victory flashing through his eyes. Madam Bones didn’t so much as flinch, even as her eyes hardened.

Dumbledore watched with his cool blue eyes, his fingers drumming across the desk.

-

There were moments in life that didn’t feel quite real, and this was one of mine. For twenty minutes, Peter Pettigrew was questioned, and the words I hoped and dreaded he would say escaped his mouth.

His service to Lord Voldemort. His betrayal of the Potters. His showdown with Sirius Black.

Everything that I already knew to be true was confirmed, but it didn’t feel real.

Moody’s gash of a mouth had thinned as he glared at the man before us. Madam Bone’s face had paled.

A red light flashed off Moody’s wand, and Pettigrew’s eyes glazed over; the man was stunned.

The man turned to the other adults, “How did this happen?” he snarled.

“Sirius Black confessed himself that he was the one who betrayed the Potters,” Dumbledore said quietly, “I asked at the time that he be given a trial, but one Barty Crouch denied my petition, I have not made much progress since.”

“Barty,” sneered Moody, stomping across the floor, “Of course it was Barty, stinking bleeding-“

“Moody,” Madam Bones said shortly, “There is a child here!”

“Child!” exclaimed Moody, “The boy’s done a better job than we did!”

I decided to break my silence, saying the words cautiously, not truly sure if what I was saying was even a good idea, “Does this mean,” I hesitated, “Does this mean my Father’s innocent?”

“Innocent!” Moody roared, “We imprisoned one of the best Aurors we had and for what-“

“Alastor,” Dumbledore said softly, his words cutting off Moody’s rant instantly, “I believe self-recriminations can come later; every second wasted is another taken from an innocent man.” he turned to look at Madam Bones. “Is Pettigrew's testimony enough?”

Madam Bones sighed, looking far older in that moment than she had appeared when she came in, “More than, there’ll be uproar, but-“ something indescribably sad passed through her eyes, “Sirus Black will go free, there’ll need to be a hearing, but with this new evidence that should be no problem to petition for, I’ll start tonight.”

Her eyes flicked to me before back to Dumbledore, “There may be a need for Mr. Black to give a statement before the Wizengamot in regards to Pettigrew’s capture,” she said to the room at large, though the question felt directed at me.

“Of course, Ma’am,” I said quietly.

Madam Bones nodded before she turned back to Dumbledore, “I had a couple more questions, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore nodded his head with aplomb, “Of course, Mr. Black, you may head back to your house.”

I wanted to protest; this felt incomplete, not enough, but the rational part of me realized there was little more I could do right now.

“Yes, Headmaster,” I said, and stood up, nearly staggering as I realized how drained I still felt.

“Are you alright, Mr. Black?” Dumbledore asked, and I noted his voice now sounded concerned, breaking from his calm slightly.

“Fine,” I said shortly and then walked out of the office, beginning my journey once again down the stairs.

It was only when I was several hallways away from the Gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office that I allowed myself deep panting breaths.

I had been able to ignore it for the most part, but my body was tired, not explained by the running, but I thought likely by the spell I had cast against the troll.

Whatever that spell had been.

I ran the taste of strawberries over again in my mouth. Something had happened, but the only way I would be able to figure it out was through more repetition. I was sure I could do it again now that I had done it.

My shoes made a soft pattern across the stone of the castle as I journeyed slowly back to Gryffindor Tower.

I was tired enough that my mind had reached a moment of stillness that I still wasn’t able to do with occlumency.

One step in front of the other, I climbed the staircases muttering the password to the Fat Lady and then stepped inside the dorm room, walking a couple of steps to come face to face with an empty common room apart from three people.

Neville, Hermionie, and Iris sat across from each other in the center of the common room, not exchanging a word, their heads turned seemingly as one upon my entrance.

Neville sprang up from the couch, first sprinting at me, “Antares!” he exclaimed, grasping my shoulders and looking me over with frantic eyes, “Where were you? I thought something had happened!”

“Stuff did,” I said shortly, giving my friend a tired smile and reaching a hand up to ruffle his hair.

I noted that Hermione and Iris had followed in Neville’s wake and were now standing somewhat awkwardly a few feet away. Hermione’s head was down, staring at the floor, while Iris had firmly fixed her emerald eyes into mine.

So we were doing whatever this was tonight. A long, awkward silence stretched out within our group as Neville stood to the side looking uncomfortable.

“Yes?” I finally said, raising an eyebrow at the two girls.

Iris and Hermione glanced at each other and then both spoke at once.

“Who was-“ Iris began.

“I’m sorry-“ Hermione attempted.

They both stopped glancing at each other as they realized they had gotten in each other’s way.

“It’s just-“ Iris said.

“We are-“ Hermione tried.

Iris sighed and gestured toward Hermione, “You first,” she said.

Hermione flinched but then turned toward me, locking her brown eyes onto me firmly, “You saved my life, our lives, thank you.” The words were simple, but I could tell she was being sincere. “I don’t want to think what would have happened without you arriving.”

Neville’s mouth opened, looking between the three of us, seemingly even more confused.

“It was nothing,” I shook my head, “Don’t even think about it,” I said tiredly.

Hermione’s eyes flashed, “Nothing! Do our lives mean so little to you?” she said cooly.

I shook my head, “It’s not like that, I just don’t want either of you to think you owe me.”

Iris’s lips twisted into a frown, and she finally spoke, “Why did you save us?” she asked softly.

I looked at her, unable to hide my befuddlement, “You thought I would just let people die when I could do something about it?”

“I was-“ Iris hesitated, “I haven’t talked to you for over a month, not since-“ Iris shook her head, seemingly bewildered, “I don’t understand,” she said.

“You don’t understand why I would save your lives?” I asked, even more confused.

“Yes!” Iris exclaimed, then hesitated, “I mean, Hermione and I were… talking about trying to talk to you again, but that’s beside the point!”

Why was it when she said talking, I heard arguing?

“You were?” I asked.

Hermione spoke up, “We were talking about it in Charms, but you were gone before we could even try to talk to you. I got… upset and I went to be by myself in the girls’ bathroom, but Iris came to find me and then the Troll showed up.”

“You guys encountered the Troll?” Neville exclaimed loudly.

“Easy, Nev,” I placed a hand on his shoulder, my eyes flicking to the stairs for a moment, wondering if we had been heard.

Well, that wrapped up what had happened rather nicely, though it left me with no earthly clue on how to respond to either of the girls.

“So what is it exactly you two want from me?” I asked, my tiredness forcing me to be blunt.

Hermione and Iris glanced at each other, and I had the distinct impression that neither of the girls thought the conversation was going to last this long.

“I want to be friends again,” Iris finally said, her voice soft, “I know the thing with our parents-“ she hesitated, “Well, it makes things complicated, and I don’t really know how I’m supposed to feel about you, but you were kind to me and you just saved my life, so you can’t be like your dad, not really.”

If only she knew I reflected with wry amusement, but tonight was not the night to drop more bombshells.

“Thanks, I think?” I replied, giving Iris a wry smile, “I’d like to be your friend again, too.”

Iris’s eyes flicked up to mine, and something sparkled in them; her magic flared about her, seemingly sparking with warmth.

“I’d also like to be friends,” Hermione said softly, her voice somewhat stilted, “If that’s alright.”

“Of course,” I replied.

“Just like that?” Hermione exclaimed, looking at me, confused. Iris’s expression also seemed confused, as if she were unsure if I was in my right mind.

“You guys act like I’m supposed to be holding some kind of grudge?” I sighed. Really, what did they think of me?

Iris took several steps forward so that she was standing inches away from me, looking up at me, her emerald eyes meeting my grey, seemingly searching for something only she knew to look for.

“You’re strange,” Iris said bluntly.

I blinked, recoiling slightly, eyes flicking to Neville for assistance.

“I’m not strange, right, Nev?”

Neville gave me a long look then shrugged his shoulders helplessly, “They’re not wrong, Anatares, you’re supposed to be getting upset.”

I was?

I frowned at the thought; the fact of the matter was that I understood, or at least I thought I did, why the girls had been upset. Hermione for my capabilities in class, making her feel insecure, and Iris because she had trouble being around the son of the man who everyone believed betrayed her parents.

Perhaps Hermione has a ‘lesser reason’, but we were all kids, our emotions were meant to run out of control.

“But, I understand why they were upset,” I said, befuddled, “They had every right to be.”

Iris’s magic flared, and her emerald eyes glowed slightly as she glared at me, “No, we didn’t!” she snarled, “You’re not your relatives! You’re not your dad! You can’t let people treat you that way!”

I looked at the girl, even more confused; she seemed even more upset now, even when I had designed my words to help her feel better.

“It’s fine, really,” I gave Iris my practiced smile, “No harm done.”

Iris’s eyes were practically glowing as she glared at me. She spoke lowly and softly, “You’re going to let us make it up to you.”

I glanced at Neville, hoping for an assist, but the boy had backed up several feet.

Hermione also looked surprised and had backed away several steps herself, her brown eyes widened, as she regarded Iris.

I looked down at Iris again, before I nodded slowly, “Okay,” I said simply.

I didn’t know why, but this seemed to be something that Iris needed, so I would give it to her.

Iris breathed in a deep breath, seemingly relieved, her face relaxing from her dangerous glare, “Thank you, Ares,” she said simply before she turned and walked back toward the girls’ stairs.

Hermione glanced at Iris before she looked back at me for a moment, her brown eyes confused, “I’ll, uh, see you later, Ares,” she said before hurrying after Iris.

I let out a relieved sigh and began my own journey toward my dorm, followed by Neville.

“What was that all about?” Neville asked as we climbed the stairs.

There was almost too much subtext to explain, definitely too much for tonight. “They’re girls, Nev, it’s just how they are,” not even close to the truth, but I didn’t have it in me to explain anything more tonight.

Nev just nodded his head slowly as if my words made any kind of sense.

We entered our dorm to see Ron Weasley and the other boys looking about, seemingly searching for something.

“Hey,” Seamus said, “Have either of you two seen Ron’s rat?”

“No,” Neville said.

I shrugged my shoulders, “Haven’t the foggiest,” I walked toward my bed, already feeling my eyes falling closed as I fell onto it, fully closed, shutting the curtains with a flick of my fingers.

“He could have at least helped search,” Ron mumbled sulkily.

I paid the comment no mind; I was quite done searching for rats.