Chapter Text
For this first time in months, the Room of Requirement is not filled with training dummies and dueling mats. In fact, there is only a single training dummy in the DA’s meeting place (though it’s hardly recognizable as one anymore). However, on this day, the Room has been revamped entirely to accommodate the needs of its occupants.
Now, a half-circle of comfortable couches face the Conspiracy Board. There is no doubt as to what it is. Even if the pinned-up newspaper clippings, hastily scribbled notes, and red string didn’t give it away, someone had charmed the words “RIGEL BLACK CONSPIRACY BOARD” to scroll across the top like a muggle news report. The “S” in conspiracy is a conjured snake that hisses at every new rotation, startling numerous members of the DA as they enter the room.
Only a few days have passed since the Conspiracy Board was erected, but almost every member of their club has contributed something to the board. The sole exception instead spends his time hexing the remaining dummy into oblivion, needing to rely on his friends to share the accumulated information with him.
“I am quite fond of this one,” Aldon Rosier announces, tapping on one of the newspaper clippings.
IMPOSTER BLACK: SON OF FRENCH HOUSE ELF?
The boy who impersonated Arcturus Rigel Black is widely believed to be French due to his reported fluency in the language, but this reporter suspects there is more to the story than that. In an exclusive interview, one of Imposter Black’s own classmates claimed that the secret halfblood was taught French by a house elf. While we know well that Imposter Black is a liar of unprecedented skill, could there be a nugget of truth here? After all, such a scandalous dalliance would surely want to be kept hidden from the public. Our Imposter Black would have spent his days sequestered away […]
Aldon looks back at the couches with an roguish grin. Sitting silently, Edmund Rookwood simply stares back, unimpressed. Next to him, Pansy Parkinson spares Aldon a single half-hearted smile before resuming her intense staredown with the Conspiracy Board. Aldon pouts.
“That one’s rubbish,” Ron Weasley disagrees, as if there was any doubt. Ron stands with his arms crossed before the Board, his eyes roving its contents with a pensive frown on his face. His gaze flicks between each addition as if he’s trying to find a certain puzzle piece—or perhaps the best move to play in a game of chess.
His eyes track the red string that connects that idiotic article to a note Pansy had put on the Board: “Rigel said a house elf taught him French”. Pansy had insisted on still referring to Rigel as, well, Rigel, despite that not being his real name. Not everyone agreed with this.
From the note, another string leads to an additional article, almost as insipid as the last.
FRANCE’S SECRET WEAPON UNLEASHED
"We don’t even know if he’s human!” exclaimed Dolores Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic. When asked how this could be, considering the impersonator is a professed half-blood, she responded: “Everyone saw what he did in our tournament. Such a freak of nature cannot be classified as human […]
Ron scowls at it, his crossed arms tightening.
A snort comes from his left, and Ron turns to find Blaise Zabini had snuck up on him while he was lost in thought. Blaise’s hand reaches out to finger another article snippet.
THE HALF-BLOOD REVOLUTIONARY
In one fell swoop, a single boy utterly destroyed the Dark’s supposed coup de grâce, shaking wizarding society to its foundations. Some, such as the supporters of the SOW Party, are claiming that this masterful blow was mere coincidence. They want the people to believe that this brave young man’s bold reveal was the result of poor planning or bad luck. They are mistaken. The Dark may try to delude itself into believing these lies, but the people shall not. The events of the Triwizard Tournament were undoubtedly the work of a half-blood revolutionary on the rise […]
“Somehow, I doubt that he was planning for this,” Blaise says, amusement heavy in his voice. “He’s been doing his best to avoid the limelight since he first arrived at Hogwarts. Granted, he failed miserably, but his intentions are quite clear.”
“Not clear enough,” Millicent Bulstrode mutters, pinning up a new article with a grimace on her face. It’s a segment from the newest installment of The Daily Prophet, fresh from the owl.
THE TWO BROTHERS: A FLIGHT OF DEATH AND THE GREAT PRETENDER
"What are you trying to achieve, Voldemort?” a nameless boy asked the man who trapped him. This phrase, among many things, came as a shock to all who watched the Triwizard Tournament. The horrified onlookers wondered how this charitable child known as Arcturus Rigel Black would know the name of this fiend, but those musings would soon be drowned in the revelations that followed. But this reporter has not forgotten his words and what they imply.
"Voldemort”, the name of the man who captured the Triwizard Champion, is French for “flight of death”. It is worth noting that this man bears a striking resemblance to Mr. Riddle of the SOW Party. It is also worth noting that our great pretender, who some say is the illegitimate child of Mr. Riddle, is also believed to be French […]
Millicent stares at the article for a minute, her brow furrowed. Then she says, “He didn’t like Lord Riddle for some reason.”
Blaise sends her a dry look. “That could be because he’s—”
“I know!” Millicent cuts him off, red-faced. “It’s just—it seemed really personal. Too personal for it to just be opposing political views.”
“I sincerely doubt he’s Riddle secret love child.”
“I didn’t say that! It’s just Rig—he hated Riddle. There must be something more there.”
A flash and the training dummy goes flying into the wall, smacking against it loudly before falling pitifully back to the ground.
Everyone in the room turns to look at Draco Malfoy. His wand is still pointed at the dummy, a furious scowl twisting his fine pureblood features.
Quietly, Pansy stands up and moves to his side, gently lowering his outstretched arm. She speaks lowly to him, placating. One by one, everyone resumes what they were doing.
“So,” Millicent says to Blaise. Blaise shrugs.
“How about this one?” Theo speaks up, wandering closer to poke at a newspaper snippet on the bottom. “It says he’s some half-blood prince or something.”
Millicent makes a face at him. “A prince? Of what?”
“Well, this one says he’s actually the long-lost son of the Queen, but there’s another one here somewhere. I think it was about Camelot—”
Millicent throws up her hands and stalks to the doors. “I’m done! I can’t take any more of this today.”
Theo smirks at her back. “Are you sure? There’s also a theory here about time travel—”
“Done.”
There’s a beat of silence as the Blaise and Theo watch her leave.
Then Aldon sidles up to Theo and says, “Show me the time travel one, I’m reluctantly curious.”