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AFTER LAST NIGHT, the next day was much better──one of the better days in her new school year. Since she had practiced her Vanishing Spell until she had near perfected it, she went through her Transfiguration class with ease. And her lunch was far more relaxing than her friends who had spent their lunch finishing up their bowtruckle pictures, and even though, Professors McGonagall, Grubbly-Plank, and Sinistra gave them yet more homework, Este was completely fine. Most of her friends had finally begun to understand the stress of their fifth year──and had begun to panic. Atlas, however, was the only one who stayed unbothered. Atlas was born exceedingly smart compared to most children──at the ripe age of three he was levitating everything in Grimmauld Place──at five, Grandmere sent him to France where he would begin studying under friends of hers, and ever since then, Atlas spent his summers and all holidays burying himself on his studies, studying until his nose bled and would pass out from fatigue.

Atlas was smart──but he strongly believed that his smarts and connections would only get him so far in life. He would have to work hard to truly exceed his limits──no, Atlas believed that with his smarts, connections and drive, he knew he was destined for greatness──where his father lacked, Atlas Black excelled. His father had been one who never tried hard──Regulus Black had everything handed to him on a plate of gold with a spoon crusted with diamonds. Atlas had not been born with the luxuries like his father──for House Black was declining when Atlas arrived. The War had just ended, Regulus was dead, his wife was dead, and Sirius was imprisoned, his wife disappeared. Maybe on the account of their history, House Black had not lost their connections but had instead only lost their political influence. Atlas had vowed to save his family──preserved it. It was a late winter night, and Grandmere was crying as she usually did when Atlas promised her to preserve the family. Atlas was Grandmere's pride, Este──Grandmere's joy.

Heir and Spare──Pride and Joy──Atlas and Este.

Atlas bore all the burdens and enjoyed all the privileges of heir──Este blossomed in the freedoms of being the spare yet wilted in the shadows of her Eldest Cousin──her brother. Growing up, Grandmere made sure the Black cousins knew of their duties and roles. Este was meant to bejewel the family name and Atlas was meant to preserve it. As the two of them sat next to one another in the great hall, even then, anyone could see the difference between the Blacks. The Sun and The Moon──Yin and Yang──Fire and Ice──Este and Atlas.

Thursday passed in a haze of tiredness and Friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week. But Este was the first to wake up in her dormitory the next morning. She lay for a moment watching dust swirl in the chink of sunlight falling through the gap in his four-poster's hangings and savored the thought that it was Saturday. The first week of term seemed to have dragged on forever, like one gigantic History of Magic lesson. Judging by the sleepy silence and the freshly minted look of that beam of sunlight, it was just after daybreak. She pulled open the curtains around her bed, got up, and started to dress. The only sound apart from the distant twittering of birds was the slow, deep breathing of her friends. He opened his schoolbag carefully, pulled out parchment and quill, and headed out of the dormitory for the common room.

Mattheo was sitting on the couch, sleeping──rolls of parchment surrounded him, with unclosed books on the table. Making straight for her favorite squashy old armchair beside the now-extinct fire, Este settled herself down comfortably while looking around the room. The detritus of crumpled-up bits of parchment, old Gobstones, empty ingredient jars, and candy wrappers that usually covered the common room at the end of each day was gone. She sat quite motionless for a while, gazing into the fireplace, then, finally coming to a decision, she began to close the books Mattheo had left there. As she was beginning to gather up the rolls of parchment, Mattheo stirred awake. "Este," he greeted breathlessly, startled to see her in front of him.

Este glanced at him, "Hi," she said calmly. "I see you tried to do some work, how much did you get done?"

Mattheo shrugged, "I got it done."

"How much?"

"Does it matter?" Mattheo never tried in school, he was careless and idiotic──maybe it was in his teen rebellion years, maybe it was because his father returned that he wanted to stir trouble. But his homework situation, however, was now desperate, and yesterday, when he returned to the Slytherin common room he opened his books and began Snape's moonstone essay. It was half past two by the time he had finished it. He knew he had done a poor job, but there was no help for it; unless he had something to give in he would be in detention with Snape next. He then dashed off answers to the questions Professor McGonagall had set them, clobbered together something on the proper handling of bowtruckles for Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"It does matter──this year isn't the same, Matty──you've got to start trying."

"Stop trying to Mother me, Es," Mattheo said gruffly, "Plus, when my father returns, it won't matter how bad I am at Herbology will it?" Este frowned as Mattheo brushed passed her. So early and he was already crabby. She sighed and shook her head, making her way to the great hall for breakfast.

As she scooped the eggs into her plate, Atlas joined her, a smirk plastered on his face as Draco and Mattheo trailed behind him. "Morning," Atlas said brightly to Este, sliding into the seat beside her.

"What are you looking so pleased about?" said Este, eyeing her cousin in surprise.

"The Gryffindors are having a Quidditch Practice," said Draco in his usual cheery tone whenever it had something to do with the golden trio of Gryffindors, pulling a large platter of bacon and eggs toward him.

"Oh . . ." said Este she put down the bit of toast she was eating and took a large swig of pumpkin juice.

"We're going to be observing," Mattheo continued promptly, "See how the new goal-keeper is."

"Yeah, okay," said Este, "But, I don't think you should. you're both really behind on homework as it—" But she broke off; the morning post was arriving and, as usual, the Daily Prophet was soaring toward her in the beak of a screech owl, which landed perilously close to the sugar bowl and held out a leg; Este pushed a Knut into its leather pouch, took the newspaper, and scanned the front page critically as the owl took off again.

"Anything interesting?" said Mattheo; Atlas bit back a smirk──knowing the Riddle boy was keen to get her off the subject of homework.

"No," she sighed, "just some guff about the bass player in the Weird Sisters getting married. . . ." She opened the paper and disappeared behind it. Her heart stopped as she read the next few lines, "Wait a moment," said Este suddenly. "Oh." Everyone looked at her pensively. "The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer . . . blah blah blah . . . is currently hiding in London."

"Was it Uncle Lucius who had something to do with it?" Atlas asked, turning to Draco who shrugged.

"We did notice an abnormally large dog on the platform..."

". . . Ministry warns Wizarding community that Black is very dangerous . . . killed thirteen people . . . broke out of Azkaban . . .' the usual," Este concluded, laying down her paper, eerily calm. But her grip had been so strong that she cut herself, a nice clean line down her palm. Este winced, clutching her cut.

"Are you alright?" Atlas asked her very quietly. He could always sense something was wrong with Este.

She clenched her teeth, "Fine."

"Don't be stupid," Atlas said snappishly as he waved his wand and a bandage appeared. Atlas began to dress her cut as he looked at her thoughtfully. "Maybe you should speak to Sirius one last time," he suggested.

Este scowled, "He made it clear enough that he doesn't want me around."

"Fathers are never clear on what they want," Atlas said very calmly, "One moment they think you're all they need, the next they think the only thing they truly need is a cigarette and a bottle of Firewhiskey."

"How would you know? Your father died before you could even speak."

Atlas stiffened, "I've observed. Every father is that way with their sons. Maybe it's different with daughters."

Este shrugged, "Wouldn't know."

Atlas smiled as he finished wrapping her cut. "All done, finish up your breakfast. We're gonna have quite the show today."

♰

Sitting on the benches with her friends, Este shivered. It was cold and even though she wore her Slytherin scarf and cashmere coat, Este was freezing. She had always hated the cold──her bones, as brittle as they were, could never handle the cold──she spent her winters glued to her fireplace and drinking tea that nearly burned her mouth. Grandmere always thought it was because Este had an ice-cold heart that the cold only made her suffer even more. Grandmere was a cunt.

As the Gryffindors emerged from the changing rooms, they were greeted by a storm of catcalls and jeers from the Slytherin Quidditch team and assorted hangers-on, who were grouped halfway up the empty stands and whose voices echoed loudly around the stadium. "What's that Weasley's riding?" Draco called in his sneering drawl. "Why would anyone put a Flying Charm on a moldy old log like that?" Crabbe and Goyle guffawed and shrieked with laughter. Pansy and Daphne giggled loudly and girlishly. Ron mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground and Harry followed him, watching his ears turn red from behind.

Angelina Johnson was soaring around her team with the Quaffle under her arm and slowing to hover on the spot in front of her airborne team. "Okay everyone, we're going to start with some passes just to warm up, the whole team please —"

"Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle anyway?" called one of the Slytherins from below. "Why would anyone want to look like they've got worms coming out of their head?"

Este wanted to kill herself right then and there.

Angelina swept her long braided hair out of her face and said calmly, "Spread out, then, and let's see what we can do. . . ."

Ron Weasley fell back toward the opposite goal. Angelina raised the Quaffle with one hand and threw it hard to Fred, who passed it to George, who passed it to Harry, who passed it to Ron, who dropped it. The Slytherins, led by Draco, roared and screamed with laughter. Ron, who had pelted toward the ground to catch the Quaffle before it landed, pulled out of the dive untidily, so that he slipped sideways on his broom, and returned to playing height, blushing. Este saw Fred and George exchange looks, but uncharacteristically neither of them said anything, for which he was grateful. "Pass it on, Ron," called Angelina, as though nothing had happened. Ron threw the Quaffle to Alicia, who passed it back to Harry, who passed it to George. . . .

"Hey, Potter, how's your scar feeling?" called Mattheo. "Sure you don't need a lie-down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing, that's a record for you, isn't it?"

Fred passed to Angelina; she reverses passed to Harry, who caught it in the very tips of his fingers and passed it quickly to Ron, who lunged for it and missed by inches. "Come on now, Ron," said Angelina crossly, as Ron dived for the ground again, chasing the Quaffle. "Pay attention." It would have been hard to say whether Ron's face or the Quaffle was a deeper scarlet when he returned again to playing height. The Slytherin team was howling with laughter. On his third attempt, Ron caught the Quaffle; perhaps out of relief, he passed it on so enthusiastically that it soared straight through Katie's outstretched hands and hit her hard in the face.

"Sorry!" Ron groaned, zooming forward to see whether he had done any damage.

"Get back in position, she's fine!" barked Angelina. "But as you're passing to a teammate, do try not to knock her off her broom, won't you? We've got Bludgers for that!"

Katie's nose was bleeding. The Slytherins were stamping their feet and jeering. Fred and George converged on Katie. "Here, take this," Fred told her, handing her something small and purple from out of his pocket. "It'll clear it up in no time."

"All right," called Angelina, "Fred, George, go and get your bats and a Bludger; Ron, get up to the goalposts, Harry, release the Snitch when I say so. We're going to aim for Ron's goal, obviously." The Weasley twins and Harry disappeared for a moment before returning with the buldgers and snitches.

They returned to the air. When Angelina blew her whistle, Harry released the Snitch and Fred and George let fly the Bludger. Este began to drift when suddenly a loud yell brought her back. "Stop — stop – STOP!" screamed Angelina. "Ron — you're not covering your middle post!"

"He's terrible," Atlas finally decided.

Este nodded in agreement, "Not much of a show if there's nothing interesting, is there?" She stood up, "I'm heading out. To somewhere preferably less cold." She shivered one last time as she hurried back into the castle.