A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, faved, and followed, and most especially to my speedy beta DragoLord19D.

CHAPTER 1: (continued)

Events At School

"This isn't funny," Bianca groused.

Draco stifled a chuckle in his seat beside her as Hermione Granger stood across their wood-paneled classroom. The Head Girl was teaching their Civics course herself for the past ten minutes with her never-ending treatise on equal treatment and democracy for all. "No," the blond wizard agreed, "but watching you about to have an aneurism is."

Bianca's mouth hung in horror as the unfortunately breathtaking Gryffindor ponced on about 'the fallacy of merit-based esteem.' After several minutes of utopian rubbish, she finally shut up, and Professor Flintlock roused like molasses pouring from a jar to take over in his thick, nasal voice. "Thangk you, Miss Granger. Ingdeed, the progressive refinement of governance—"

The pale witch slapped her palm on her desk in objection, startling a half-dozen students from naps. She shot to her feet and declared, "Are we to be force-fed that mob rule is perfect leadership? Then I demand a ballot on when this sham of a class will dismiss. How about now?" She raised her hand, looking around at her classmates' wide eyes, several blurry with confusion about why they were even open. "How about free cauldron cakes for lunch? Only those who vote yes get one."

Bianca smiled triumphantly as several hands joined Draco's in agreement and Hermione's little frown soured. "Like lemmings to a cliff, the witless mass leads itself to pampering that cannot be sustained. But, a noble class, conscious of impacts beyond their own stomachs..."

.

Hermione strained her hand up as far as it could go without pulling her out of her seat like a marionette. She glared daggers at the arrogant new Slytherin, her teeth grinding while Miss Black extolled submission to those 'born to lead.' Hermione plotted her counterarguments and smothered a stray thought noting how the aristocrat's cheeks flushed in her impassioned ranting.

"Will you stop?" Ginny Weasley whispered harshly. Red hair fell in a veil around her face as she leaned across the aisle between them. "Merlin, you haven't been this bad since Fleur was here."

"Stop what? I'm defending the self-governing rights of the oppressed."

"You're showing off too impress the 'hot new, possibly gay-ish girl'."

Hermione redoubled her glare as dark, flashing eyes met hers across the classroom. "I'm not arguing because she's hot; I'm arguing because she's wrong."

"Doesn't she remind you of someone a little too much?"

"They're not that alike. Bellatrix was deranged." Hermione suppressed an icy shiver, remembering the sting of the Death Eater's knife at her throat. She'd had nightmares about being hunted and murdered by Lestrange for months after escaping Malfoy Manor. "Though, you have to admit she was also pretty—pretty, um—"

"Evil?" Ginny finished dubiously.

"Yep, pretty evil."

"You need help, Hermione."

Her shoulder ached when Bianca finally beamed in conclusion. She sat gracefully to a cheer from Draco and a whistle from Barty Crouch, III. "Well said again by Slythering," Flintlock sighed, a faint gurgling in the back of his throat. "Miss Grange—"

"Thank you!" Hermione rose, lifted by her upraised hand. She dropped it to rub her shoulder awake and took a very deep inhale.

Wooden stools scraped against the tile floor of Slughorn's Potions classroom as students filed in. The professor leaned on the tri-frame holding his lesson cauldron in the center of the room and squinted at them through puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

Hermione jumped when an armful of textbooks dropped on her table. She turned to face a scowling Bianca Black. "Gryffindor!" The pale witch loomed over her. Her menacing position brought them so close, the Slytherin's breath puffed against Hermione's face when she spoke. "Do you really believe all that high-minded prattling?"

"Do you really believe the empire fell because the king read Gulliver's Travels?" In her mind, Hermione congratulated herself for not flinching despite the aggressive posture. Bianca's eyes flicked down to her lips as they spoke, and an unreadable expression passed across her face. She retreated quickly and claimed the open stool beside Hermione.

"And thought it a mere children's adventure, yes." The Slytherin dragged the heavy books to her side of their table and straightened them into a ziggurat.

Neville Longbottom bustled in just ahead the of the tardy chime and stopped short halfway to his usual seat beside Hermione. She sent him an apologetic gaze. She had warned him that she'd be escorting the new girl today, but it seemed to have slipped his mind like so many things did. Neville looked around awkwardly and drooped his shoulders, spotting the only opening by Barty Crouch.

Too irritated by the Slytherin's shameless elitism to review her notes, Hermione dropped her voice and said, "Have you studied what motivates rebellions at all?"

"It's common sense that the most clever person should rule and the dunderheads should follow for their own good. When a dunderhead is in charge, as happens in most elections, nothing right can come of it."

Hermione scoffed. "I suppose—purely by coincidence—that you are this most clever person?"

"I'm flattered you think so." The pale witch reached over to squeeze her hand and smiled brightly. Instead of letting go, she held on lightly and turned to face Slughorn's cauldron.

The professor signaled the start of class by trumpeting his nose into a withered handkerchief.

Hermione knew she should pull her hand away. Their debate in Civics had been infuriating. But, her anger was quickly deserting her to the distracting tingles the pale witch's thumb strokes sent circuiting up her arm. If Bianca liked her...maybe she would listen to her more in time.

When her teenage thoughts meandered back to class, Hermione realized Professor Slughorn had stopped snuffling and asked for a volunteer to demonstrate in his stead. Sneezing into an active brew tended to have very unpleasant results. Bianca's right hand was already up. Hermione tried to draw hers free to raise it, too, but the Slytherin held it pinned with sudden force.

"Come forward, then, Miss Black," Slughorn waved her to him. "Show us what they taught you at Hans-Akademie."

The pale witch got up to join him at the cauldron. A sour twist in Hermione's stomach underlined the looping thought that she'd just been played a fool.

.

A rush of steam rose from the cauldron as Bianca added five drops of mint dew. Slughorn droned to the class about reagent timing, and the Slytherin wiped a clammy hand on her skirt, wishing for the hundredth time that she hadn't been so rash. One-upping the smartest witch in school had seemed like a grand idea until the magical vat was bubbling in front of her.

She could barely talk to her family about the accident that brought her to Hogwarts. The last thing she wanted to do was relive part of it in front of strangers. She risked a glance at Hermione, but the girl's hazel eyes shone with betrayal, taking what had essentially been a classroom Quidditch foul personally.

Slughorn's extravagant throat clearing stole Bianca's attention back. He stared impatiently.

"Pardon?"

"Add a cup of crushed doethistle before the pot smokes over, young lady."

"Of course." She took the cup from him and turned back. A thin cloud from the potion embraced her as the biting smell of the dried herb hit her nose.

The smoke thickened, pooling in her lungs like syrup. She coughed and reached up for the doorknob, yanking her hand back instantly from the burning metal. Her eyes blurred with tears in the acrid smoke. Another explosion rattled the door in its frame and shook the floorboards underfoot. Curls of murk suddenly twisted around her into a glowing bear that snatched her up and broke into a run.

A slender arm cinched around her waist and jerked the pale witch back into cool, clear air.

.

Hermione tossed a handful of cedar dust into the roiling cauldron, and spun the Slytherin girl out of its cloying mist. At their backs, the fizzing brew glurped and then fell silent along with the rest of the classroom.

"By Merlin's beard!" Slughorn burst out. "I think you'd better take your seats, both of you. Ten points to Gryffindor for Miss Granger's quick actions."

.

Dropping back onto the stool nabbed from Longbottom, Bianca wiped a cold sheen of sweat from her forehead. She avoided the questioning eyes pinned on her from classmates around the room, including Hermione. Her look of betrayal was probably gone, but the Slytherin wasn't settled enough to check what worse sentiment had taken its place.

"What happened up there?" Hermione whispered beside her.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? You always go into a trance when brewing a N.E.W.T.-level potion?"

"Yes."

Hermione sighed and shook her head, plucking her quill in a bottle of ink and scritching down a fluid line of notes on Slughorn's current rambling. "Don't do that to me again," she muttered.

Bianca turned to her finally, but the other girl was fused to her notes. "Mess up a potion?"

"Hold my hand."

"Ever or in class?"

"It was a trick to stop me from answering." Hazel eyes lifted, challenging Bianca to disprove the charge.

The Slytherin winced into a tight frown. She should have expected an idealist to take everything too seriously. "You were supposed to raise your other hand, clever girl."

"I don't appreciate you subverting a roma—a friendly gesture to steal points. You know that's why you didn't let go. It's not nice. Though, I suppose you got what you deserved out of it."

The sound of crackling flames and breaking wood echoed in her memory, and Bianca's eyes iced over. "All's fair in Quidditch, Gryffindor."

Hermione sank closer to her notebook, her quill twitching like an erratic metronome. "You might rethink your strategy...depending on what you actually want to win."

Draco scooped a spoonful of pumpkin pudding into his mouth and listened to the buzz of lunchtime conversations around him. Barty's hoots of laughter, probably at his own off-color jokes, were unmistakable from the far end of the Slytherin table. Otherwise, Draco sat in a curiously hushed bubble of furtive students—a bubble radiating around Bellatrix Lestrange.

The student gossip trains had started their journeys through the tabloid world the day she arrived, and they were blazing at full-steam after her near accident in Potions. The most popular tale, judging from how often he'd overheard it, was that 'Bianca Black' was Aunt Bella's illicit love child, kept hidden from her father Voldemort, Snape, or in the star-crossed twist, Mad-Eye Moody.

Oblivious to the swirling rumors, or perhaps not caring, Bella sat across from him tearing her garlic rolls into bites and absently spreading them on her plate before picking the most misshapen pieces to eat first. Every few minutes, she cast a long, dark gaze across the Great Hall at Hermione Granger who sat talking cheerfully with her fellow Gryffindors.

After the battle to defeat Voldemort, the devastated Great Hall had been rebuilt. Ministry crews had raced through the summer to restore Hogwarts Castle for the new school year. Only a handful of room and tower projects were still underway. The vaulted hall was the twin image of its original self, save a few veined cracks in the floor stones and redesigned candle chandeliers.

Turning back to her plate, Bella caught Draco watching her and stiffened. "What?"

He smirked, not sure whether to tease or taunt her fledgeling infatuation. Mother hadn't mentioned Aunt Bella to have any inclination toward the fair sex. But if she did, Potter's right-hand witch would make an entertaining pursuit. "The Granger? Really?"

"Don't tell me you've never wanted to corrupt a sweet little Gryffindor before."

His blond eyebrows climbed. "Nope. Too much work. They're the only women in the world who mean it when they say they like nice guys and nice gals."

"Nice..." Bella sighed in irritation.

"Yep."

"How tragically boring. We should save them from their lives of virtue."

Draco paused, then decided it was better to tell her now. "She's a mudblood, you know."

"So what?"

He choked on a bite of pudding and coughed into his napkin as she went on.

"It's not the blood; it's the brains." Bella tapped the side of her head, eyes burning with conviction. "That's why your side lost your ridiculous little blood war."

"I wouldn't call it a little war..."

She looked back at the Gryffindor. "She's like us and far too good for the cretins she goes on about."

The blond wizard took a swig of water to cool his throat. He'd spent the last couple of months helping with Bellatrix's recovery at Malfoy Manor. Though, she hadn't once raved about pureblood glory like in her old days, it was still a shock to hear her dismiss it as foolishness. Mother said they'd quirked Bella's childhood memories askew but couldn't transplant ideas entirely without destroying her mind. "The best lies have the most truth; so, that's what we built them from." Bella was still superior in her view, just for a different reason.

"Has it occurred to you," he asked, "that she herself is nice and therefore boring?"

"I don't find her boring. Unspeakably vexing but not boring."

He chuckled. "Clearly not. Everyone here is staring at you while you stare at her."

"Staring at me?" Around the hall, dozens of heads ducked back to their plates as Bella lashed a cold scowl at each table.

"I'm afraid so. And they'll keep on until they learn the story behind the mysterious new Lady Black or make one up to their satisfaction. If you don't like it, you may have to open up a bit about what happened. Or spin a good yarn yourself."

She pushed her still-full plate away and crossed her arms. "Why should I care what bunch of snivelling busy-bodies think when their own lives are so drab they can only find excitement discussing mine?"

"Because you have to live with them for the next year."

The pale witch growled. "Since everyone is watching, I might as well give them a show."

.

An elusive song rose in the back of Hermione's thoughts while her friends chatted about Quidditch practice. The fleeting notes had drifted in and out of her mind all morning, but each time she tried to focus, to figure it out, they skirted away. She might have to find a radio to study by tonight and search for the name of the wistful melody.

Conversation died, and Hermione looked up at Ginny to see her face constrict at something behind her. "What now, Black?" she spat. "Need Hermione to add the sugar to your tea before it goes cold?"

"Ginny," Hermione warned. Maybe she shouldn't have told her best friend everything that had happened in Potions. She turned around and looked up at a stone-faced Bianca Black standing stiffly in her black and green school robes.

"I came to say that I..." The Slytherin's voice faltered, and she cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable with whatever she was about to say. "I'm..."

"Sorry?"

"Leaving?" Ginny threw in.

"I won't do that thing that upset you again," she finished flatly. "I'm...well, you know. So, there it is. Thank you for pulling me out of the smoke."

Ginny rolled her eyes at the dodgy apology, but Hermione gave a tight-lipped smile. Progress was progress when dealing with Slytherin. She nodded to the open seat on the bench beside her. "There's room."

.

Bianca stood frozen in surprise for a second. She stepped into the offered seat and instantly regretted it as a burst of murmuring rippled over the hall. She had a feeling she was the first Slytherin to sit with the Gryffindors that Hogwarts had seen in a long time.

Her plan to end up in a yelling match so everyone would hear the truth at once and the gossip could end was busted. All from trying to be 'nice' at the same time. She hoped nice had fringe benefits she wasn't aware of because so far it had probably quadrupled the amount of gossip flying around about her.

"Neville is with Hufflepuff today," Hermione explained the open seat. After a few nervous glances, the other Gryffindors went back to a debate over the fastest brooms this season.

Bianca followed the brunette's gaze to the Hufflepuff table and spotted the husky bloke telling an animated story to a cute blond. The pale witch smirked at Hermione. "Perhaps tonight, too." She winked.

Hermione blushed and turned back to her meal. Loose waves of light brown hair, ribboned with gold, draped past her shoulders. A dusting of freckles dappled her bronze skin. Bianca smiled to herself. The little bookworm must enjoy being out in the sun.

Noticing the lingering gaze, Hermione glanced at her with one eyebrow arched in question. Bianca covered quickly by asking, "How did you know to do that? Use cedar dust to turn it into a different potion?"

The young witch finished her bite of plumsauce. "I listen. The cauldron knows when it's ready and what it's ready for, and it tells you if you listen closely enough."

Bianca nodded without understanding, sinking into the quicksand of memory. She played with the cuff of her sleeve, suddenly needing to busy her hands.

"My parents died in a potion fire," she confided. "I heard the cauldron burst from across the house. A simple elixir they'd made a thousand times. There was smoke everywhere, and I couldn't get to them." She trailed her fingers along the wood grain of the table and curled them into fists. "I wish I didn't have that class."

"How did you get out?" Hermione asked softly.

"My father's patronus carried me out before it disappeared." The pale witch's eyes began to sting, and she stood in a hurry, deeply relieved she hadn't yelled that for every halfwit in school to hear. The truth could spread naturally through the grapevine like any other student's story. "Lovely chatting with you all. Got to fly."

.

Hermione bit her tongue as the other girl made a swift escape. The comforting hand she had lifted toward Bianca's shoulder fell limply into her lap, and her residual anger from Potions pivoted sharply to Slughorn and his frigid post-class reprimand to the Slytherin girl. Walking in the shadow of Bellatrix Lestrange was a curse she wouldn't cast on anyone, but Bianca had taken that burden on top of her own misfortunes with aplomb like a proper Black lady. So far. Hermione resolved to help keep it that way.