She starts with Lestrange's letter.

'Halfblood,

What in Merlin's name is going on. I've left you alone in the country for a few months without competent supervision and now you've gone and gotten your sticky fingers all over this Rigel Black situation. Master Whitaker didn't even need to inform me; it's all over the international papers so I shudder to think what disgraces have been splashed across the society pages at home.

Brat, I am hearing the most ridiculous tales and, despite your deplorable blood status, you're almost good at putting your ear to the ground. Was Rigel Black a halfblood impostor? It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest; I always knew there was something strange about him and he stood out like bloodroot in a blood-replenisher. When I instructed you to keep me informed on your unintuitive experiments, that did not give you carte blanche to refrain from sharing information as important as this.

You're on shaky ground, Potter, despite the probationary steps you've taken into the potions field. Your little shape imbuing trick may have bought you a shred of credit with someone as great as Master Snape ensuring you do not blow yourself up, but if you have by some miracle created modified Polyjuice and used it to support this farce Black has conducted, you can kiss any respect within the community goodbye.

Make sure you attend the Gala. I expect answers on what ridic nonsense you've concocted this time. When I look over your work, as is my right as your future Master, we may be able to make it into something worthwhile. If you can keep yourself out of Azkaban, that is.

-C. Lestrange'

Well, she certainly appreciates the potions metaphor Lestrange had managed to slot in there.

Relaxing back into the comforts of her bed, Harry slouches across the excess of pillows, carefully placing Lestrange's letter upon her bedside table. It is not something that requires a reply, though why he thinks she will be able to attend the Malfoys' latest and greatest shindig, a gala tied to Draco's fifteenth birthday party, she doesn't have the slightest clue. The ceiling above her bed is splattered with glow-in-the-dark stars, all correctly placed, as if they'd been stolen right from the pages of an astronomy textbook. In truth, she wouldn't put it past Sirius to have done so, though she has no evidence as to the culprit of the star ceiling prank. It's just as likely to have been James; he'd assume an astrology focus would throw suspicion off him and onto Sirius.

The truth of it is, she wants to go to the Gala. She wants to see her friends, even if they are no longer hers. Were never hers to begin with. They're Rigel's. All they've ever known is Rigel, a mask she wore in order to acquire the education she needs. They knew she had her secrets and, while they may not have been happy about it, they accepted it. Only, they would never learn her truths, Rigel's truths.

To them, Rigel will always be the pureblood pretender, the halfblood who'd had the gall to come to Hogwarts anyway, who had tricked them with his lies as he feigned he was one of them.

He would be the student who cured the sleeping sickness, who slayed the basilisk and won the Triwizard Tournament. It is for the best that his legacy fades into obscurity, only lingering where it is needed to fight the COW party's dastardly schemes.

For all that it's made her life so much harder… Harry would not have traded it for the world. For a brief few years, she had friends. Best friends. She had the attention of her hero, before she'd earned it under her own name. There are some things she won't be sad to see the back of, however. The hostilities, the hard eyes that followed her every move. Lord Riddle's attentions. That one in particular she's glad to be rid of. He may have pushed her, manoeuvred her into the positioning that would best benefit him and his. But… she'd had the last laugh in the end. He's played her as ruthlessly as he does others, only, he'd been working under false pretences. He'd assumed he was dealing with Rigel Black, pureblood and Heir to the House of Black. If that'd been who he had been dealing with, she doesn't doubt he'd have won.

It'd been Harry Potter he was playing against though. She'd held the ace and now, having played it, she's made off into the night with her ill-gotten fortune and left him ransacked at the table. In the very least, there will be no way to dispute a halfblood's worth. Not with the showing Rigel had given. The thought makes her smile, even as she lays herself over the top of her bed covers, scrubbing one hand through her hair.

One night. She'll have one night sleeping on the top of the bed covers. She's not in Hogwarts robes, but her causal day set is close enough. One night, still pretending she's that Slytherin, going to sleep in dormitories she'll never visit again.

Then, she'll continue packing Rigel Black away until every trace of him she can possibly remove from her life is gone.

.

The Polyjuice wears off the next morning, just as she's brushing her teeth. Her entire body spasms and she drops the toothbrush out of reflex, gripping the edges of the sink as toothpaste dribbles down her chin. It is an uncomfortable sensation, feeling her shoulders slim down, her hips and chest round. Even her short hair adjusts how it lays across her head, one errant curl brushing up against her cheekbone.

It's not a long process but, once the sensation has passed, she's hesitant to look into the mirror. After all, this is the face she'll be living with now for the rest of her life. There's no need for her to take Polyjuice anymore. Archie, being a metamorphmagi, has been wearing his own face ever since the ruse was officially announced to be up. She wouldn't be surprised to see Sirius parading his son up and down Diagon Alley, no doubt pleased as punch that Archie so clearly takes after him. Speaking of children looking like their parents…

Harry draws in one long, low breath and lifts her head up.

Well, she thinks as she stares into her own luminous green eyes, there will be no more rumours that she and Archie are twins separated at birth. Her hair is, without question, the same Potter mess that her father boasts and she's got his chin, if softened slightly. The sharp pureblood cheekbones are softened by the cheeks from her Mother, though it's the only feature she can really pick out. That and the eyes. It's strange; she's become so used to seeing Rigel's face in the mirror, the genetic hybrid that comes from both herself and Archie, that it's near painful to see that familiarity stripped away.

Harry lifts her hand, running it down the side of her cheek to her jawline. She looks older than she should. Not significantly so and, with the way no one has seen her actual face for about three years, she doubts anyone else will notice it. But the puppy fat of her youth is gone, leaving an angled stranger in the mirror. She doesn't doubt she'll be giving her reflection a second look many a time in the next few days.

There is a plus point to all of this; if her Polyjuice has worn off, the rest of Magical Britain will take it to mean Rigel's Polyjuice will also be gone. Now, anyone could be Rigel; other than a child with no magical aura and a known Parselmouth, they'll have no idea what else they're looking for. And it's not exactly like either of those two traits are stamped across the forehead of a person with them. In fact, the only other Parselmouth out there, besides Harry herself, would be the construct. And she doesn't doubt Riddle will recognise that for what it is before he goes assuming it to be the runaway Rigel Black.

It's, it's another safety net, another step away from her pretence. Another step to being just Harry once again.

.

When she arrives in the kitchen and takes up her seat, her father breaks off mid-sentence. Adamant to not acknowledge the change or make a big deal of it, Harry goes about selecting a piece of toast (just on the right side of brown) and begins spooning her eggs onto the surface. Only once she has completed that task and cut her breakfast into bite-sized pieces does she deign to look up.

James is staring at her in open-mouthed astonishment. His eyes are slightly bulged, cutlery loose in his grip and there's a streak of ketchup down the front of his auror robes. Not that he really seems to care, or have even noticed it in truth. Harry meets his gaze for a moment before she returns to her eggs and toast, spearing a piece with relish.

"Lily," James' first call comes out quiet, almost strangled, but he seems to regain control of his lungs a moment later. "Lily! Lily, come quick!"

"James, what on earth-" her mother cuts off as she appears at the door, a very tired Addy balanced on one hip and the only one in the house not goggling at her. It's… it's not a pleasant sensation.

She'd been aware the changes would be stark, but this is surely out of hand… isn't it?

"It's not that bad," Harry starts hesitantly, lifting one hand up to brush at the lock of hair that persists in brushing against her cheekbone on the left-hand side of her face, "is it?"

James coughs, clearing his throat and his cutlery clatters against his plate as he sets it down. He stares at her across the table, a serious expression on his face as he calmly states, "you're no longer allowed to see Leo."

What?

"What?"

"Or that Lestrange boy," he continues, not even registering her question, "or any other male friends that I don't know about. In fact, you're not allowed out anymore. You're under house arrest again."

House arrest again? Now that's just plain unreasonable. Of course, her father would be upset she'd been lying to him, but she's served the punishment he'd assigned with little to no resistance. To dole out a second one when one solid piece of her duplicity is exposed, when her true face is exposed, is unfair.

"What your father is trying to say," Lily cuts in, firing a look to James that's full of heat and amused suspicion, "is that he thinks you look very pretty, Harry. Stunning even."

"Ah, thank you," she says in lieu of having nothing else lined up. The very last thing she'd been expecting was a compliment. Does she look pretty? Harry isn't sure. The concept of beauty is, after all, subjective. But if her mother, who Harry has always thought to be a beautiful woman, considers her pretty, then it could be the case. She'll agree with the use of the word stunning; her eyes sear in a way she imagines very few are capable of. She wonders if Lily feels guilty about that now and hopes her mother doesn't. For all that they are startling… she likes the green. Green eyes had always been Harry's thing, the one difference between her and Rigel Black when under Polyjuice. Even with the poor imitation of the eye colour the contacts had provided her with, that'd been the thing to signal she's Harry Potter, halfblood and a girl.

"Very pretty," James mutters, very much begrudging in his tone and his face tainted with despair. "Merlin, it's a damn good thing I'm not working the Minster's protection details at the Gala this year."

"At the- we're going to the Gala?"

"The invitation arrived with the morning post," Lily offers, holding out a thick piece of card with the hand not supporting Addy. Her little sister is staring at her something fierce and Harry's pretty certain it's not due to an early onset of the famed Potter short-sightedness. Harry wiggles her fingers in her little sister's direction as the accepts the card Lily holds out, letting a few bursts of magic free from the tip of each one. The little bubbles of light flutter out and Addy relaxes instantly, no doubt recognising her magic. It might take a little bit of time for her sister to adjust to her new face but-

"Ha-ree." But she recognises her. That's the most important thing.

"It's an invitation for all of us. You are addressed by name, Harry."

"They want to subtly needle me for more information," Harry concludes, noting that the card does indeed have her full name elegantly sprawled across the surface.

"You'll need new dress robes. I'll help you pick some out this afternoon. No doubt if I leave it to you, then you'll show up in your brewing robes and boots."

"They're practical," Harry defends with a sniff, turning her eyes to the hallway door, where the boots in question would currently be stored.

"What's this about practical? Other than the fact I'm practically perfect in every way." Sirius fills the doorway before Harry can turn her attention back to her breakfast. There's an awkward moment as they both stare at each other, Sirius goggling in a manner reminiscent to her father mere moments ago.

"Dad! I can't get around and you're blocking the food!"

Sirius lets out a stunned, low whistle as Archie bullies his way past, using his irritatingly increasing height and sharp elbows to shove his father aside. Her cousin bounces into the kitchen, pulling up a chair and dropping into it, snatching up a slice of toast to eagerly begin buttering.

"Sirius! Thank Merlin, tell Harry she can't go out like that."

"You can't go out like that," Sirius dutifully repeats, a wicked grin stretching across his face as he looks her over again. "At least, not without letting your mother lengthen your hair."

The wounded noise of betrayal that passes through James' lips would be something she'd be more inclined to believing Sirius had created in his animagus form rather than a human. And, true to his heritage, Archie chooses to twist the knife a little deeper.

"Maybe Aunt Lily could do something with her eyelashes too? Thicken 'em, a bit? She won't need my engagement protection for long in any case- Hey! These are new robes!"

"Why can we not get through a single week without a food fight, is it so much to ask?" Lily whines, settling Addy into her highchair as a retaliation shot of baked beans soars towards James. Given that his robes are already a lost cause due to his earlier ketchup slip, Harry rather gets the feeling her father isn't too bothered by Archie's return fire, more enthused with the idea of getting Addy to join in. And, despite the deception, despite the broken trust, it almost feels like a normal summer's day.

.

She's had to buy a new potions bag. Obviously, Rigel would have disappeared with his, along with all the ingredients contained within. The loss of access to the basilisk scales that'd been set aside for future experimentation does sting, but Harry comforts herself with the knowledge she'll be able to apply for the use of some once she gains her potion's mastery. Regardless, a new bag means new ingredients, especially given that she will be meeting Professor Snape on Monday at the Guild.

She floos to the Leaky, passing through the usual entrance into Diagon. It's much too early in the summer holidays for the school-supplies crush to be present, but there's a fair few people out and about. They're an array of colour in their summer robes, meandering about the main alley as if they don't have anywhere to be. Harry doesn't get it; why on earth would you come to Diagon Alley without the need to actually buy something? Looking for presents she can understand, but she has much better things to do with her day than just wander around window-shopping.

Her boots clip against the cobblestones as she makes her way down the street, avoiding the small puddles left over from last night's downpour. It won't be long until they evaporate under the heat of the sun but she has no desire to dawdle until that point. It hasn't stopped others from venturing out either; she can spot a few carts that have clearly meandered up from the Lower Alley, along with a few little salespeople holding onto their wares. One of which is Margo. Margo who looks her over and then doesn't so much as acknowledge she's there. It has Harry pausing for a moment, a pang of hurt tearing through her chest before reality catches up. Of course, the Polyjuice is gone. Margo will be looking for the wrong face entirely.

If anything, her reaction will be a good judge on how people outside of her family are going to take the new face, Harry thinks as she makes her way over.

"What are you selling, little miss?" Harry asks, pitching her voice just a bit lower than her natural tone, watching Margo's face screw up in confusion.

"Astrantias, Miss. They've just come into bloom now that we're in June."

"Margo, look at my boots."

Margo flinches ever so slightly at being addressed by name but she does indeed look. It takes all of a second for her to realise exactly who she's talking to, bright eyes flicking up to take in her face again.

"Harry? Have you had a potions accident?" A potions accident? Harry laughs, amused despite herself. The kind of accidents she could have at her level now would not leave her with a face this normal looking, that's for sure. If an accident would even leave her with much of a face at all.

"Not an accident. The potion I was taking to look like Archie wore off. This is what I actually look like." Harry captures that single lock that's just a bit too short to go back into the small ponytail at the back of her head, despite how Lily had lengthened it before she left. She tucks it behind her ear again, even though it's a fruitless endeavour. It's hardly going to remain there, no matter how much she wishes it would. Maybe she should invest in some hairclips? That or a headband; she cannot afford to be distracted by her hair when making some of the more volatile potions.

"You look really pretty," Margo says, hiking her bag of flowers up onto her shoulder to secure it. "Just wait until I tell Leo!" And then she's off, scampering towards Knockturn Alley in a flash of long hair and whirling skirts.

Harry watches her go for a moment, a little smile tucked up in the corner of her mouth. That's the second person to tell her she's pretty today. Maybe Lily hadn't been lying, maybe her face is pretty. Not that it matters all that much; potioneers go on the front of the Guild's journal based on merit, not their appearance. And she has every intention of being on the front cover one day.

.

With her potions bag near-full, Harry grins up at Tate as he hands over another bag of ingredients, her total having come out a little cheaper than she'd been expecting. She's relatively sure that she totalled it up correctly (poor addition skills have injured many an aspiring potioneer) but, from the smile her trusted ingredients supplier offers her, she's certain he's aware of it. Which means he's giving her a discount. Well, she's hardly going to look a gift hippogriff in the mouth, is she? Not when she has a full bag to restock anyway.

"No more of your wonder Polyjuice then, Miss Potter?"

"Nope. No need anymore. The whole thing is up which means this is the face that'll be continuing to haunt your shelves for the foreseeable future."

"Bit of a shock to see those eyes of yours again," Tate continues, rubbing as his chin with one hand while the other waves his wand, her receipt writing itself, "but not unwelcomed. Reckon more than a few people will be memorising your appearance today. Right, Leo?"

Harry spins around shouldering her potions bag as she goes to find the Rouge himself hastily reorganising himself. He's now leaning against one shelf, looking all the world like he's been there all along. If she hadn't seen the last-minute movement of his limbs, Harry might have even believed it. But no, she'd caught him in the act, if only thanks to Tate. Maybe someday in the future she'll catch him solo before he springs into existence.

"Well, I…" Leo trails off, his eyes roving over her, from the tops of her half-tamed Potter hair, all the way down to her favourite boots. His eyes linger there for a moment, recognition blooming in his hazel eyes before his gaze climbs again to the summit of her face. Harry puts on her best unimpressed frown, cocking one hip to a side and waiting for his verdict. Only, Leo doesn't say anything at all. Just continues to stare in a way that is not helping her frazzled nerves. It's almost painfully similar to the way the SOW party had looked at Rigel. As if he were the thing they coveted most, a prime example for them to collect and then parade about as needed. Whatever Leo thinks she's a fine example of, Harry doesn't have a clue. Nor is she sure she wants to.

Instead, she turns her attentions back on Tate, smiling and holding her hand out for the receipt.

"Thank you, Mr. Tate. I'll be back next month."

"And I look forward to it, Miss Potter."

Turning around, Harry almost flinches back at how much closer Leo suddenly is, huffing when she realises she has to angle her head back just a little bit more than usual. She'd been aware she lost an inch or two with the Polyjuice wearing off, but that fact is a bit harder to ignore when it affects her posture like this.

"So, this is your real face, is it?" Leo asks, head tilting to a side as he appraises her features once more, his eyes lingering on hers until Harry tears her gaze away, hefting her potions bag up onto her shoulder in one well practiced swoop. The strap doesn't fit quite right, still adjusted to her Rigel body but that'll be a quick fix.

"Well, the Polyjuice wore off, so unless I got dosed with a prank product this morning, then this is it."

"There'll be no hiding the fact you're a little princess now," Leo suddenly bemoans, pressing a hand over his chest and stumbling theatrically, one hand coming up to fan his face. "The thought of all the suitors I'm gonna have to beat back so you can have even a modicum of peace is already making me weak at the knees."

Harry huffs at his dramatics, taking a step around Leo to make for the door. She's not too surprised when he throws an arm over her shoulder, his palm warm even through the thin sleeve of her robe. "I don't need you fighting off my suitors. I don't have time for that anyway with what I'm working on." She's got to sort out the last of her potion's first aid kit and run it by Professor Snape before she sends that off to the Guild for testing. Then, she's got to make sure all the loose ends of Rigel Black are tied up before she even approaches the idea of her own schooling. She doubts her parents will let her continue with her correspondence school. Harry's relatively sure she could pass it all anyway, what with the grounding she's gotten from Flint's essays and having her own study time, but she doesn't think that'll fly with her parents. Which is a shame because she'd have so much more time for potions making if that were the case. Chances are, she'll be shipped off to AIM for real this time.

At least she'll be with Archie if that's what it comes down to.

"You can't work all the time, Lass," Leo grumbles, getting the door and holding it open for her as she walks out. He's quick to catch her arm before she can get out of range, placing it in the crook of his elbow and Harry rolls her eyes at him, slipping the limb free and swatting at his arm.

"Can't I?" Harry asks and perhaps it's a risk to use one of Rispah's faces without practice (at least in regards to her new features anyway). She tries regardless, putting that wistful longing into her gaze, allowing her lip to give the slightest uncertain tremble as she looks up at Leo from beneath her lashes. At least the inch or so she's lost only adds to this particular look.

Leo stares. His lips are parted slightly and she can see the tips of his ears are going ever so slightly red. He'd not been out in the sun long enough for it to be sunburn, though she's pretty certain Leo only tans, never burns. He mutters something under his breath, though Harry only managed to catch Rispah's name before the Rouge is back to normal, both hands coming up to rest behind his head, chin tilted up towards the sun.

"Well, I suppose you could work all summer long, but then who am I going to spend my time teaching? I mean, Archie seemed nice enough when you introduced us and there's always the lovely Hermione, I'm sure I could wheedle her away from my Ma with a little effort-"

"Oi!" Harry sticks one foot out in a lacklustre effort to trip Leo but he gamely jumps over it, not even adjusting his stride. "I'll have time for our duelling sessions," Harry insists, peering up at Leo to make sure he's not going to go through with his idea of recruiting Archie (or Merlin forbid, Hermione) to become his latest apprentice.

Leo hums, rubbing at his chin in a bout of mock decision-making and Harry skids to a stop, folding her arms and waiting for her friend's showboating to come to a halt. Then, another thought strikes her and Harry scowls harder.

"And don't go charming Hermione, Archie won't thank you for it."

"Ah, your cousin's taken with the girl? Not sure the SOW party are going to like that," Leo muses before a wicked smile slashes across his face, like the harsh winter sun cutting through cloud cover, "and I thought the two of you were betrothed?"

"There's no clause in there saying we have to be faithful and either one of us can call it off once we're of age," Harry explains and she sees the moment Leo deduces it's for her own safety with the current fluctuation the laws. Though, if things go Dumbledore's way, that might not be for much longer. The SOW party have lost a lot of momentum following the Triwizard Tournament, all but ground to halt, actually. It's their fault; Riddle had wanted to put an end to the blood debate, once and for all. And an end had been put to it. When a halfblood had won it. Really, Harry thinks and only lets the smallest amount of smugness bloom across her lips, if he hadn't pushed so hard for her to be included, this wouldn't be an issue. That she'd gotten what she wanted out of the bargain as well just makes it that much sweeter, even if the ruse has bitten the dust as a result. That Riddle has had to halt all his legislation that he never got to shove through; it tastes like the sweetest of chocolates.

"Well, that's good to know. Now come on, Lass. Let's go show your pretty face off at the Phoenix."

"Can't. My mum's already claimed my time today. She's taking me shopping. For dress robes," Harry drawls out in displeasure, forcing herself not to scowl. It's not that she dislikes robe shopping, but it's hardly her favourite activity. Unless she's going for more brewing robes. There's just something about judging the quality of the purchase she's about to make that Harry finds incredibly pleasing.

"Dress robes?" With his voice pitched ever so slightly higher in question, Leo sizes her up again, that charming smirk lifting his cheeks and making his eyes glitter with warmth. "Whatever would you need dress robes for."

"I've been invited to the Summer Gala. The Malfoys are hosting it this year."

"Oh. They want to test your story, make sure all is as you've said it is," Leo concludes, face falling with the severity of the situation, one hand coming up to scratch as the edge of his jaw. His face is angular, not the pointed sharpness of the Book of Gold purebloods, but sharp enough for Harry to notice the stark relief between neck and face. "I best let you go then. I assume you have a plan?"

"Of course, I have a plan. Rigel is gone and he's not coming back. We don't even have the same face anymore." The SOW party will be chasing his ghost for the rest of their days as far as Harry is concerned.

"Be careful, Lass. Come stop by the Phoenix when you have a moment. In the meantime, I'll see what I can do." Leo claps her on the shoulder, before he apparently thinks better of it and reels her into a hug, chin resting on the crown of her head as Harry's hands hang uselessly by her sides. It takes a moment, but then her arms are around his waist, giving a small squeeze before she releases him.

"You too, Leo. Watch out for Marek."

He laughs, shaking his head and boldly declares Marek Swiftknife is hardly the person he needs to be watching out for. It's not untrue; there's been no word of Claw or Scar, only another attack on the Lower Alleys in the middle of spring. It's like the calm before the storm and the whole thing has Harry unsettled.

Leo's fingers find the one curl that she can't quite tuck away yet, twisting it and something else around her ear before he releases her. "I'm glad I've gotten to see this face of yours, Harry. Don't ever hide it away again." And then he's gone, disappearing into the crowds in the way only the Rouge can do, leaving Harry standing with an astrantia tucked behind her ear and a heart not as steady as she'd like it to be.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

Harry falls into her mindscape with practiced ease. Sand particles scrape up against the bared flesh of her arms, the wind whipping through her hair and Harry squints against the harsh sunlight, head turning away and to a side.

"It has been a while, Harriet."

"Dom." The Dominion Jewel stares out at her from behind Rigel Black's flat silver eyes, his head tilting ever so slightly to a side as he considers her. This conversation has been a long time coming but Harry had not dared to meditate in her house arrest, well aware her parents were on tenterhooks with her and everything she had to cover would require mental magic and an in-depth discussion that she just couldn't do in the waking world. Not without being accused of spacing out anyway. Likely, that'd have only worried her parents more.

"I see that the ruse is up," Dom continues, head tilting back and his features slowly begin to bubble, fluctuating before they smooth out into a new façade. He's taller now, the same mess of Potter hair that her father boasts but with deep brown eyes. He stretches his hands out, fingers spread wide as his shoulders rotate. It looks, Harry thinks with a grimace, rather like a demon checking out the latest body they have possessed. But that thought brings with it the Riddle Construct and Harry resolutely shoves that thought down, burying it deep.

"What's with the new look?" she asks instead, glancing around now that the sandstorm is bleeding out of existence. They're in the middle of the town, the one at the base of the pyramid. A bubbling brook of water that she highly doubts would actually be in an Egyptian town divides the street in two, joined every ten or so yards by ornamental bridges, the purpose obviously intended to be more aesthetically pleasing than to be of any actual use. There are shells of people passing to and fro, vendors behind their stalls, a low buzz of background noise that she can't make out the words for.

"Should any trespass into your mind far enough to meet me, then it would be an ill-conceived idea for me to remain in the form of Rigel Black, would it not? Now, I am the older brother you always wished to have watching over you."

"I've never wished to have an older brother," Harry corrects, nose scrunching with the thought. Archie, as much as she loves him, is bad enough and there's only a week between them. She cannot imagine what an older brother would be like, other than to be a terrible mix of her cousin and her father.

"But no one else knows that." Dom waves his hand back and forth, a pharaoh batting away the concerns presented by a lesser being. The image, as always, suits him. Gold glitters on his fingers, each ring adorned by a gemstone, though none are as large as the one that resides in the centre of his amulet. It's a surprise he hasn't given himself a crown.

"Now come, I will show you the new defences while you organise your thoughts for what is sure to be the latest in your riveting array of life-plans."

.

They progress through the imitation of an Egyptian town slowly, Dom pointing out the great walls that now surround the town and the collection of guards that man each post. Harry's relatively sure the catapult contraption installed on each wall is from Ancient Rome, if she's remembering her lessons with Remus right, but she doesn't want to question it too much. It's a complex layout, a small portion of her magic burning bright as the sun above the pyramid. It's a hollowed-out sphere, the vast majority hidden within the vast caverns of the monument now, the orb sitting at the pinnacle nothing more than a red herring.

The newest addition that doesn't appear to have much of a purpose is the oasis. While contained within the walls of her…. city, there's no obvious weaponry, nor any constructs playing within the waters who could theoretically do battle with an intruder.

"The water vapour that evaporates from the surface can induce the same effects as your calming draught, if I will it," Dom explains, seating himself with all the grace of a king beside the water's edge, dipping his bare feet into the liquid. Harry joins him after a moment of consideration, kicking off her boots and peeling the socks free from her feet, toes skimming the surface of the water. It laps at her skin like the real thing, feels cool just like she would expect it to. The sun feels hot on the back of her neck and the hair on her head, the wind ruffling through her curls exactly as it does when she's in the waking world. It's incredibly realistic; Harry wouldn't be surprised if she were able to claim her mindscape as the most realistic one currently in existence.

Then again, she's the only one with the Dominion Jewel residing in her mental landscape.

"Do you think you could block a magical gift?"

Dom glances over at her, an amused smile on his face. It looks nothing like what she's ever seen on James' face, or Lily's. She can only assume that is an expression that comes from her instead which is… odd. "Is that not what I spent time doing last year with your empath friend?"

"No, I mean could you block my gift? The Parseltongue?"

At that, Dom does blink, eyes narrowing as he considers her request. Then, a hand is presented to her, palm up. There's not a callous in sight on the pads of his palm, no hints that he has ever held a wand or broom. Harry hands off a small sample of her magic, no more than a few grapes worth; Dom consumes them as if he were a Roman Emperor, relaxing back and passing each orb between his lips with a careless grace. The only thing missing from the picture was a servant clad in white linen to hand-feed him.

"It should not be a problem. This is to avoid your enemy's notice."

"Yes," Harry agrees, not even trying to fight the title. If he were not an enemy before, Riddle most certainly will be now, what with the way the Triwizard Tournament had ended. "I'd like to get some practice with the blocking before we go to the Gala. And, speaking of, I need to bounce some ideas off you regarding the wand problem." Because Riddle, Snape and the Malfoys would all recognise Harry's wand for Rigel's. True, she could acquire another one, there are plenty sitting idle in the Potter vaults.

But she cannot dream of being parted from this one.

Slowly, she outlines her idea to Dom. Another potion, shape imbued with a glamour. She'll coat her wand in it, leaving a permanent cover over the wooden surface so it appears to be elm, just like the first wand she had gotten. She can't quite recall if that had come up in conversation when she had gone with Professor Snape to rectify Rigel's wand problem, but it's best to stick as close to the truth as she can in this instance. Though she can do nothing about the wand itself, she'll be able to hide its appearance and, should anyone magically sensitive see it, they'll just assume it's the core they're sensing. She'll have to ensure that the wand's glamour will only come down with a potion imbued with 'revelio' instead of the traditional 'finite incantatem' given how many of her potions respond to that one in particular. The last thing she needs is James or Sirius accidently splashing her wand and stripping the remaining ruse of another protective layer.

Everyone needs to believe Rigel Black is a separate person. If that means hiding the appearance of her wand, so be it.

"It could work," Dom decides, his lips pursed as he peruses the oasis, fingers twitching. Three bubbles rise from the water and, as they pop, lily-pads bloom into existence. Harry watches the pink petals peel open atop the green pad, chewing on her lip as she thinks it over. "You could also borrow the concept your Rouge uses, a casing for your wand that enchants its magic at the same time. If only you had an artefact lying useless-"

"I am not using the Rod of Zuriel." That little trinket of Riddle's is going to remain in her vault until the end of time. Or until she can find a ritual to destroy it. She's dealt with one mind-devouring gem once already and managed to come out the better for it, but she's not about to push her luck with a second one.

Dom sniffs, rising to his feet and brushing down his pants for non-existent dirt, as he says, "Suit yourself." It comes out more as an ancient curse than any dismissive comment has a right to and Harry finds herself scowling in return. "I believe you may want to look at our prisoner before you leave."

The world around them jumps, plunging into darkness for a moment. Then, everything comes into being as the torch lights on the wall reignite, showcasing a glass sarcophagus. Harry takes a moment to look around, peering at the carvings on the walls. They're all predominantly Egyptian in design, though the story they tell-

"Dom. We can't have Rigel's adventures documented anywhere in the mindscape that's supposed to belong to Harry."

"Both mindscapes belong to you. Besides, this room, for all that it is designed within a similar style to that of your currently upper level mindscape, resides within your mountain layer. I thought it would be prudent that, on the off chance the magic could ever report back to its origin, it be best to distance it's tomb from your secondary identity."

"Oh," Harry breathes, inspecting the room with new eyes. It will be as if this is part of Rigel's mind, on the off chance that Riddle's magic can report back. A room where some of his memories were stored, even if it were nothing more than a false positive.

With that in mind, she turns back to the only object within the room, inspecting the blue flame that flickered beneath the lid of the jewel casket. Riddle's magic, still within her system, even if it is separated from the core of her magic. Dom has assumed her frequently that he can keep it hidden, keep it secure; Riddle had frowned when they'd met after the Tower Trial, unable to feel the fraction of magic he'd forced on her. And Harry, as Rigel, had smiled and said nothing. She's not sure what the glass coffin is made from, only that it entraps Riddle's magic in such a way that it's owner can no longer sense it within her system. That is another thing to add on to her list; finding a way to extract that particular parasite.

"Thank you. For your hard work. I know you don't really have a choice, but I appreciate it all the same."

Dom blinks, the dark brown eyes taking on a ruby-like glow that has her pushing down memories of an underground tomb and the floating gem that had destroyed her captor.

"Be careful. Your ruse is not yet secure and your enemy will be gathering his forces." Yes, she rather imagines Riddle will be. Though the marriage law may have gone through before she managed to win the tournament, she highly doubts it will hold for long in the wake of her 'Rigel reveal'. With the SOW party blocked from installing any more anti-muggleborn legislations, that just leaves the masked wizards who'd first appeared at the World Cup to deal with. There's also her own schooling issue to resolve but Harry rather thinks that should be at the bottom of her list for now. With one last nod, Harry leaves, fully intending to begin solving the wand issue.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

Monday morning dawns bright and early. The sunlight spills in through her window and Harry springs from the bathroom already dressed and prepared for the day. Her wand, now looking as if it were made from elm instead of holly, is slotted into the new holster Archie had gotten for her and her potions bag is over one shoulder. With the summer brewing robes and her trusty boots, she looks like any respectable potioneer. Certainly not the halfblood in hiding who has caused a political revolution. Well, perhaps that is too bold. But she likes to think she sparked one.

Riddle had wanted her to compete. It serves him right that he bit off more than he can chew for once. It's too much to hope that he chokes on it; she's not that lucky. If the one good thing to come of her luck is that the tournament backfired in his face, then Harry will take it. Because, despite the marriage law, her family is safe.

She grabs a slice of toast from the kitchen as quickly as she can, making for the living room and hastily scribbling 'Potion's Guild – Meeting Master Snape' onto the 'where is Harry going' board. Then, she's gone in a whirl of floo powder.

.

The Guild is just how she remembered it. It's a comfort to know that, despite how her circumstances have changed, some things do indeed remain the same. A quick look to the clock that sits upon one wall lets her know that she's a quarter of an hour early but Harry cannot help it. She's eager, excited even, though she tries to not let that bloom too much onto her face. She is a respectable potioneer who is filled to the brim with ideas, ideas she would very much like to see checked by the Guild's safety team before the summer is out. Her first-aid potion kit is almost ready, she just wants to finish up that idea with the needles, but that might mean her actually having to go and acquire a set to study before she implements it. The muggles have been using them for a while now, haven't they? Perhaps she can check through what the already know; it would be very poor form indeed to apply their techniques and overlook a potential problem just because she hadn't been thorough enough.

Stopping by the reception, Harry forcibly still her legs, not allowing herself to rock back on her heels as she so dearly wishes to do. She doesn't recognise the receptionist, she's not the same woman as last year but Harry tries not to think too much on it.

"Good morning. I'm here to meet Master Snape; I think he'll have a room booked?" He had mentioned reviewing her Polyjuice brewing and she assumes that will necessitate a demonstration of the actual brewing process. Though, how she's supposed to do that for the duration the potion actually takes to create, she's not sure. Unless she's expected to show up to complete each step as necessary.

"Snape?" the woman mutters, passing a bubble of air from one cheek to the other as she flicks disinterestedly through her papers. Harry bites her tongue, halting the insistent need to correct the receptionist because it's Master Snape not the Snape. "Yes, Lab E for nine o'clock… You're early."

"Well, you know what they say," Harry chirps, accepting the key the woman hands off to her, "the early potioneer gets the best woodworm." The woman's nose scrunches in disgust and Harry does her best not to scowl at the waste of a perfectly good potion's idiom. Lestrange, in the very least, would have caught that one. And how sad that she's wishing to see his painfully handsome face, if only to watch it screw up in disgust in response to all her half-blood glory. She does hope that Master Whitaker hasn't pandered too badly to him, otherwise she'll be spending all summer undoing whatever entitlement they've managed to reinstall in her pureblood pet-project.

.

Master Snape arrives at nine o'clock on the dot, stepping through the door with the same unimpressed look upon his face that she recalls from her early days at Hogwarts. Back before she'd distinguished herself from the crowd. Harry has already set up the potions bench with everything she will need to brew the Polyjuice potion, including a sizeable piece of amber. There's a considerable silence following her former professor's arrival and Harry looks up in confusion, feeling the weight of her (forcibly tidied by Lily) eyebrows press together above her nose.

"Master Snape?"

"… Miss Potter," he says steadily and in almost anyone else, it would be acknowledgement, a simple greeting. But Harry has studied beneath this man for four years now; she can read the blatant surprise in his features. Did he expect her to bail? To not show up when she, technically, is still his apprentice? He hasn't severed the apprenticeship yet and it's not as if Harry would ever be the one to call it off.

"I've brought everything for the Polyjuice, though I'm not sure-"

"Miss Potter." Snape's sharp snap cuts Harry off mid-sentence, her lips still parted slightly around the words she was going to form. "Your Polyjuice wore off." Her Polyjuice- Oh. Right.

Almost self-consciously, Harry lifts one hand to her cheek, running the edge of her thumb across the curve of her malar, the knuckle of one finger catching on the flower from Leo she'd tucked behind her ear again. Just until she gets a set of hair clips after this session.

"Yes, there was only enough dosage wise to last the school year."

"He'll have a different face now." She's not quite sure if she's supposed to hear Snape's words there so Harry pretends ignorance, even as pleasure zings through her stomach. Snape is still under the assumption that Rigel is male which means he doesn't think it's her. That's, that's good. Her mental defences will feel different as a result of the 'Harry layer' that Dom is protecting and she's got her aura just right too. With her wand changed, well, she only needs to ensure that she doesn't give away even the smallest hint that could suggest she is actually Rigel Black.

"Am I brewing the potion, Master Snape?"

"No. I only require your recipe and to watch you begin. I will take over shortly after to ensure it works as you say it does. From there, we will pass the potion on to be certified, though I doubt this will ever be allowed to sell commercially."

"Well of course not." Harry scoffs at the very idea, shaking her head as she measures out three portions of fluxweed. "That would be incredibly irresponsible. The potential for sabotage and fraud is extraordinary. I could see the aurors using it for high-risk assignments or when they need to go undercover, but other than that? No."

"I am well aware of the implications of your potion, Miss Potter," Snape drawls, watching her select a bundle of knotgrass. "Which is why we are going to claim to the press that the method cannot be replicated without Rigel Black."

"What." Harry doesn't stumble, doesn't stop brewing because she is too much of a professional to do so. Her eyes do find Snape's though, expression hard. "It's my recipe. Rigel-" Harry pauses, fortifying herself in order to continue. "-the only point Rigel was involved was as the inspiration. He recognised what a delicate position he was putting himself in and knew he needed to disappear and never be found if the ruse was ever discovered. His face is gone now." It's gone, she is officially Harriet Potter once again and Archie can wear his own face too, even though he's now taken to twisting his own features back and forth just because he can finally show off.

"I am well aware of your claim to the recipe. However, the absence of my wayward student ensures that we can claim to the press that no one can replicate it without both a delicate hand for potions and an overwhelming amount of magic. This potion has an astronomical potential for carnage, Miss Potter."

"Right… will I still get credit with the Guild?"

"There are few who would doubt your credibility in regards to potions at this moment in time," Snape drawls, his eyes following her hands as she completes the four turns counter-clockwise. "It is for that reason, despite your shaky legal standing, that I have decided to retain you as an apprentice."

"…it's because you think I can contact Rigel, right?" Harry cuts right to the heart of it and sees the moment her barb strikes true, sees the storm build behind Snape's eyes.

"He can't run forever. It is not in Rigel's nature to leave well alone, no matter the face he wears now. The marriage law he tried so hard to halt was pushed through and I doubt he will stop until he has fixed the fault he perceives as his own. You are aware, Miss Potter, that had this law not come into effect before your ruse was exposed, you would have been prosecuted with far more prejudice." Yes, Harry is well aware of just how neatly things were timed in that regard. As Archie's fiancée, they'd had to treat her equally to the true Black Heir, even though she doesn't doubt Riddle would have liked to have seen both of them smote where they stood.

Honestly, she's not sure how he dares to be angry about it when he himself is a halfblood. His idiotic ideals to save the purebloods from their own idiocy is hardly the right way to go about it, segregating the muggleborns from the community until they've bred among themselves enough to be considered technically pure; what lunacy. The whirlwind that is passing through her brain does force one key point to forefront of her mind.

"Master Snape… Rigel shared almost every aspect of the life he lived at Hogwarts with myself and Archie. Since he won the Tournament, you're no longer bound to the SOW party."

"I am bound to the SOW party," Snape growls, aura darkening with his fury, "by the worry that Lord Riddle will skin Rigel when he pins the boy down. Trust me, Miss Potter, I am exactly where I need to be."

But he's not. She wants to say it, to explain to her professor that he is free, that Rigel will never get caught as long as she can slide totally back into her life as Harriet Potter. For as long as Harry walks around, there will never be Rigel. His existence is gone, along with all the ties he'd made.

She can't say it; the words won't pass through her lips. Because it is one thing to be an accessory to a crime, to be aware of it and have brewed a potion for it. But, to be the one who had actually committed the crime? That is a different matter entirely and, as much as she respects Snape, she isn't sure that he would protect her secret. No matter how close he holds his mentorship to Rigel, the fact that she has been lying boldly to his face since day one in both of her personas may be too much.

So, she turns back to the potion that is now in the first of multiple simmers, smoothing out the parchment that holds her recipe.

"But, is that what Rigel would have wanted you to do?"

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

"All ready?"

It's the day of the Gala and Harry picks uncomfortably at the neckline of her dress, quite unable to help the frown on her face. Archie had indeed given 'Harry' more buxom curves than she'd get on his first guess, though there's still room for growth. When he had, shrunk them down, so to speak, back at the Yule Ball… well, that form hadn't been too far off after all. Only a slight difference. It's still shocking to see such evident feminity on her own body. The Polyjuice must have suppressed more of her than she'd first predicted.

As if sensing the blood in the air, James descends on her like a manticore.

"Do you wanna get changed before we go, Harry? We can afford to be a little late if you want to change into something with a higher neckline." His whispered 'please, Merlin, change into something with a higher neckline' is probably not for her ears, but it drums a smile up onto her face regardless.

"I'm fine, Dad. No worse than what I wore for the Yule Ball, after all." She still has to pay Archie back for that one. Because he'd rocked up in that ensemble, people would be expecting something similar from her here, even if they'd managed to deduce that Archie was actually the one at the Yule Ball. Regardless, no one would have the guts to ask if it were actually Archie given the very… womanly curves 'Harry' had been boasting at the celebration. Harry's options, therefore, had been simple. She could go with something a bit more her style and emasculate her cousin, or stem the rumours before they start. And, after all the trouble she has caused for Archie throughout the years, it is only fair she takes one for the team on this occasion.

"You look stunning, Harry." Lily chirps as she spins into the room, as if she doesn't draw the eye in her own green gown. It's in a darker shade than Harry's, more appropriate for a married woman than the pale shade Harry is sporting. Both of their dress-robes (that edge far closer to actual dresses than real robes) reach past the knee, but not an awful lot further. Lily wears jewellery though, her bracelet and a necklace Harry suspects to be new, given she has never seen it before. Harry has none of that; bracelets and rings would only get in the way when brewing and she's never really considered a necklace. Or earrings. Perhaps in the future she may, if it were to be as useful as the disc of obsidian Lily had made her during the Triwizard Tournament. She certainly wouldn't say no to another one of those.

"Thanks, Mum. I get it from you." Lily smiles, scooping Addy up from where she's been luxuriating on Harry's favourite chair. Her little sister blinks once, hazel eyes scrutinising Harry before she settles comfortably against her mother's shoulder, letting out a low little yawn. Harry watches her sister drop off into the land of nod enviably. She has to go the Gala, has to assess the current situation if she wants to have any hope of keeping her secret intact. That, and Archie is going. Into that snake-pit Riddle rules over and she wouldn't put it past the man to try interrogating her cousin, despite the sealing curse. He can't get around it, Harry is relatively sure. But she wants to be on hand, just in case. Archie is no dueller and Harry would rather expose herself as Rigel than allow her cousin to come to any harm.

Even if this dress may present itself as a monstrous obstacle for duelling. On the plus side, she'd been able to hide her duelling knife and a moleskin pouch full of potions in the excess pockets of the skirt, so perhaps all is not lost. In fact, she rather thinks Leo would be very proud of her for going into what is now enemy territory as prepared as she could be.

.

They apparate to the Malfoy Estate, Lily with Addy and James with Harry. Not much has changed from her last visit; the grounds are still immaculate, the peacocks still white, the mansion still a glimmering tribute to opulence. There's only one other family ahead of them to be greeted, though Harry doesn't recognise them.

Walking into the Malfoy's receiving entrance, she does find her eyes roving across the faces she can see beyond the corridor, searching for any familiar features. The Triwizard Tournament had been about settling the blood debate, true. But it had also brought them Viktor Krum, Fleur Delacour, and Shang Feiyan. All purebloods by Britain's dictionary; she wonders if she will see any of them here. Will there be a knock-on effect because of the tournament in that more foreign visitors will make their way here? Or will that be stemmed for the international embarrassment that was Rigel Black turning out to be a halfblood champion? Harry cannot bring herself to care too much for it beyond the implications it will have on the laws against her kind, against those that share her mother's blood.

"Lord Potter."

"Lord Malfoy."

Even during their first meeting, Harry has never seen the Malfoy lord so… wound up, like a spring pressed too hard; it seems like he's a mere mote of pressure more from snapping. He is the SOW party's right hand; she doesn't doubt that he's under a lot of pressure. Not as much as Riddle, but enough for Harry to feel a tad remorseful for what her actions have drawn out in her friend's father. Former friend, she reminds herself with a grimace. His eyes find her, irises cold, before he swiftly performs a double take.

"Harry's Polyjuice has worn off," James quickly interjects, no doubt seeing the way Narcissa's own mouth had popped open in blatant surprise of her features. One of his hands rests upon the curve of her bare shoulder, giving a gentle, supportive squeeze but Harry doesn't allow herself to fall into it as she wants to. It would be nice, to hide behind James, to let him be the shield he so clearly sees himself as for the rest of their family. But Harry has created her own mess and it is up to her to ensure those closest to her do not get caught up in it. Today, the number one priority is keeping Archie away from Riddle. Not because the man could ever pry the secret from him, but she certainly wouldn't put it past the other to harm her cousin in some undetermined way. One only needs to look his track record (the sleeping sickness, the basilisk, the Triwizard Tournament and whatever the hell he'd been planning for when he got his hands on Dom) to know that for sure.

"I made it so we would take a new batch every year to account for changes in appearance," Harry explains, forcing her hands to remain still and innocent by her sides; fidgeting is, after all, one of the key indicators there's a truth hiding there. Lucius sniffs, something that, if they weren't in polite company, could be close to a scowl crossing his face.

"Well, it appears that may aid you in your future endeavours, Miss Potter," Narcissa offers delicately, covering for the fact that Draco has yet to truly stand by her side, too busy burning holes into Harry's cranium. She knew before she even arrived; she'd known she'd see Draco and that there was a good chance he'd hate her. It doesn't make accepting the look currenting residing on his face any easier. He'd known Rigel had secrets, he'd known Rigel couldn't tell him everything. But she doesn't doubt this kind of deception had never even crossed his mind.

She cannot let the guilt consume her features, cannot give them even the slightest hint that Rigel resides beneath her skin. Yes, she is sorry she hurt Draco so badly. But, weighing up the emotional hurt that has struck her best friend against what will happen to Archie (and a lesser extent, to her) if their ruse is ever discovered tempers her.

Harry will just have to live with that regret for the rest of her halfblood life. And speaking of halfblood life, she knows exactly what foul topic Narcissa has decided to refer to. She can respect the woman's determination to mask her son's hurts, even if it means forcibly exposing what may well be one of Harry's tender spots. If she knew Harry at all, that is.

"I am already betrothed to Archie, Lady Malfoy." She accompanies the declaration with a bow, the proper dip to so deference to a lady of higher social standing.

"Blacks are known for their wandering eye, you might want to get looking." Harry doesn't flinch, but it is a close call from the venom laced in Draco's voice. She wonders what he feels when he looks at her; she has Dom fortifying her mind to the highest degree, so perhaps emotions don't even slip free. For all Draco knows, Heiress Potter could be feeling insecure with her new face and his barb has struck true. He'll never know its because he was once her friend, now flinging hurtful words her way. He's angry, it's to be expected that he'll lash out, Draco has always been the more emotional of the two of them, not that such a thing was hard when she'd had to keep a tight leash on her every action.

Before she can formulate an appropriate response, or her father can swell with righteous fury over the insult to both Archie and her, or even before Narcissa can correct her son, they're interrupted.

"Halfblood." And the title startles a laugh out of her because this isn't another Rigel issue to deal with, it isn't another desperate attempt to cover up her double life. This is Lestrange, unbelievably swanning in to rescue her though, she doesn't doubt that, had he known she was in need of rescue, he'd have left her to flounder.

Caelum comes to a stop by their small group, utterly unashamed by the title he has addressed her with, even as he snaps off a bow that is far too informal to his aunt and uncle to be counted as anything but rude, no more than a dip of the head in truth. He doesn't even acknowledge Draco, instead locking eyes with her… for a mere moment. She sees the second her unfamiliar features register in the way his gaze snaps for her head to her toes and back again, frown growing a little more pronounced.

"You've been exceptionally ignorant in our correspondence, to the point I've had to resort to cornering you at a respectable Gala, all in order to inform you about the vast array of improvements I've made to you neat little potioneering trick."

"Vast array?" Harry repeats, turning all her attention on Caelum, a desert-wanderer seeking the oasis and shelter from the sandstorm to her back all at once. "I'm flattered you've spent so much of your time reviewing my work, Caelum."

"We're not friends, Potter. Just potioneers about to have a professional discussion," Caelum doesn't quite snarl, would probably proclaim himself too well bred to produce such a sound, but the tone is there regardless.

Instead of responding to him, Harry turns her attentions back to the Malfoys and her own family, determinately ignoring her father's steadily reddening face and the way Lucius' cool eyes are measuring the space between herself and Lestrange as if he's re-evaluating her worth. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go have a discussion with my fellow potioneer."

James opens his mouth to say something but Lily's there, clasping one of his hands in her free one and Harry is sure she doesn't imagine the slightly wince to her father's form. Her mother's eyes meet hers for the shortest of moments before she turns back to the Malfoys, leaving Harry to trot alongside Lestrange as he begins making his way to the ballroom.

"More travel seems to have served you well."

"What are you on about, brat?" Lestrange grunts, pausing at the entrance to the ballroom to run his eyes across the new curves and lines of her face. Harry gives him a moment to become accustomed to it because, well, she can't quite blame him. Even now, near a week on, there's times when she will catch sight of her own reflection out of the corner of her eye and end up flinching at the sight of it. Her eyes are still painfully green, like a photograph that has been charmed extra vibrant only they're doubtlessly real. Yet, it's a by-product of her mother's wild magic, a part of who she is. Harry Potter, Heiress Potter with eyes as green as- what was it Pansy had said all those years ago? Something to do with snake scales. Well, it's an apt description, even if she can't admit to speaking Parseltongue anymore. Another thing she and Riddle have in common, it seems.

"Your travels with Master Whitaker; have you become more tolerant and empathetic towards the unfamiliar yet, or is it just me?" At that, Lestrange does snort, then sneers at his own reaction. As he formulates his own response, Harry allows herself to finally look around the ballroom, taking in the sights and the sounds.

There's a great deal of people milling about, more than she's ever seen at a summer Gala before. But, then again, the political upheaval means everyone is clambering to find new footing. In fact, Harry's relatively sure she can see Neville Longbottom, of all people, out there with his parents. Just like that, finding one familiar face has her searching for more. Blaise's dark hair, Millicent's tall form, Pansy's blonde hair. It's like a sucker punch to the chest and Harry tampers it, pushes it down and away into the box that belongs to Rigel. She's Harry Potter who has only ever spoken to most of these people once and been insulted by them both directly and indirectly.

"I'm retracting my offer to refer you for permanent transfigurations, Brat. You clearly deserve that face if you're going to attempt to force Pureblood features onto yourself with some bastardized variation of Polyjuice, nevermind whatever you've done to your eyes." Caelum sneers, his pace neither swift or slow but perfectly even with her own. Harry cocks her head back to look up at him, lips pursing as she considers his too pretty face. Can he refer her because she's the one that fixed up whatever terribly inbred flaws he'd been born with? No, she doubts that's the case; if he had that kind of procedure lurking in his own past, he certainly wouldn't let her close to the person who'd performed it in case she found out the truth. Most likely, Lestrange was just born pretty. He doesn't deserve that smile of his. She wouldn't be surprised to find that he'd gotten the surly attitude to prevent that smile from blooming too often.

"I have Potter features and I haven't done anything to my eyes."

"Don't try to play me, Potter. They're so green you cannot pass them off an ordinary characteristic."

"Are you implying my eyes are extraordinary?" Harry purrs, pulling on one of Rispah's faces. She's actually been practicing these now, watching her new features distort in the mirror until she'd regained the efforts of all that hard work Leo's cousin had put her through. This one is that coy look the woman had taught her not long after learning she was a girl, the one that had ensnared Leo for a breath or two. It's far more mature than the sweet, innocent thing she'd once developed with Archie. Yet, perhaps it's time she starts applying it, what with the whole 'Harry Potter is her own person and most certainly not Rigel Black'. This, after all, is not a look that Rigel would have ever felt the need to wear.

Caelum stares at her, his lips parted ever so slightly before he scowls, looking away and scanning the crowds, as if searching for witnesses to his momentary lapse. The tips of his ears are red. "Stop that. It's utterly derisory and I am way out of your league."

"Not according to Riddle's new law, you're not."

"As if my mother would ever allow the Lestrange line to breed with filthy halfbloods." There's no heat to Caelum's words, no matter how she would have expected a retort like this to have slipped free from between his lips. In fact, it almost sounds… rehearsed. No, not rehearsed, it's someone else's line. Bellatrix, if she were the guess. In the handful of instances that Harry has been in the same proximity as the other woman, she's never once taken her for someone who feels the need to repeat herself. It's clear she's brought (dragged?) Caelum up with the same values she holds to heart. For her to have given Caelum something to quote-

The discussion with Riddle, the confrontation about ways to save the Old Lines even if it damns a generation-

Harry lowers her voice as she takes a half step closer to Lestrange, collecting a glass from a passing waiter that she hopes holds something non-alcoholic, asking "Has Lord Riddle tried to influence your parents to comply with the law?"

From the way blue eyes snap to her quicker than Harry can cut through bloodroot, she'd say she's put the quaffle through the hoop.

"How do you even know-"

"Rigel told me everything before the ruse was up," she cuts him off, sipping at her drink (mango juice, of all things) and scanning their surroundings for the man in question. She would have expected him to be out on the floor, schmoozing up to all the people he needed to in order to recover his party's integrity. But she can't see him. Perhaps he's still licking his metaphorical wounds and letting the Malfoys smooth things over? "The whole reason he was part of the tournament is because he came to an agreement with Riddle; if he won, the SOW party would drop the marriage legislation and others like it. Riddle just managed to push it through before it ended."

"And before the halfblood bastard wrecked the whole party's stance by revealing himself," Caelum concludes, his eyes narrowed, accepting a drink of what she's relatively sure is elfin wine and downing it far too quickly to be actually drinking it. Harry's eyes slip down to inspect his jugular but his muscles aren't contracting; vanishing the liquid again. She supposes if there are enough eyes on them and they keep talking, then he can offer the excuse he was a tad tipsy and didn't realise his company was so unsavoury. It'd ruin the 'good at holding his liquor' reputation he's been aggressively peddling though.

"That wasn't actually part of the plan."

"It's a miracle you're not in Azkaban for that."

"Luckily, Riddle's insistence on the marriage law getting through actually saved my skin there. Makes it that little bit sweeter, actually. I'll fill you in on all the Rigel stuff later, let me cover what I know about the law as a whole."

"Who says I'm willing to listen to whatever lies that pureblood pretender fed you?" Caelum doesn't meet her eyes, too busy looking around the crowd, absentmindedly depositing his empty glass on a passing tray. Harry takes another sip of her own drink while she waits for his attention to return to her, all the while aggressively blocking out the fact she can see Pansy talking to Millicent and- is that Abbott with Blaise over there? "But, I suppose information that is leading people astray is still good to know, even if it is false."

So Harry tells him. The conclusions both she and Riddle have come to about the Fade (though she leaves Hermione's name out of it; something tells her Lestrange won't trust the work of a muggleborn) and the future generations of Purebloods, the steps he's tried putting in place already by encouraging homosexual relationships and how they've made little impact. The conclusive data that indicated one generation of purebloods at the least needed to 'lay back and think of England' as the halfbloods had their wicked way with them.

"Did you have to put that so crassly!" Lestrange hisses, a scowl on his face and Harry doesn't bother to hide her own smirk, giving a little shrug of her shoulders.

"It's the truth of the matter. That'll be why Riddle is trying to get all the members of the SOW party around to his way of thinking; as far as he's concerned at the moment, it's marry-in the halfbloods, or there'll be no purebloods in a few generations."

"And there's nothing else that can be done?"

"… I'm not sure. I've started looking into it, but there's barely any data and no one ever wants to talk about their own personal experience regarding the Fade."

Caelum's jaw clenches, head angled up sharply and away from her. It can't be that her presence disgusts him; he'd have left without a care for hurting her feelings (not that he's really capable of that anymore). Which means he's considering her words. She knows there's a brain in there somewhere; Lestrange is a good potioneer so he's not got a head full of hot air. Perhaps consistent exposure to her no-nonsense attitude could inspire him to think a little more outside of the box.

"I'll look through our books for any personal accounts," he proposes, though it comes out as if she's pulling a premolar from his jaw as opposed to him actually gifting it up by his own free will. That's, that's a hell of a lot more than she'd thought any heir would have offered out. "But I want to be kept up to date on what you are doing. In fact, now that I am a full-fledged apprentice, I can book a room at the Guild. We'll meet there; I don't doubt your solution will be potions orientated and we will work on this together, Potter. This shape imbueding you've created has opened up a whole new field. Now that I'm deigning to work with you, there's every chance we might actually make some progress on this."

Has she stepped into the twilight zone or something? An alternate dimension?

"Are you under Polyjuice?" Harry asks, peering at Lestrange's dress robes but they're a little too form fitting to be able to hide a flask. Not unless he's got a slim vial on him and, given Caelum is a potioneer like her, if someone has accosted him and taken his place, a thin vial isn't outside the realm of possibility. As her companion opens his mouth, beautiful face twisting in a way she's certain no one other than Caelum could manage, Harry cuts in again, "Compulsion then?"

"Don't be asinine, Potter. If you think you're skilled enough to tackle a problem this big, then it is only right I point you in the correct direction."

Harry opens her mouth to continue, her glass of juice having disappeared and she's not quite sure at what point in their conversation she'd put it down, but an entirely different sound catches her attention instead. Music.

With alarm, Harry whips her head around to realise, with horror, that she's standing almost dead centre in the ballroom alongside Lestrange. They must have wandered here while they were talking and now, they can't get to the edge without making it blatantly obvious that they've no intention of dancing and thus, presenting themselves as fools.

"Fuck," Lestrange whispers and Harry is taken back to that day in Dartmoor Castle, his parents arriving home early and unplanned. She remembers how her heart had felt in her chest, racing like a rabbit. How surprisingly adept at sneaking Lestrange had proven himself to be.

But Harry doesn't have to sneak here; people are already well aware she's willing to buck social niceties given the 'Rigel Ruse' she's been involved in. It'll hardly impact her any more if she just walks through all the dancing couples.

"Potter, give me your hand."

"You can't be serious." It turns out Caelum is indeed very serious. In the moment it takes for her to turn around to face him, he's caught one of her hands and placed it correctly on his upper arm, the other clasped in his.

"I won't have you showing me up, halfblood. It's bad enough we've been caught in this, I won't have you making a mockery of me by walking off. If anyone asks, I've used this opportunity to grill you for information."

"We could have done that without dancing," Harry points out, even as she falls into step with him. Caelum leads well, though she wouldn't have expected anything else of him. It's blatantly evident he's used to spearheading most social interactions, confident that they will follow his every instruction if only because they don't dare stand up to him. She's the only one, as far as she's aware, that has ever stood up to him. It's even easier to tell he's never been teased by anyone before; his clamorous reactions make that clear.

She steps on the tip of one foot, just to hear his hiss in irritation, sweeping her out into a spin.

That's when she spots Riddle.

'Dom. Tell me he can't sense the magic.'

'He can't sense the magic. It's bucking in its prison, but I've ensured it's buried so deep in your magic with a reflective element that he won't be able to sense it even if you make physical contact.' Right. That's good. Especially given the fact she can feel his eyes burning into her shoulders. Why is he looking at her? True, he's hardly the only one given she's a halfblood that's dancing with the Lestrange Heir. It shouldn't be enough to catch Riddle's attention though, should it?

Yet, she can remember Snape's warning that Riddle had tried to separate her and Rigel, right up until he realised, they were a package deal. So, she can conclude that he's been looking into how she could support his party then, back when he'd been under the assumption that bringing Rigel into the fold would drag her in too. Hadn't Caelum mentioned something to that effect in his letter? A friend of his father's, interesting in her brewing technique? As if she hadn't enough problems with him looking to her for information about Rigel, he's interested in her potions making abilities now?

.

Their dance comes to an end after only one more opportunity to step on Lestrange's toes and make it look like an accident. Given the furious embers that light his eyes, he's well aware her last mis-step had been completed on purpose and that he's well past his limit for social niceties. Harry's not sure if the fact they're now at the edge of the ballroom is a miraculous happenstance or a result of careful planning on Lestrange's part. Either way, he takes the opportunity to release her into the masses, stalking off.

If he forgets about his promise of looking through his family's archives, she'll send him a letter as a reminder. Having Lestrange join in on the Fade investigation hadn't exactly been the end result she'd expected of their interaction here, but it's not unwelcomed. You don't really get much purer than the Lestranges, discounting the Blacks, that is. And with Archie already helping Hermione spearhead this movement, they've long since exhausted any chronicles there.

"Have you forgotten all the footwork I taught you?"

"Wha- Leo?!"

As if she could ever mistake his voice for another's. Yet, here he is, the King of Thieves himself, right in the middle of high society and even dressed for it. Though she doesn't miss the outline of dagger he has near completely concealed within the pocket of his robes. The dark red fabric is offset by the golden thread woven in, ensuring his tanned skin and bright eyes stand out that little bit more. Despite having adhered to the dress code, he still doesn't look like he belongs here. He's lacking that false layer most of high society seem to drape themselves in.

"Hello, Harry." He offers her a gamely bow, textbook pureblood and Harry can only numbly return the gesture, still trying to come to terms with the fact the Rogue of the Lower Alleys is actually in the Malfoy ballroom. The absurdity of it hits her and Harry laughs, doesn't even attempt to stem the noise.

"What is a rogue like you doing in a place like this?"

"Well, I was considering going for the old Robin Hood vibe, robbing from the rich, giving to the poor; how many of the golden candlesticks do you think I can fit up my sleeves?" Leo pauses, inspecting his short-sleeved attire before offering her a smile worthy of his rapscallion nature. "Might have to tie them to my shins, come to think of it."

"Leo."

"You know, Robin Hood often gets a kiss from the damsel in distress and you were looking rather distressed, getting caught in the centre of the ballroom with your pretty little lordling." Against her will, Harry feels her lips twitching up despite herself. Because she's pretty certain her look of horror would have been a picture to see. If it'd been Archie in an awkward position like that, then she'd have laughed.

Leo smiles back at her, all the roguish charm the King of the Lower Alleys should possess, even if the backdrop is all wrong. It feels like her two very segregated worlds are all of a sudden colliding and it is far worse than Hermione stumbling into the Lower Alleys last year. She doesn't know why Leo's here but it cannot be good. He wouldn't leave the Alleys unless he had to; his sense of responsibility is too strong, especially with the attacks that're bubbling up down there.

Snape is already aware of her link to Leo, has seen them out and about. If he's still working alongside Riddle as he had hinted during their meeting at the Guild on Monday, then there's every chance he's reporting back his findings to the hypocritical bastard leading the SOW movement. Leo's good, powerful in his own right. But there's a very different type of power to Riddle and Harry doesn't want him anywhere near the Lower Alleys, nevermind Leo himself.

"Seriously, Leo. Why are you here?"

"Dance with me, and I'll tell you." Harry hates dancing. She hates being out and having to remember the steps, even if it is Leo walking her through them. The Yule Ball had been bad enough; true, her dance with Archie hadn't been a bore, but she'd been distinctly aware of everyone spinning around the two of them and how inadequate they must have looked beside them. Yet, Leo wouldn't be here without a good reason, especially because anything could happen in the Lower Alleys right now; neither Scar or Claw have been caught and with the attacks-

"Fine… my dad wouldn't happen to be watching, would he?"

"I don't think he's stopped watching you since you and your pretty lord ended up in the middle of the dancefloor. We have now, however, presented him an entirely new target from where he's been burning holes into your friend's head." Leo winks, whisking her out onto the dancefloor with far more confidence than any other partner she's ever had. Perhaps it's because they duel so often together that he's got an idea of how to move? It's certainly the reason why she can read him so easily. "And, in answer to your question, I'm officially her because my pa was invited, given the family's still in the Book of Bronze and he's the Aldermaster of the Potions Guild."

"And unofficially?"

"And unofficially," Leo continues with a grin, increasing the pace of his footwork and Harry grits her teeth, doing her best to keep up. It's just her luck that this dance is one of the very few where the participants can work at a slow pace or a fast pace. And trust Leo to pick the faster pace. "I'm here as the Rouge undercover. Whatever politics happen in your world, Harry, usually end up trickling down to ours. During the last attack, I spotted some wizards in black."

Harry's head snaps up from where she'd been looking at their feet, teeth sinking into the flesh of her lip. It's a good thing Lily had charmed them a soft red instead of going for the paste, otherwise it'd have all come off by now.

"Wizards in black? Like-"

"Like the quidditch cup."

With that chilling confirmation, Leo spins them again, drawing them a little closer together and lowering his voice.

"The whole tournament, coupled with the legalisation that the SOW party has hammered through in recent months has caused unrest in the Alleys. There's something bubbling up here and you know when there's one chemical reaction in the top layer-"

"It can cause the whole thing to explode," Harry concludes with a frown.

"Exactly." Leo slows his steps, snaking them a little closer to the edge of the ballroom as the music begins to wind down. "I need to keep an eye on it, but obviously I can't be away from my people for too long." He bows over their joined hands, that same roguish grin on his face even as his eyes scan the crowd. "I mean, it would be incredibly helpful if I could seduce a one of the princess types here to help out, but-"

"You don't need to ask, Leo," Harry interrupts, forcibly ignoring his choice of words. "I'll keep you up to date with everything."

"Thanks, Harry. Gotta go, looks like my pa is looking for me." And just like that, he disappears into the crowd, as if the gathering of lords and ladies is nothing more than the usual ruckus of Diagon. Harry watches him go with a frown because Leo didn't have a problem with her speaking to his father before, but now he does?

"Who was that one, Harry?" Sirius' hand clamps down on her shoulder, a wide, charming grin on his face. It doesn't quite disguise the strain behind his features and Harry wonders if Regulus has caught up to his elder brother yet. She doesn't doubt the younger Black brother will have a few choice words on this whole Rigel mess. In fact, scrap that. She's relatively certain he'll have a whole epic speech for Sirius planned, no doubt dragging Sirius, Archie, Rigel and even herself through the mud. If she were a good niece, she'd stick to Sirius like glue and take the brunt of it for him.

But Archie will need her support more, especially now that she's placed one of the faces in the crowd as Riddle, though the politician seems to have blended back into the masses since. That, in and of itself, is more worrisome than anything else.

"That was Leo."

"That was Leo?!" Sirius repeats at a volume that, while completely normal in their household, is far too loud for a shindig such as this. People stare but, as per usual, Sirius doesn't care. His head whips back and forth, neck craning and- Harry looks down –he's balancing up on his tiptoes. Trying to place him. "He's a good-looking lad, isn't he? Not that I'm surprised, given the whole celestial lion name he's got going on." Sirius pauses in his search to grin at her, clamping both hands on her upper arms and giving her the once over. "And I'm not surprised he wanted a dance. Best go introduce myself before your dad manages to get him alone in the corridor or something. Don't want any questions about James' dedication to upholding the law and all that." And then he's off. Sirius meanders through the crowds effortlessly, stopping every so often to rise up onto his tiptoes and peruse the multitude of heads, as if Leo's wearing a hat that proclaims him to be, how did Sirius put it? A celestial lion?

Snorting, Harry turns to her own search, looking for Archie among the throngs of people. This, she supposes, is one of the good things about her cousin being particularly tall. He shouldn't be hard to spot.

-0

[AbAbAb]

-0

Bidding Madam Marchbanks a fond farewell after reassuring her that, yes, it had indeed been himself and his dear cousin Harriet Potter who'd saved the life of her close friend last year, Archie turns his attentions upon the rest of the hall, pushing down the nervous flutters that are flittering about in his stomach. He's been to a Gala before, it's hardly the most difficult thing he's had to do. Keeping that damn pig alive during his second year had been the most physically taxing thing he'd ever done, while the most mentally challenging thing had been his placement at one of the local wizarding hospitals, having to tell a patient that their disease was terminal. That- that one had been hard. It'd brought up memories that struck far too close to home. That'd been back before he'd had the mirror to converse with Harry. It'd been one of the points that had brought Hermione closer to him, that night when she'd stayed up with him despite the looming exam season, comforting him.

"Black." Shit, that's him. He's stills sort of used to getting 'Potter', even though the ruse has been up for well over a month now.

It's Malfoy and Parkinson, along with the others of that group. Bulstrode and…. Zabini? He's pretty certain it's them, thinks he recognises them from the only other Gala he has attended under his own name. But time changes people and it has been a couple of years since he stood here.

They're all well dressed, not that he'd have expected anything else of them. Malfoy clearly favours lighter colours, no doubt because anything dark or vibrant would drain his pale features even further. It's a good choice and he does look good in it. Parkinson's soft blue dress matches her eyes, makes her look almost fairy-like. Not as pretty as Harry though.

And hadn't that been a surprise? It's clear his cousin has allowed Aunt Lily to grow her hair out a little more; she'd never have managed to put it into that up-do without doing so (and yes, he has been experimenting with his hair length; five weeks on house arrest is a long time and he can only spend so much of it as a fox napping in the garden). He hadn't been the only one surprised that Harry had actually danced; he hadn't even known she was on such good terms with Lestrange? Well, perhaps good terms is a bit of a stretch given how the other had all but stormed away from the dance floor.

He's not surprised in the slightest that Leo had swept in for a dance though; he'd clocked the other boy the second he and Sirius had arrived, surprised but pleased to see a familiar face. A familiar face that he can say is definitely friendly, that is.

After all, Malfoy et al. are familiar. But he doesn't dare assume they're friendly.

"Malfoy." He offers the other a dip of his head, addressing the other three by name too and Archie does his best not to preen with the fact he got them right straight off the bat.

"Where's Rigel."

"Blaise!"

"I see no need to dance around the dragon; it's the only reason we're talking to Black."

"Wow, harsh."

The four Slytherins (Harry's friends, he needs to keep that in mind as he deals with them but to also not give away the slightest hint that Rigel is Harry or Harry is Rigel, urgh, whatever) all turn their attention back to him and Archie pulls out the good old Black charm, meeting the eyes of Bulstrode and Parkinson as he smiles.

"Wherever Rigel is, it's certainly absent the stars in the sky; you both shines as if you've hidden them within your eyes. No doubt he wishes to gaze upon you as much as he does the celestial bodies that my family and I are graciously named after. How lucky he was to spend every day in your presence," Archie said, dipping his head and injecting his best try for sorrowful regret into his tone as he turns to answering their question. "I'm afraid it was always the plan that, should the ruse come to an end, it is best that Rigel fade into obscurity. For his own good health, you must understand."

"You knowingly aided a halfblood to Hogwarts, helped him break the law and he played us all for fools," Malfoy growls, tilting his head back and peering down the straight, pointed slope of his nose. And wow, the guy's glare is like a battering ram, all blunt force to showcase his displeasure. How the hell had Harry managed to make friends with this guy?

"And in doing so, saved your life," Archie points out. The Slytherins go still, Malfoy's face paling a little and Archie draws himself up to his full, not metamorphmagi-enchanted height. "You'd have died if Rigel hadn't saved you from that sleeping sickness, right? Even if we'd known we'd be found out, me, Harry and Rigel wouldn't have hesitated to go through with it; just think of all the people that were helped because of it, all the deaths that were avoided. None of you would have been able to deal with a basilisk, would you?"

"Yes, we do owe Rigel a debt," Parkinson admits, her expression close to a baby unicorn and, if Harry hadn't been informed of the fact there's more to her than there is on the surface, he might have fallen for it. "Do you have any way we can contact him? Just to make sure he's okay?"

"Sorry, I've got nothing. And, even if I did, I wouldn't be able to share. Sealing curse, you know?" Shrugging his shoulders, Archie meets each of their gazes with his best, sympathetic smile. He's a healer, he's had to practice that one a lot in the last few years.

"So, we just continue our lives now? There's really nothing we can do?" Bulstrode asks quietly, the first to look away from him and Archie, he feels pretty bad.

"I guess you should do as Rigel wanted… I know it tore him up to know he was lying to you. And he trusted you guys so much, but he just couldn't risk it. Not when telling you the truth would hurt me and Harry so much, given your political learnings."

"Our political learnings?" His second cousin swells up again, nose scrunching and Archie wonders if the other boy can feel the guilt and regret that's resting in his core. Because this next one? Yeah, it's gonna be a low blow.

"Well, yeah. Look at how you reacted to, er, Greengrass, right?" All four stop and Archie takes that as a sign to continue. "She was at Hogwarts and didn't know she was a halfblood. Obviously Rigel, who was knowingly posing as a pureblood, wouldn't dare breathe a word after that, no matter how close you all got. He almost ran that day, hearing in the hallway that a halfblood had been discovered."

"Archie! There you are." And there's his dad, digging his knuckles into his head as he greets the four Slytherins. "You need to go rescue Harry, Pup, before James can corner her for a discussion on why so many boys are dancing with her."

"She's only danced with two, hasn't she?"

"Exactly. Get going, Arch."

-0

[SsSsSs]

-0

It's the amber.

Standing within the Malfoy ballroom (a location he most certainly does not want to be haunting but has little choice, given the absolutely shambles that the SOW party is in and his need to stick close), Severus watches the vast array of ignorant ingrates that make up society mingle with one another, as if their fancy party and socialising is all that matters. The basilisk that had threatened to strike down some of the heirs to the most prominent families had been dealt with by Rigel and here some of them stand, muttering to themselves how they should have thrown him out in first year. Never mind that, without Rigel, the potential deaths of many more heirs from the sleeping sickness may have occurred, what with Severus being stretched far and wide to make potions and find ingredients. Of course, this hadn't been reported to their parents; only the Malfoys knew the true extent of Rigel's influenced regarding those circumstances. Without that boy, more than one life could have ended that year.

Never mind the mess with Pettigrew; what if that degenerate had taken another student down there? While it is regrettable that it was Rigel taken, Severus can say with confidence that the boy would have been the only one with a chance of survival. Buried alive and held captive for two weeks.

And now that child is out in the world on his own, only four years of formal education behind him and a whole country on the hunt.

He is not without options, however. The French have made a blanket statement that they would accept the boy into their school, undoubtedly because of his impressive showing in the Triwizard Tournament. Ilvermorny had been quick to meet the offer, along with a statement from MACUSA agreeing to political refuge for the boy. Rigel would be a fool not to take it. And yet, two weeks have passed since and not one whisper has trickled through the grapevine that Rigel is in America. Against all assumptions otherwise, it appears the boy does genuinely intend to disappear.

It'd been Rigel who'd proposed adding the amber element to a potion in order to extend the effects. But-

Potter had used it in her recipe.

Potter had created the (and by Merlin, he is going to have to work with her on how to properly name potions) Modified Polyjuice at least three years before Rigel had proposed the idea. All this time, has the boy just been feeding him more of Potter's ideas? No, that can't be right. He was too good at potions to just be putting forwards someone else's work. Besides, Severus had seen him in action. He'd witnessed the boy free brewing; the talent isn't falsified.

But the amber element is Potter's idea. He's sure of it; her recipe had explained it far too well for it not to be. Which opens the question; why had Potter allowed Rigel to submit it as his own?

He can recall her willingness to teach him shape imbueing instead of aggressively defending her own idea, her decision not to patent the process or any of the potions she produces. Of course, that's hardly a problem when only Severus and Potter herself can complete the process. And the young Lestrange too, he recalls. He'd asked the boy where he'd learnt the skill, away from his parents' heavy-handed influences that is. Yes, he'd cornered the only Lestrange that is half-tolerable in the Guild, but he'd been curious when Whitaker had said the boy could do it. He'd learnt from Potter. Either the girl trusted Lestrange to not abuse his new knowledge (unlikely) or she just genuinely cared about furthering the field. A true academic, in every sense of the word.

So, that explains the reasoning why she would allow Rigel to submit the amber as his own idea. But it does not explain the necessity of the idea. To not be linked to her Modified Polyjuice? Too late for that.

"And how are you finding this party, Severus?"

"Lord Riddle." Severus dips his head in acknowledgement, his eyes sweeping over the masses from his position in the corner, by the back wall. He can pick out the real Black and Potter, their features both far from what anyone here have since been used to. The girl's eyes are searing, a green even more vivid than her mother's. Unnatural, truly. Perhaps she had a potions mishap as a child. "It is as, riveting as always." Having to schmooze and butter up reels of idiots who wouldn't know their stirring rod from their wand is exactly how he wants to spend his night. It's not as if he could be doing something more productive like, say, hunting down his wayward student. His venture into the depths of the Lower Alleys had been a bust; people had recognised the picture of Rigel, but not one person had been willing to say they'd seen him. They'd all been telling the truth; legilimency had informed him many had seen Harry Potter haunting their slums, but not one person had associated the face to Rigel.

"Lord Riddle." Ah. Regulus Black appears from the masses, dressed as resplendently as always. Another one of them who has been fooled by Rigel, though there's no strong attachment there, not to anything other than the glory the boy had brought to the Black name, that is.

"Regulus. I believe you had something you wished to share?" As Regulus' eyes flick over to Severus, the potion master supresses any indication of his emotions, keeping his face as perfectly blank as he possibly can. Lord Riddle follows his gaze and laughs, a low, dark thing. "Whatever you wish to share, Severus should be privy to it. He is, after all, our head-huntsman in the quest to find Rigel."

"Of course. I had my suspicions during the Tournament; when Rigel performed the Fortis shield, I'd recognised that particular style."

"Oh? Well, any hints towards our slippery halfblood's true origins would be appreciated." Yes, from Lord Riddle's tone, any hint that would give him a way to corner Rigel and undoubtedly make him suffer for the mockery he'd made of Riddle, the SOW party and the Triwizard Tournament as a whole. This is the exact reason Severus hasn't disappeared into the Potions Guild to continue his academia lifestyle in peace the moment Rigel had been declared the winner. Because the boy so oft gets in over his head and he doesn't trust adults to help him (though why would he, given he was a halfblood lying to all of them). Someone needs to look out for his best interests and, as his official master, that means that duty has fallen crisply upon Severus' shoulders.

"The Lower Alleys held a free duelling tournament last summer-" They what?! "-and one of the contestants made a good showing. I found their use of the Fortis shield they ran in comparable to a battering ram. Imagine my surprise when Rigel demonstrated a similar method in his duelling tournament. I confronted him about it and the boy said he had seen it used over the summer. I dismissed it, but now-"

"It would certainly explain why he was unphased by Antiope and her sword," Lord Riddle agrees softly, a look of concentration crossing his features. This is yet another link to the Lower Alleys; Potter had spent her time there while Arcturus Black took her place at AIM; it would make perfect sense if Rigel were to swap out with Potter during the summer terms. That Rigel is skilled in free-duelling doesn't surprise him; the boy seems to have made it his life's mission to achieve the impossible, regardless of the fact he professed a desire to do nothing other than brew for the rest of his life. Nevermind the great boon of magic he'd been blessed with; only good to imbued more potions, as far as he was concerned. It's almost laughable if it weren't so infuriating.

"I assume the boy did not go by Rigel in the Lower Alleys?"

"No, many know him as Harry. No surname given; there were a fair few who recognised him by his face too."

But Potter and Rigel had shared the same face. It's entirely possibly that Rigel would slip into the life in the Lower Alleys while Potter stepped back into her own over the holidays.

"Two children with innate affinities towards potions… Severus, tell me. How many children have you taught on Rigel's level?"

"Just Rigel himself." He can hear where this is going before Lord Riddle says the words, the unbelievable thought popping into his own mind a mere breath before Riddle voices it.

"Could it be that our two potions prodigies are, in fact, one single genius? Could Harriett Potter be the halfblood Rigel?" He considers it. And then discards it almost as quickly.

"Impossible," Snape concludes, shaking his head. "Rigel's mental defences differ greatly to Potter's; just a quick skim is enough to discern that. Anyway, she has an aura."

"Auras can be projected. Faked."

"Her wand is elm. I saw it myself at the Guild just a few days ago and she wields it effortlessly." Lord Riddle hums, though the sound is far from pleasant. More of an aggressive rumble from the back of his throat and Severus scans the crowds again, searching out Potter. It's a ridiculous idea; he would have most certainly noticed if he was teaching the same child in two different disguises. The reputation Potter has built up in the Lower Alleys makes it abundantly obvious she's been there for years. Her mental protections make it clear enough that they are two different entities; one cannot swap their fortifications out for another set when they so wish. If it could be done, he would have figured it out already. And-

"If Potter were Rigel, would your magic not be reacting?" Severus says this lowly, beneath his breath. Regulus eyes the two of them suspiciously though, without proper context, he cannot understand what Severus refers to.

"Of course, Severus. If it were the case, I would be able to identify Potter as Rigel. Still," Lord Riddle continues, eyeing the girl across the room as Hurst the younger joins the conversation she's holding with the real Arcturus Black, "I do believe we haven't exhausted this avenue just yet. When are you next due to meet the girl, Severus?"

I'd love to know what kind of dark magic was used to make these characters/the Pureblood Pretense. Because I just could not stop writing (this is the biggest chapter I have ever written in a single sitting. Ever)

Thank you so much to EmptySurface who took the time to check this through for mistakes!

I'm gonna go crawl back to my own fanfiction for a bit while I try figuring out what to do for a third chapter.

Tsume
xxx