Before you start reading, let me make it clear; this is a fanfiction of a fanfiction. If you haven't read murkybluematter's most excellent 'Pureblood Pretense' and the accompanying sequels, you will be most confused (and missing out on one of the greatest fanfiction series I have ever had the pleasure of reading).

Without further adieu...

Detersive Divulge

'Deception of the century'

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'Arcturus Black - a life undercover'

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'Mockery made of Triwizard Tournament'

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'Rigel Black - the Half Blood Pretender'

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'SOW party shaken and stirred'

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'Rigel Black - where is he now?'

.

Placing the papers down on her low coffee table, Harriet Potter exhaled, long, low and sharp.

It'd been a miracle she'd gotten out of there at all without revealing her identity- no. It'd been a miracle she'd gotten out without having her mask ripped free. She's still not quite sure just how she managed it (something to investigate later, once this has all died down, no matter how much she burns with the need to do so, to uncover just what exciting new twist her magic has undertaken this time). It doesn't matter though.

She won the Triwizard Tournament, as promised. That means Riddle will have to come through with his end of the bargain. And, while the loss of Rigel (the loss of Hogwarts, her friends, her life) hits hard... it does mean that she can remove herself from Riddle's plays, if only for a time.

Already Archie has been cornered and interrogated. With the sealing curse sealing his lips, no one had been able to push him further, hadn't been able to uncover the truth from that venue. He's safe anyway, it's not like he can get more than a slap on the wrist for his impersonation of a half-blood. Neither has Harriet Potter done anything wrong; studying from a small apartment in the Lower Alleys will certainly be frowned upon, but it is by no means illegal. She's been careful of that, methodically calculated it to ensure her safety.

It still doesn't soften the blow that the ruse is up.

She exhales again, sleeve held between fingers as she dabs at the corners of her eyes, soaking up the moisture. Tears won't help. She needs to plan, needs to check everything over and make sure it's all accounted for.

All Archie had been able to give away to his interrogators was that Rigel Black was a half-blood who'd been desperate to study at Hogwarts. That's it. There's nothing in there specifically that can be linked back to her, but she doesn't doubt some will draw further conclusions. It cannot be deduced that she was there to study under Dumbledore; he so rarely took on apprentices that such a thing wouldn't cross the mind of even the most whimsical eleven-year-old child. That left the professors in their specialist fields. Planning for the worst; some of the brighter minds will cross reference against other schools and deduce that it's most like she's there for Transfigurations under McGonagall or potions under Professor Snape. And Rigel Black, with his shining aptitude for potions, would clearly favour one of those over the other. From there, it won't be long until they begin searching for children with an interest and, yes, she will say it, a talent for potions.

This is where she is relying upon Leo. Leo who had promised to help her scaffold her ruse of living in the Lower Alleys as Harry Potter. People will claim her apartment lived in and, though James will undoubtedly be quite upset with her, that'll secure her alibi.

True, there are still loose ends, each only half tied up. Will, Ollivander... Draco and Pansy.

That's the one that hits the hardest. Four years of cultivating those friendships, even when she tried holding herself back at the beginning. She can only imagine how betrayed they must feel, how they would be reviewing every conversation they'd ever had. She wonders just how much will make sense to them as they look back upon their interactions. Every time blood purity had come up, there she'd been, conversing as if an equal but a halfblood. She- she owes them a slip of an explanation, that much is for sure. Yet, how to do it? She doesn't doubt Riddle; any letter could be traced to an extent, if one had the motivation and the willpower. And, given the mockery she's made of his tournament (of his own movement, of the SOW party) he'll have both in spades.

Merlin, she wonders if there's anyone else out there who knows Riddle can talk to snakes. There must be somebody; how long will it take for that one specific person to ask if Rigel Black is actually Riddle's illegitimate son? The thought alone is horrifying. But the satisfaction of how much the SOW leader must be juggling right now to reclaim the confidence of his party members is almost enough to put a smile on her face. Almost.

Then, she considers the political turmoil she has created, a great landslide prompted into existence by her pebble of duplicity. The guilt she feels for deceiving her friends is a heavy enough burden as is. She dare not think on their expressions, the betrayal that will cut deeper than any sensation she has ever caused within them before. A hidden knife slipped between the ribs from a trusted source...

She owes them a single letter. One untraceable account. Her sole confession of the sins she has committed, unrepentant in all but the hurt she has caused them.

.

Time passes, as it's wont to do. James doesn't chew her out. Instead, he goes eerily silent, seemingly incapable of looking at her and Harry knows that the trust between them is gone, crumbling from existence in the very same way Rigel Black has. And while Archie admits to the strain their deception has placed upon his relationship with Sirius, they, in the least, are still talking to one another.

She gets grounded. No surprises about that, she had even prepared for it. A letter to Leo, informing him of the very high chances that she would soon be under house arrest and, most distressingly, unable to brew. He would pass her message on to the rest of the Court, she's sure.

He'll also see to it that her letter makes it to Draco and Pansy. Passing through so many in the Lower Alleys like a twisted game of pass the parcel until it makes its way back to Leo, coated in so much ambivalent magic from all those it has been in contact with that Rigel's only essence will have disappeared.

It's the least she can do.

-0

[SsSsSs]

-0

There have been far and few times in his life where Severus Snape did not know what to do, who to turn to. There had always been a plan, a way to strive forwards towards the goal. Setbacks had, of course, presented themselves but he had always been able to continue his steady march towards his destination.

Until recently, one of those goals had been taking Rigel Black and moulding him into the greatest potion master to have ever lived. And now-

Vanished. Gone like smoke in the wind and with not a carbon molecule to chase.

Sitting within Lucius' private office, he stews. The master of the house sits beside him, on tent hooks for a multitude of reasons. One of the prominent ones being Lord Riddle, who has already blasted one hole in the wall and it is certain that one act will not stem the reservoir of fury that pours out of him. Their Lord stalks back and forth, more alike a caged nundu than his usual serpent. Not that Severus could blame him in the slightest.

The most promising child he has ever seen within a decade of teaching, the shining beacon of a new era. Gone. And a half-blood to boot.

He's certain that Rigel (it doesn't matter what the boy's true name is, Rigel is how he has known him and until he uncovers the truth, which he will, then it is Rigel he shall remain) is a halfblood. No muggleborn child would have the ability, the resources to concoct this deception. There would have been no reason for the deceit if he were a pureblood either; surely with how exceptional the boy is, he'd have been able to secure a scholarship were he from a family lacking substantial funds.

No, the boy they had known as Rigel Black is a halfblood. Curing the sleeping sickness, slaying a basilisk, winning the Triwizard Tournament; all the work of perhaps the bravest, most foolish halfblood to have ever walked the halls of Hogwarts. It's almost unthinkable but it can be nothing more than the truth.

The vase that has resided by the northern window for as long as Severus has known Lucius explodes in a shower of porcelain, Lord Riddle's magic roaring through the room as surely as a sandstorm tears through the desert plains. Not a word has been spoken between them since Lucius approached their Lord with the letter Draco had received that very morning, four weeks post the… discovery. Near a month has passed by and still the imbecilic media have continued to fixate on the spectacle. Already, Dumbledore's party are gearing up to use this stellar evidence as proof that Hogwarts should no longer remain a pureblood-only institution. It's the kind of momentum that may even get the laws repealed.

Not that such a thing will bring Rigel back. The boy would be arrested on sight for his transgressions, least of which are lying to everyone who thought they had known him. Of all the foolish, anserine ideas-

"Can you trace him." Lord Riddle doesn't ask, but the way his eyes burn into and through Severus make it abundantly clear that the answer to that order better be a positive one.

Lucius hands him the letter and the slight tremble to his hand is near unnoticeable. It doesn't come as a shock that his friend is… spiralling with this sudden turn of events. Rigel has made off with no small amount of Malfoy family secrets, including a list of the Heir's allergens, the knowledge of Draco's empathetic ability and… and the life debt. By Merlin, the life debt. And it's by far not the only one that Rigel can lay claim to. Just when he believes he has finally grasped the enormity of the situation they find themselves in, he remembers another utterly phenomenal thing that Rigel has done and the repercussions of it.

There is a child out there with an unaccountably deep understanding of the magical cores belonging to the Heirs of some wizarding Britain's most prominent families.

There is a child out there who seemingly rewrites all the laws of magic that he designs to pay attention to, with lord levels of power to back him up.

It is most likely the only thing backing him up.

Unfolding the parchment (cheap, mass produced, not the premium kind that can be traced to a specialist creator like most purebloods use), Severus allows his eyes to run over the familiar handwriting, absorbing the words.

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'Dear Draco and Pansy,

I would beg your forgiveness for being so plebeian as to address the both of you within the same letter, but it is by far my lesser transgression at present.

There are no words that shall ever be able to capture the potent regret that currently plagues me nor, I doubt, actions that shall ever lessen my guilt.

I am not a pureblood. I am not Heir Arcturus Rigel Black, though I do not doubt you are already aware of these truths. You once stated that I had secrets; this is, by far, one of my biggest, for all that it is now known.

I agreed to this duplicity for the sake of my education, to acquire that which is barred to me, someone of less than pureblood. You will recall that I attempted to keep you at arm's length during our first semester, something you proved impossible to replicate in the long run.

I do not regret becoming friends, though it made my deception significantly harder to uphold. My only lament is the pain that my circumstances have now caused you.

I understand that the relationship we have was built upon false pretences; nonetheless, you will remain the greatest friends I will ever have the pleasure of knowing.

Even as it cuts sharper than the winter's wind, I'm writing to inform you that this shall be my last letter to you, especially given how unwelcome I predict it shall be. I sincerely hope you never hear from me again, as the only reason I would dare to contact you was if I were to be caught. This would be the only reason I should ever call upon the debt owed to me: for assistance I'm not being prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

As you well know, I am excellent at disappearing when I wish to, do rest assured that your debt will forever remain unfulfilled, Draco.

Pansy, with your celestial grace, I do not doubt you will succeed within life, but please keep an eye out for Draco now that I can no longer do so.

Please never doubt that our friendship has been the greatest experience of my time at Hogwarts.

Regretfully,

Rigel'

.

It's nowhere near his usual prose but the emotional distress of his usually removed student is all but screamed through the words and the less than stellar sentence choices. He wouldn't be surprised to learn Rigel had written a first draft and been unable to bring himself to editing it.

Drawing his wand, Severus traces it across the parchment, over the long-dried ink, along each word.

There's not a hint of Rigel's magic on the letter. Instead, there is a patchwork quilt of energy interwoven across its surface, absorbed from the many, many hands it must have passed through. It will be impossible to separate enough of Rigel's magic away from the rest; it's too tainted. The only path forwards is to trace the most recent hands to have held the letter and work back through what is sure to be a long slog of ignorant reprobates, with whom the chances of them understanding even a mote of what has occurred and their own place within it is sure to be distressingly low.

"Severus." Lord Riddle's voice verges dangerously close to the incomprehensible tones of Parseltongue and that's one more thing to add to the list; Rigel is a Parselmouth something… something that is genetically inherited.

The thought flashes across his mind, a fork of lightning in the dark and Severus muffles everything but the thunder can come and he does something unbelievably stupid, such as voice his sudden suspicion.

It'd certainly add weight to Rigel's dislike of Lord Riddle.

"It will take some time and I cannot give you any reassurances it will work. Rigel, as we have all seen, is an extraordinarily capable young man and has every reason to remove himself entirely from society." The chances of finding the child are astronomically low.

Severus has faced such odds before and triumphed; he has every intention of doing so again. What he will do upon finding the boy, however, is something he has not (cannot) considered. Not yet.

"You truly had no idea, Severus?"

Severus levels his best glare at Lucius, feeling his magic snap beneath the levels of control, beneath the occlumency that shields and organises his mind.

"I'm quite certain I do not need to express how monumentally stupid it would be, knowing full well the goals that the S.O.W Party strives for, to champion a disguised halfblood and undermine everything I have contributed to the cause." He's aware is tone is near glacial but Severus does not wish to open this up for discussion. He prides himself on his observational skills, on his ability to analyse everything around him and suss out the truth.

He had not found Rigel's deception until the mask was already gone, stripped away by a potion designed to test the purity of the person presented to it. Not the blood, but the person. And that was after the… mess that came before it. Besides, it's not as if he was the only one unaware of the dissimulation.

Lord Riddle never suspected either.

As is sensing what has just passed through Severus' mind, their Lord turns on his heels and stalks to the entryway. The oak doors blast open despite a lack of direction from a wand and Lord Riddle disappears down the corridor. Undoubtedly off to do as much damage control as one can manage in these… extraordinary circumstances.

He himself is in no mood for the usual pleasantries but, unlike Lord Riddle, Severus does not have the standing to just depart from Lucius' presence without a word. It is with this in mind that he turns to the Malfoy Lord and offers a shallow dip of his head. "I shall be in touch should I make any progress." The unspoken 'return this curtesy, now is not the time for us to be working against one another' lingers in the air between them until Lucius nods in return.

"Have a fruitful hunt, Severus."

Yes, one could only hope.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

"I was never contacted by Rigel, nor did I ever contact him. Any correspondence between the two of us was passed through Archie. That's why he got sealed."

It's been five weeks since the end of the Triwizard Tournament and finally, finally, her house arrest has been lifted. After the third discussion with the aurors that is. Five weeks and no one has come knocking with the proclamation that she is Rigel Black.

From what James has muttered up to table (not to her, but in her vicinity), the aurors seem to be certain they're still chasing a boy. The first layer of the ruse may have been stripped away, but there's still multiple failsafes; a handful of people in the Lower Alleys have said that a 'Harry' does live there, that they've seen said Harry out and about. Harry lives at Number 8 Dogwood Lane where, unknown to her parents, she has been completing home-schooling packets so that her dear cousin may attend AIM in her place.

She had come dangerously close to admitting her brewing for Krait, to allowing another secret to be uncovered so that the aurors may think they have scraped the bottom of the barrel of what she knows. But, in the end, she hadn't been able to do it. The Lower Alleys had been a safe haven from the manic life she had begun living; she just hadn't been able to throw them under the Knight Bus just to save her own skin. Instead, she'd put Rispah's lessons to the test, contorting her face to convey all the appropriate emotions to indicate 'yes, I have learnt my lesson', 'no, I have no idea where Rigel is, he never told me anything other than he'd disappear if there was ever a chance he'd get caught' and, 'yes, he only ever told Archie enough to keep up the ruse they had going'.

Those had been the last few answers she'd given before the Auror had left.

It has been five weeks and she has little idea of what is going on in the outside world. Of course, she has been reading the newspapers and Archie's letters, but there's only so much one can plan for when they have a limited influx of information. Especially given that the majority of 'news' was, in fact, reporters pondering over just what they know of Rigel and what they can deduce. Hardly a riveting read, given she knew all the answers. Still, she could see how close they were getting to the second layer of her deception (so far away it is almost laughable; the aurors seem to be under the belief that Rigel is a poor, male halfblood from the continent) along with the opinions of… well, almost everyone.

Dumbledore has already put out a statement of support which, well, it's actually quite touching in a strange sort of way. She has, after all, been his personal student for two years and to know she has made such an impression on the man that he would come out to defend her actions is… it's something worthy of note, that's for sure. But it cannot be discounted that her actions will have swung the ideals of magic is might into Dumbledore's camp. A halfblood child curing the sleeping sickness, slaying a basilisk, winning the Triwizard Tournament-

'And that is without mentioning the things you have done that they have no knowledge of,' Dom whispers from the recesses of her mind and Harry nods in agreement. Yes, there's that as well.

Perhaps… maybe not next year, but the year after? Maybe, just maybe, Harry could attend Hogwarts for her NEWTS as herself if Dumbledore managed to run away with this momentum she's unintentionally inspired.

No. No, she couldn't risk it. There'd be too many eyes watching her, examining her for the part she'd played, however small they perceived it to be, in the ruse. She'd be too close to her friends, to Professor Snape, to pass unseen. One of them would put the pieces together and it would all be over. She cannot chance it, no matter how the thought bites her at.

"Here are all your other letters, Harry," Lily whispers, trying for a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Neither of her parents seem to know quite what to do other than enforce their first, instinctually given punishment. They feel guilty, Harry understands that much. Guilty that they hadn't been aware who they'd assumed to be Harry was actually Archie, guilty that they hadn't noticed their only daughter was living out of an apartment in the Lower Alleys, of all places. A place that James had raided himself.

"Thanks, Mum," Harry murmurs, accepting the pile. It's surprisingly substantial and she can tell with the slightest prod of her magic that they've been tampered with. Archie's already let her know the aurors were checking his mail for anything from Rigel, so it's safe to say that's the very reason as to why her own letters have apparently been opened and resealed.

Offering Lily a small smile, Harry takes a seat at the table and sets to work.

There are a few from her friends at Hogwarts, though they are all addressed to Heiress Harriet Potter, enquiring as to the whereabouts of Rigel and if she truly knew as little as what is stated in the papers. The Weasley twins are particularly potent in their pleading.

There isn't one from Pansy. Nor from Draco.

'They don't own me anything,' Harry forcibly reminds herself, pushing it down and away. She'd sent her final letter. All their ties to Rigel had been cut now, barring the Life Debt she can still lay claim to. Even then, Harry isn't certain she will use it, not until she's exhausted every other avenue possible. To call upon the aid of people whose lives she has saved in order to try and save herself from a long-term prison sentence doesn't sit right with her.

Read Leo's letters already, grateful that he'd understood the momentous importance of her secret keeping and that he has not implicated himself (or her any further) through the content of his letters.

There is, surprisingly, one from Lestrange.

She does want to read it, to hear his honest opinion on the events that have occurred while he has been out of the country. But she needs to see Leo, to tie up that loose end now that she's finally free.

Slipping the letter into her pocket and silently asking her magic to ensure it doesn't slip out.

When she gets to the fireplace, she tries to ignore the large board titled 'Where Harry is going' that appears to have materialised overnight, but she cannot access the floo powder until she writes 'Diagon Alley & Lower Alleys' onto it. A tricky piece of spellwork she doesn't want to spend the next few hours unravelling. Not when seeing Leo is a priority.

.

The path to the Lower Alleys is as familiar as the path through Diagon itself now. Harry walks with sure steps, her trusted boots devouring the stretch of cobblestone between her and her destination. She catches the eyes of two children dangerously close to the age of Hogwarts admittance, both of whom smile at her and scamper off. Leo's eyes, she doesn't doubt the thought of seeing him again flows through her, stoking both a dulled excitement and a nervous worry. He will have questions, of that, she's sure. He's met Archie before and now, with the first layer of the ruse unmasked, he'll have questions. Worse, her friend will be well aware this isn't just the only secret to expose. There are exceptionally few people who will be aware she hasn't actually been living at Dogwood and, unfortunately, Leo is the key contender at the top of that list.

He's seen her apartment before it was empty. He's aware she hasn't been renting that apartment since she supposedly began her home-schooling and, given that it's been reported that Archie has been at AIM for his entire academic career so far, then Leo will be well aware Harry couldn't have been in America herself. She needs to assess what he knows first, even as a multitude of plans circulate in her brain. It will not be so farfetched as to have Leo believe she only began working for Krait when she ran out of pre-saved money. As for where said money was coming from, well, neither she or Archie have families hurting for cash. She can claim it savings that had steadily been depleted.

It does not solve her issue of the apartment not belonging to her for the duration of her first year. Informing the aurors that she was hotel hopping for that time might work, but not with Leo. No matter how useful she can imagine it is, the Rogue having eyes everywhere is only hindering her in this moment, that's for sure.

Gritting her teeth, Harry continues her march, head still spinning with thoughts and plans, each discarded as quickly as the one before it. She needs Leo on side. The chances of the aurors thinking to question the people in the Lower Alleys is quite high, but they'd protect her. Harry is one of them and the people here look after their own (perhaps that is why she likes it so much here). But… they will report to Leo. Leo, who will want to know why the Aurors are poking around Harry's apartment, if he doesn't already know about the whole Rigel situation. Leo, who has enough pieces of the puzzle to realise that it isn't a simple picture, rather a grand design and there are pieces from what he'd assumed was another that fit into it. Merlin, that was a terrible metaphor; she can usually do better than that.

Her magic zings in warning just before Leo's arm comes down over her shoulders, right outside the entrance to Knockturn Alley.

"Harry! It's great to see you after five weeks apart!" He's loud, drawing attention and quick glances from everyone nearby.

"It's only been five weeks," Harry throws out, sliding easily into the conversation. The more people who hear this, the more people will believe she genuinely has been staying in the Lower Alleys. A blatant friendship with someone who runs around in that very area will only cement it.

"Five weeks is a long time, Lass," Leo says with a grin, all light-hearted teasing and she doesn't buy it for a second. She's not the only one who has spent time with Rispah. "An even longer time waiting for this modified Polyjuice of yours to wear off it seems." Ah.

"Heard about that, have you?" That'd been one of the things she'd had to explain to the aurors; how they'd hidden it, before Archie discovered his metamorphmagi talents. Only, the official story was she'd combined her hair with Archie's and then she, Archie and Rigel had all drunk the mixture. Professor Snape's account of the quidditch match back in Third Year would only cement that detail further, though she had claimed credit for the potion as one of Harriet Potter's. She'd had to hand the recipe over to the guide to be analysed, though she had done that by letter. The last thing she needed was another rehash of the same old lecture of trying experimental potions that haven't been certified as safe for human consumption.

From the look on Leo's face, he knows about this part of the whole charade as well.

"It threw the Potion's Guild into uproar, of course. Dad, obviously, was very impressed, though equally as startled to learn you were testing this on yourself. I'm sure you can guess exactly how I feel about that too." Leo probably disagrees with the idea. She's slowly coming around to the fact that her friends value her personal safety above the need for an intended outcome. Not that Harry would ever consume a potion that she wasn't one hundred percent certain would have no adverse effects upon her body.

Not… not unless she was under extreme duress and it was a matter of survival if not.

But Leo doesn't know about that particular incident and she has no intention of telling him either.

"When will it wear off?"

"Any day now," Harry admits after only a moment of hesitation. That… that is another thing to content with. She'll look physically older than she should be because of the time she'd folded in her third year. She'll be sixteen? Seventeen? Certainly, a year ahead of where she should be, in the very least. Creating the antonym to an aging potion and then lengthening its effects through amber is theoretically possible but… she doesn't want to lie. If she does that, she'll be committing to a potion regime until she's old enough that an additional year won't make a difference. No one has actually seen her real face in years. The shock of it will surely detract from the fact she looks a little older than she should be. If she doesn't do it, people may get suspicious. But, if people found out she was taking potions to make herself look younger, that would be infinitely more suspicious than her true appearance being a bit more mature than would be expected of someone her age.

"I look forwards to it."

"I- what? What's that supposed to mean?" But Leo doesn't answer her, just smiling and continuing to hustle her down the winding streets into the Lower Alleys.

.

They arrive at her apartment with little fanfare and Leo turns bright, mischievous eyes on her.

"You wanted to learn how to scale a building, right?" The question instantly has Harry on guard. Leo is well aware there's more to her deception that what has been reported in the papers and there's no doubt that he knows she knows. Ergo, he's trying to distract her for some reason. To what end, she doesn't know.

After five weeks in the house, unable to brew and forced to prove that, yes, she does actually have an education despite essentially home-schooling herself, it would be nice to proclaim she could indeed crawl up walls instead of just feeling like she can.

It doesn't change the fact Leo is trying to distract her. That, or lull her into a false sense of ease. Regardless of his intentions, she still needs to speak with him.

She has no choice but to go along with his ploys.

"Yes, it seems like a useful skill. I still own you a break in from an overly nosey friend after all; just jog my memory, where is it you said your apartment was again?" she asks with faux innocence, widening her eyes just enough to affect a smooth, imploring expression as she glances up at her tall friend from beneath her lashes. There's a moment where he stares, seemingly transfixed. Then, Leo looks away, muttering something about Rishap under his breath as he runs a hand though his hair.

"I didn't say anything, you scallywag."

"Mmm, one would think you don't want concerned friends to visit if you go missing for a few days."

At that, Leo turns his attentions back on her, a smile slowly rolling across his face as easily as clouds cross the sky. "Well, I certainly wouldn't mind a visit from you, Harry, but I think you're still a bit too young to be sneaking into bedrooms yet."

That does have Harry snorting. What would she ever need to sneak into Leo's bedroom for? Getting into his living room or even the kitchen would be far more favourable; she could take a seat and read while she waits for him to come back, proceeding the scare the life out of him as he had once done her. Besides, if she were so inclined, she could refute Leo's claim about her age too. She's a year old than she should be, after all.

"Just show me how to climb the wall, Leo."

Her friend holds both hands up, surrendering the conversation. Then, he reached for his pocket and pulls out... a block of chalk?

"It's good for your grip. Especially for a beginner." Magnesium carbonate, if she had to take a guess. It makes a good supplement to blood replenishers. Undoubtedly, it's also be good for soaking up excess moisture. In climbing where grip is one of the key components between the climber and a quick drop, sudden stop, dry hands would be invaluable.

The implications that come from Leo walking around with that in his pocket...

"Break into a lot of homes, do you?" Harry asks, accepting the block and dusting up her hands until the skin feels dry enough to indicate the excess moisture has been removed.

"Never know when some kid might be living alone with no one to look out for them and wary of answering their front door," Leo responds, pocketing the chalk once again as he approaches the side of the building. "It's good to learn how to do things the none magical way too. Never know when a skill will come in handy." That piece of advice is one she doesn't doubt.

"Look for the bits of brick that stick out, any ledges that you can get a proper grasp on. And always keep your weight on your feet unless it's unavoidable; they're used to holding you up." Leo offers her a wink, working his way up the wall before she can form an answer. He's quick and makes it look easy. Intellectually, she knows she won't be in for an easy time, knows that this is a learned skill, much as free-duelling is.

She knows she could make it that much easier if she allowed her magic to help. But what would be the point in learning if she were to rely upon her magic for everything? There may one day come a time when she doesn't have access to her magic and this would prove an invaluable skill.

"Don't worry about slipping," Leo calls down from where he's sitting on her windowsill, one leg drawn up so that he can rest his forearm up it, jauntily bouncing the hand that holds his wand. "I'll catch you if you fall." Another wink. Were she not truly aware the gravity of the conversation they were about to have, were she one of the handful of people on the street watching this, she probably would assume this is nothing more than comradely banter between friends.

Just for that, she's going to complete the climb on her first try.

.

It is three minutes later that Harry pulls herself into her own apartment, arms burning but not unpleasantly. It's as if she completed a few dozen push-ups alongside Remus' usual workout routine for her. Challenging, but not impossible.

She rolls her shoulders as she straightens, not missing the fact Leo has already made himself at home, two cups of tea placed upon the small table he'd provided her with. While Leo-

Leo is right in front of her, looking down with those bright hazel eyes that are so very familiar after years of, well, friendship.

"Five months," he huffs and Harry opens her mouth to object, but the breath is stolen from her lungs when he pulls her into a tight hug, arms tucking her into his chest and resting across the stretch of her shoulder blades. Harry stands still for a moment, her arms hanging uselessly by her sides before she remembers where she is, who this is, and then she returns the gesture without hesitation.

He's still taller than her. Probably will be forever, even if she gains an inch or two when the Polyjuice finally wears off. At least he appears to have stopped growing so that head of his won't be getting any further away from her.

"What are you thinking, Lass?"

"I'm comparing your brain to one of those muggle contraptions that rise with hot air." She knew the basics, had tried to recreate the effect one summer's afternoon with Archie when they had been a tender seven-years-old. The potion she had picked to create the hot air had been harmless; it was only that their cotton hadn't been woven tightly enough that'd stopped them from flying away that evening. James and Sirius had chuckled over their foiled escape attempt once she'd recounted the tale back to them over dinner later that night, se recalls.

"A hot air balloon?" Leo asks but, before she question his knowledge of the subject, her friend shakes his head and points over to the kitchen table. The casual camaraderie is gone now, replaced with the Leo she sees oh so rarely. This is the King of the Lower Alleys now, for all that he is indeed her friend underneath it. They share the same ever-tanned skin, though the laughing hazel eyes have lost their good humour.

"Harry. Say you have a friend that you are well aware has some secrets. Big, dangerous secrets, by their own admission." Leo pauses here, meeting her gaze and Harry nods slowly, waiting for the trap to snap shut. She can see the glinting silver claws, can see the bait (though there is no reason for her not to drink the tea now; it had been Leo's good-natured front that had drawn her here, along with the acknowledgement that she needs to secure this loose end). Yes, the trap is there. She's just waiting for it to snap shut now.

"Now, picture some big secret they were involved in came out. The whole world knows about it but your friend only plays a small part," Leo continues, meeting her eyes. "And the whole world just nods and continues to look for the perpetrator. Only, you know there's some holes in the story. Because you know your friend wasn't where they claimed to be during the whole fiasco and, no matter how brilliant that friend is, they have an incredibly impressive education. The kind of world class education that could only come from a world class institution, if you get my drift."

She's gritting her teeth. Harry works her jaw slowly at first, feeling the magic and Dom within her perk up, swirling as the register the slight twinge of panic that licks through her senses. She'd known, of course, that Leo helping her out with the apartment here, working to help keep the pretence that she was living here was only a quick bandage. It was a pepper-up potion, offering a quick way around a solution but there's always the indivertible crash at the end.

This is her crash. All she can do is ensure the wreckage is something that will not draw attention to the cause. Hide it, bury it. Ensure she has Leo's silence. She wets her lips, inhaling slowly.

"Hypothetically," Harry begins, hesitating for a moment as Leo's eyes sharpen with the understanding this situation isn't hypothetical at all. "If someone were to realise that their friend with dangerous secrets had holes in their story, then they would hopefully recognise what the potential truth of said story is and keep their hypothetical mouth shut." She breathes, one long inhale, one low exhale. "If the situation this friend was in was even remotely alike to that of the Rigel Scandal that has somehow become the key-feature in a fixated society's newspapers, then this person would surely recognise exactly how dangerous a position that friend with dangerous secrets would be in."

Leo stares at her. Takes a drink of his tea, completely ignoring the steam that still coils in lazy curls above it's brim. The Adam's apple of his throat bobs with the motion and Harry's zero in on it with no conscious thought on her part. Silence persists between the two of them in this moment and Harry prays, fervently, that she isn't making a mistake.

Leo has invited her into his world, has exposed his truths as the Rogue. Despite his disgruntlement over it, he has helped her keep her secrets, despite not knowing the truths behind them.

Draco, Pansy, the Weasley twins, all of her Hogwarts friends. All of the friends she had made as Rigel. She'd not been able to trust them as she wished she could, could not confide in them. And she is so tired. The ruse can go no further and Leo… she trusts that Leo would never rat her out. That he would look out for her best interests.

Clearing her throat, Harry plucks up her own cup of tea, inspecting the steam still rising from the liquid. It's too hot to drink and she blows across the surface. Her magic responds almost without a thought, cooling the liquid until it's at an acceptable temperature to drink. "And that friend with dangerous secrets would hope that the person who knows what the hole is would quietly fill it, saving her from the possible but certainly serious repercussions."

Leo places his mug down, half of the tea gone. There's no sweat to his brow from their climb and only the slightest granules of chalk remain on his palms, some of it pressed into the handle of the cup he had been holding.

"I think that person would be very worried about his friend's incredibly dangerous secret," Leo stresses, running one hand through his hair, leaving chalk streaks behind but he's clearly past the point of caring about such a thing. Harry takes another sip of her tea, waiting quietly for the verdict, even as her magic marshals itself ready for the worst outcome. It would pain her greatly to hurt Leo, to force his silence. Things between them would never be the same again. But Harry cannot allow her actions to reflect badly on her family. Not when there is little Addy, her halfblood sister who would be tainted by association. Merlin only knows what would happen to her in the future if Harry were to be incarcerated for bloodline theft.

"But, his first instinct would be to ask how he could help."

.

Things, aren't perfect from there. They spend another five minutes just drinking in the quiet peace of her apartment, the world still turning outside but not quite capable of touching them in here. Not yet. It is not alike any other time she has spent with Leo before but, things have passed between them now that never have prior to this moment. She should probably have expected things to change, Harry realises. She wishes it hadn't.

Leo has probably concluded she is Rigel Black. Was Rigel Black. It is not as if she could ever go back to that life now, is it? Leo is the one person who can fill the only gap in her story, who can account for the fact that she has an apartment in the Lower Alleys. He can claim he has visited her, on and off, on the way to his mother's work. It would explain their closeness to him, were word to reach her James. Though, she doubts he'd like to hear of it. He hasn't exactly been thrilled with her male friends so far, for all that there is only Leo and Caelum among that list.

She needs to read Caelum's letter, come to think of it, lest he barge into the Lower Alleys looking for her, insulting every witch and wizard that have the misfortune to cross his path. Unbelievably, the thought brings a small smile to her face that she hastily packs away. Now is not the time to allow such a thing to cross her mind.

"Come on then. Everyone else will want to get a good look at you now before that fine face of yours melts away," Leo declares, clapping one hand on her shoulder as he stands. With a burst of magic that she doesn't care to differentiate from wand cast or not, their mugs float over to the sink and begin washing themselves in the running water.

"You don't know if my true face isn't finer under all of this," Harry points out, climbing to her feet and stretching her arms above her head. Her limbs still have that luxurious post-workout ache and she eyes the window, half in trepidation, half in anticipation. "Are we climbing down?"

"We'll save that lesson for another day. Call it my assurance that you'll be back, Heiress Potter."

"But then how will I be able to escape your apartment when one of your rogues comes knocking on your door, if not through your window?"

Leo coughs into his fist at her words, turning his torso away from her and studiously focusing on the door. Harry quickly analyses what she has said, sure there is something wrong, some underlying context that she didn't quite pick up on. It escapes her though, so she passes it up as a bad job. Maybe, now that she no longer has to content with juggling Rigel's life alongside her own, she can begin to figure out just what links the phrases that prompt such a reaction from Leo.

"Moving on from that. Let's get to the Phoenix. I believe I can hear your usual glass of milk calling. Unless you've grown enough to finally partake in a glass of ale?" Leo cocks his head back over his shoulders, firing her that warm grin with mirth dances at the corners of his lips.

"But I don't need any hair on my chest now."

"Can't say you're wrong about that, Lass."

.

In the summer heat, the Lower Alleys are bustling. With a few years trekking these very paths, Harry now has the experience to look upon the people before her and pick out the ones she should be paying attention to. The duo of pick-pockets who're scampering along in the shade of a building, passing a fat purse between them as they go. A woman in the clinic's uniform, winding steadily through the masses with a potions bag that indicates she's just completed a house-call.

A kid breaks off from the rest once he sights Leo, meandering in their direction in a way that almost looks nature. If Harry hadn't seen the way his eyes light up once he spotted Leo, she might have even believed him.

"Highness," the kid mutters, tipping an imaginary hat to Leo before his eyes (a dusky blue beneath thick black lashes) land on her. He hesitates for a moment, eyes taking in her light summer robes, before he gives a little shrug. "Miss."

"Whatever you need to say, Toby, you can say in front of Harry here. She's one of us, after all." That… that's reassuring to hear. No matter what secrets she has kept, still keeps, the fact Leo still considers her one of them is a comforting thought.

Perhaps it is the loss of her identity as a Hogwarts student, the methodical disintegration of all the friendships she made through her own actions, but knowing she still retains a place among Leo's court is comforting. Whatever that place may be.

"There's a man asking questions about a letter. Asking after some boy that he thinks sent a letter that passed through here." The kid pauses, turning to look at her through suspicious eyes. "Looks like Miss. Name's Rigel-"

That's as much as she needs to hear.

Sending the letter to Draco and Pansy had been a calculated risk. She'd gotten rid of as much evidence as she could. Her magic had been nowhere near her hands as she wrote it and she'd even gone to the effort of Polyjuicing into a child to request assistance from a stranger in Hogsmeade to spell the letter shut. A different face had passed the letter off to another in the Lower Alleys. A letter within a letter within a letter. She'd been inspired by Lily, actually. In a move for vengeance some years ago, Lily had given Sirius a ridiculously large birthday present. But it had been a box within a box within a box; it'd taken Sirius twenty minutes to reach the tiny, tiny slip of paper in the final box, a voucher for glasses. Given he'd been squinting at the writing at the time, Harry thought the final prize had been remarkably apt, for all that Sirius had bought pranking sunglasses with it.

Her letter to Draco and Pansy had taken the place of the voucher in this instance only, instead of a multitude of blank envelopes to open, each one been addressed to another person of repute in the Lower Alleys. Shop owners or others she could trust to pass the message on. Clearly it had reached its intended destination.

"Trouble always dogging your footsteps," Leo mutters beneath his breath beside her, shaking his head before he offers this kid a coin in thanks. "Let's go see who this is then, shall we?"

.

It's Professor Snape. Professor Snape is in the Lower Alleys and appears to be mid interrogation with a teenage who looks progressively more frantic by the second. With Dom having already sorted her mindscape out to further protect the ruse now that Rigel has been exposed an imposture, there's no need for the zing of panic that, against her will, sears through her veins. She's just Harry right now. Admittedly, Professor Snape will no doubt be surprised to see her wandering through the Lower Alleys, may even set upon her in order to prise Rigel's location from her. But there's no location to be found because Rigel does not exist. The whole point of Rigel was to be her pureblood persona for the duration of the deception and now that it's over, he can fade into obscurity, leaving only his numerous accomplishments with no physical form to pin them to. Exactly as he would have wished it, she thinks with only a touch of irony.

In fact, should she play her cards right here, she can further cement her story, really establish with Snape (and consequently the SOW party) that she, Harry Potter, has been in the Lower Alleys all along.

With that in mind, Harry clears her throat and takes a step forwards, away from Leo's side.

"Master Snape?"

His head snaps around, dark eyes zeroing in on her in an instant. The sneer is so profound that it almost, almost, has her flinching back.

"Potter." He says her name as if it were a curse and Harry internally scrambles, trying to figure out what has gone wrong, why he would- oh.

Rigel had been his apprentice. Rigel who has now disappeared and she has admitted to a hand in the deception, even if she had done nothing wrong in the eyes of the law. A very, very dangerous technicality, but it's just that, a technicality.

Even her face under the modified Polyjuice will serve as a reminder of her duplicity.

"Maester Snape, how strange it is to see you not haunting a potions lab." And there's Leo, interjecting with his usual amounts of copious good cheer, though there's something (almost aggressive? Defensive?) off about his tone.

Snape does look terribly out of place in the Lower Alleys. In the throngs of summer, they're a brightly lit, warm background, bustling with people lightly dressed and decorated by the occasional flower cart. In comparison, Snape wears his statement black brewing robes, cloaking himself from the summer's sun as if he were partaking in a strange, inverse hibernation.

Her former professor stares hard at Leo; it's obvious he recognises him, but can't quite place him. Certainly, he cannot have missed how they have appeared together. A half second later, it clicks.

"Hurst." Leo's name rolls of Snape's tongue rather like poison, dripping in acid and disdain. "Doesn't this just clarify mysterious connections."

"I'm not quite sure what you mean, Master Snape. After all, my father knows Harry through her potions work. Though I'll admit to seeing her when she was just an eight-year-old potions know-it-all embarrassing customers at the apothecary, the truth is, she's been renting a place near where my Ma works. Has me over for tea whenever we're both around."

Even as Snape sneers, Harry cannot help but luxuriate in the sweeping sense of relief that comes with knowing her backstory will have necessary support to stand up against further prodding. Leo's mother will admit to her stopping by the clinic and everyone in the Court of Rogues covers for each other. Worst comes to worst, her job with Krait is exposed to the masses, but that will only further scaffold her tale. The money from the potions brewing is how she has paid for the apartment and Krait cannot dispute her claim of living at Dogwood when he received all his potions by mail.

"Potter." Snape's dark growl has her turning her attentions upon him again and she's quick to adopt one of Rispah's favourite looks, the one of polite interest. It's especially important that she really sells this; Snape is the adult she spent the most time with as Rigel. He's the one who 'knew' Rigel. He's also the one reporting back to Riddle, maybe Dumbledore too. While she doesn't think the latter would expose her crimes if he were to learn she is the face behind Rigel, she's unwilling to take that chance by placing her trust in him. A secret is best kept between as few people as possible.

"You will present yourself at the Guild on Monday at nine, sharp. I have been placed in charge of reviewing your modified Polyjuice brewing."

Oh. So, they wanted to determine her potion does exactly what she said it does? Fair enough, she has little issue with that. It's not as if she will be drinking it once again; the more distance she puts between Harriet Potter and Rigel Black, the better. Assuming her own face once again, startling green eyes and all, is for the best.

"Of course, Master Snape. I look forward to it." Snape scowls, eyes sweeping over her form once again but he doesn't linger long on her face. No doubt the ghost of Rigel hangs heavy over her every feature; only the green contacts will detract from the overall image and they aren't as… eery as her actual irises.

"Charming fellow, isn't he?" Leo muses, rocking back on his heels as Snape sweeps away in a billow of black cloak, the teen he'd been interrogating taking the opening for what it is; an opportunity to flee. "Come on, Harry. I'll walk you to the Leaky."

.

The clock has barely struck four by the time Harry returns to Potter Place, stumbling out of the hearth in a flail of limbs that she'd asked too much of. Apparently, it was beyond her to stride out of the fireplace and dust the dirt from her robes.

"Well, well, well, what time do you call this?"

With his legs thrown over the arm of Harry's favourite chair, Archie angles his head back and turns that bright, charming grin on her, eyes silver in the light spilling in from the window. They've been separated for near five weeks now, both under house arrest and looking at him now, it's startling. Like a sudden strike to the face of just how far they've come. And speaking of faces, Archie's is his own. Or, she assumes it is. What with his gift there's every chance he's hiding a pimple or two under there. He looks painfully alike to Sirius, though the curve of his eyes, the angle of his jawline isn't quite right. It's probably Diana's influence, something she hasn't had chance to see before. In their homogenised guise, the chin had been a bit more Potter than anything else. It's one of the few features she's expecting to retain when the Polyjuice wears off.

"Finally managed to wrangle your way free of the snakes' coils did, you?"

"It took ages to slip free, they just don't listen to me. No respect, I say," Archie grumbles, throwing a forearm over his forehead in mock fatigue, legs kicking back and forth over butter soft leather of the arm chair. Harry makes her way over to her best friend and brother in all but blood, giving no warning as she drops down onto his stomach.

The oomph that Archie lets out ghosts across her face and Harry snickers, wiggling around until they're both squashed in a chair meant for a solo occupant, though had always been accommodating if that occupant was of the… bigger-boned variety.

As if reading her mind, Archie snorts, digging his elbow into her side as he says, "You know, this was a hell of a lot easier when you weren't so big."

"Might get bigger still when the Polyjuice wears off."

"Yeah, yeah, you're older than you're supposed to be." At her reprimanding look, he snorts, eyes rolling and elbow digging in that little bit more. "Don't worry. It's just us. Everybody else is out. Besides, I came with news!"

"News?"

"Yes, news!" Archie rolls out of the armchair, landing on both feet in a show of dexterity she wouldn't have expected to see from him. Well, perhaps she's being a bit unfair there. Archie might not be as fitness orientated as she is, nor does he really partake in duelling, but he's always been relatively well controlled in his movements. He bounces up, rummaging through the pockets of his casual robes and Harry takes the momentary pause in conversation to really look at him. For five weeks of house arrest (a punishment that Harry is relatively certain would have had Archie climbing the walls by day three), he looks good. Happy, as if a weight as lifted off his shoulders. And… she feels lighter too.

They're not yet in the clear, there's still a great deal of covering up to do, and that's without even considering the fact they haven't yet sorted out their respective futures. But this? It's almost detersive in a way. Cleansing the Rigel off her, all the links and the chains that's kept them together. She's Harriet Potter again, potioneer. Harry of the Lower Alleys, a free dueller. Heiress Potter, a half-blood. Maybe in a week it'll all catch up with her. Maybe she'll see Theo in Diagon, or she'll hear of Blaise's family growing close to Hannah Abotts. Maybe she'll see the Malfoys or the Parkinsons in the society papers and it'll all come crashing down on her, what she's lost.

Sitting here and basking in Archie's good nature, his joy and enthusiasm, it's hard to focus on anything but the here and now.

"Ta-da!" Archie brandishes a folded-up letter in her direction, the edges well-worn enough to let her know he's re-read it more times than is necessary. But, then again, that's Archie for you. "It's from Hermione. She very aggressively insisted she wanted to meet to clear things up and if I didn't meet with her, then so help her, 'she would hunt me down'." It feels like Archie is paraphrasing part of the letter, but Harry offers him a polite nod, thinking of the muggleborn who hadn't hesitated to help out at the Clinic, who took so aggressively to studying the Fade the second she recognised its significance in society.

"Dad actually let her come over yesterday, even though I was still a jailbird at the time. We spent absolutely ages talking and-" Archie's mouth suddenly snaps shut, lips curling up in a rather worrisome grin before he leaps at her. Harry's magic is too quick to react though, catching him mid-belly flop before he can truly sprawl out across her and use his superior weight class to crush her beneath fifty-six kilograms of teenaged boy.

"We're okay," Archie finishes, lying dramatically over her invisible barrier, limbs straggled out to take up as much room as is humanly possible.

Harry gives her magic a slight nudge, Archie floating down to gently lie atop her, and she ruffles her cousin's hair. It's hard not to be genuinely happy for him. The bond he and Hermione share is strong, that much is clear and, unlike her own friendships within Hogwarts, it hadn't been built on a foundations that were complete lies. Between Hermione and Archie, there was no bigotry; one of them didn't believe themselves superior to the other simply because of how they were born. Oh, none of her Hogwarts friends knew she was a halfblood, one of those they all looked down upon.

Well, she rather guesses they're aware of it now, what with the whole blood debacle.

"I'm happy for you, Archie." Her cousin is happy, that much is clear.

And, maybe, Harry could begin to strive for that herself.

Years ago, when I first read the Pureblood Pretense and it's sequels, I had a little daydream of Caelum Lestrange finding out Harry's secret and her kidnapping him to keep him quiet.

Now, having had time to re-read the series, I've ended up writing a sprawling chapter of fanfiction for this epic saga instead.

Here's hoping I've got some of the character's even close to their actual personalities.

Tsume
xxx