(no subject)
Title: Four Houses (After the Flaw: Oligarchy, Chapter 8)
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: previous chapters
Rating: PG13 for language
Summary: Every House has a story
Notes: The riddle in this story was taken from onlyriddles.com. I own these characters. The others belong to JK Rowling.
Sorting Things Out / Previous Chapters / Rash and Judgments
"First years!" Fabian Weasley called out after Professor Ogden had completed his announcements and dismissed the students for the night. "First year Gryffindors, this way!"
Rose Weasley, who had barely paid attention to any of the words Tiberius had said, was on her feet faster than anyone in the Great Hall. Even with that speed, however, she suddenly found herself faced with a sea of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Fully prepared to blast her way through them, she held with a tug on the back of her robes.
"Let him go," said Albus Potter from below her.
"But I just..."
"Let him go," Albus repeated. "You don't want him to lose track of his prefects and get lost in the castle on his first night, do you?"
"But..."
"Sit," Albus said, pulling her sleeve. "We'll let the crowd thin out a bit before we head to the common room."
Rose bit her lower lip hesitantly, standing on her toes to peer over the crowd. At the end of the Ravenclaw table, Fred Weasley and Evan Dursley were trailing behind their prefects, laughing and chatting jovially with a group of their fellow first-years. Fred never had trouble meeting new people; he had enough of his father's sense of humor to break the ice in any situation, and Evan was more than happy to follow in his wake. George Weasley's son may be the first Weasley to not make Gryffindor in decades, Rose thought, but he'd cope fast.
Unlike Hugo....
"See you upstairs, Lil," Albus said as his sister passed by them with Matilda and Gideon. The three joined up with the rest of the new Gryffindors and were led out of the Great Hall by Fabian Weasley and Nancy Sprague, the other new prefect for their House. Following them were the new Slytherins and, taking up the rear, the Hufflepuffs, with Hugo trailing dejectedly at the tail end of the group.
"Hey," Albus said, poking his elbow into Rose's side as he saw the look on her face watching her brother walk out of the Hall. "He'll be fine. It's the Hufflepuffs, you know? They're good people."
"I know," Rose sighed. "I know, but..."
"This happens," Albus insisted. "Brothers and sisters get split up all the time in the Sorting. Vic's friend, Christine? Her brother was a Ravenclaw. And Mum and Dad's friends, Padma and Parvati, they're twins and they got split..."
"It's easy for you to say," Rose sighed, taking a fork from the now empty table and spinning it idly by its handle. "They didn't split up the Potters..."
"That's not the point," said Albus. "And it's not exactly like James and I are best buddies just because we both happen to be Gryffindors."
Rose looked around the Hall, and, sure enough, James was nowhere to be found. As usual, he and his friends had bolted as fast as they could in order to get prime fireplace seats. Rose wasn't even sure if James had stopped to say anything to Lily since her initial Sort.
"Look, the Hat sorts for a reason, you know?" Albus pressed on. "When we were at Kings Cross our first year, Dad told me that the Hat considered him for Slytherin, but Dad asked it to not put him there--"
"Hugo didn't ask to be in Hufflepuff!" burst Rose. "He didn't ask to not be in Gryffindor!"
"I didn't mean it like that!" Albus responded quickly. "Seriously, Rose, I'm stumbling here. You're usually the one to do the calm reasoning thing, you know? This isn't my field."
"Sorry," Rose sighed, running her hand over her forehead. "Sorry. But he didn't want this..."
"Maybe he did, and maybe he didn't," Albus shrugged. "Maybe he was considered for Gryffindor, but the Hat saw something in him, or something in the grand scheme of things, that made him a better fit with Hufflepuff, like it saw something in my Dad that made him a better Gryffindor."
Rose sighed, but remained silent, continuing to stare at the large front doors, where most of the students had now exited.
"Think about it," said Albus. "What does the Hat say every year since we started? Hufflepuffs are hard workers. Fair. Dependable. Now tell me that doesn't fit Hugo."
Rose shook her head slowly. "I can't. It works for him. Damn it."
"It's not like you'll never see him," Albus reasoned. "He's not like he's forbidden to talk to any other Houses. You'll see him at meals, you'll see him between classes. We all get to hang out together on the weekends, Hugo and Fred and Evan. We just don't get to see him in the common room, that's all."
"That's just it, though," said Rose sadly. "For all these years, I've been looking forward to sharing all of this with my baby brother, you know? Eating meals with him, playing Exploding Snap with him before bed. And what about Horus and Sasha? How are we going to share them when I'm in the tower and he's in the basement?"
Albus burst into surprised laughter. Of all the things that Rose worried about, and there were plenty of those, it was the owl and the cat that concerned her the most. "I'm sure you'll figure something out," he said, trying to contain himself, and Rose reluctantly cracked a smile at her cousin's response.
"Well," she said carefully, getting to her feet, "I suppose it could be worse."
"How's that?" Albus asked as the two left the Great Hall.
"He could be stuck rooming with Fred and Evan for the next seven years."
---------
Fred Weasley could barely contain himself.
"--So they're all--they're all running around the kitchen," he said, gasping for breath. "Smoke everywhere, right? And Uncle Harry's just screaming, "Aguamenti! Aguamenti!" Water shooting out of his wand and all...."
"Doesn't do a bloody thing," Evan continued between bursts of laughter. "Fire's splattering all over the place, starting tiny little fires on the counter and the cabinets and my Dad's flailing all over the place, yelling 'You can't put out a grease fire with water! Get a fire extinguisher!'"
"A what?" asked Kyle Hopkirk, doubled over with laughter along with most of the other Ravenclaw first years.
"Exactly!" Evan says, pointing to the boy as they made their way up the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower. "Fred's dad and Ron, they're just standing there with their mouths hanging open. They're wizards, they don't know a fire extinguisher from a toaster, right?"
"And Uncle Harry's just screaming at Mr. Dursley," Fred said, "'I don't have one! Why would I have one?'"
"So Dad yells back, 'Then why are you frying chips in the first place, Four Eyes?'" Evan howls.
"Four Eyes?" Ayan asked, reaching a whole new level of mirth. "He called Harry Potter Four Eyes?"
"You never cross my dad about housing code violations, you know?" Evan explained. "He gets personal, especially with his cousin."
"And the whole time the Ministry owls are flying around the kitchen," George continued, "just pooping all over the place cuz they're absolutely freaking out--"
"And that's when Ginny shows up..."
"Oh, no!" Ayan and Andrea, both covering their mouths to stifle their shocked laughter, which was now infecting nearly everyone, including the Ravenclaw prefects.
"So what did Weasel do?" asked Kyle, using Ginny Weasley's Quidditch nickname.
"Oh, she Floos home to a living room filled with smoke," Fred said, giggling uncontrollably. "Runs into the kitchen to see fire covering half of the stove. Everything's absolutely soaked from all the water spells, and Dad, Harry, Ron, and Mr. Dursley are running around the owls like chickens with their heads cut off, just screaming at each other."
"So Ginny just pulls out her wand," said Evan. "Flicks it once, and the fire goes out. And Harry turns to her, and her face is just... it's... it's purple...."
"I couldn't tell whether she's ready to start screaming or if she's just going to fall to the floor laughing," said Fred. "And Harry... he... he..."
Fred couldn't finish, he was leaning against the wall laughing, so Evan picked up his string. "He said, as calm as anything, 'Hey, Pumpkin...'"
"Pumpkin, even!" Selena screamed, leaning against Ayan for support.
"'Hey, Pumpkin. Dinner'll be ready in a few!'"
"Thenthenthen..." Fred stammered, his face turning purple itself, "Then the owl... the... the..."
"Oh, God, the owl!" Evan roared. "The owl... the owl lands on Harry's head... and... and..."
"No!" Ayan said. "No, it didn't!"
"Well, I told you," said Fred, "they were really freaked out..."
"And Ginny, she just keeps her composure through all of this," said Evan, trying to pull himself back to earth as the others were clutching their sides. "She just stares at Harry, at the... the... the stuff running down his forehead, and just walks out of the kitchen. Didn't say a word."
"Yeah, well, Lily heard her laughing fit to split in their bedroom a few minutes later."
"Oh, God," said Selena, wiping a tear from her eye. "Oh, I haven't..."
"So the moral of the story is that even The Chosen One can't make a decent batch of fish and chips," said Fred.
"You sure?" asked Evan. "I thought the moral was that even lightning scars can get bird poo on them."
"Well, either way," Fred shrugged. "End scene."
"Okay, I have a question," asked Rachel as the group calmed down. "She flew? We can fly? Why didn't anyone tell me we can fly?"
The Ravenclaws looked around at each other in confusion. "I don't follow," Kyle.
"Well, he said," she continued, pointing at Fred, "that she flew home to the living room."
"No, she Flooed home," Fred corrected. "It's like a... a... Evan, Muggle it up for me, would ya?" he said, poking Dursley in the ribs with his elbow.
"Like a teleporter," said Evan. "From Star Trek? Only its in a fireplace."
"Oh, so we can't fly?" asked Rachel.
"With broomsticks, yeah," said Selena. "But not many of us have learned to actually fly fly, you know?"
"Okay," Rachel said with a shrug. "Sorry, I'm still kinda new to this."
"You used to be normal, too?" said a voice from the back of the group. Everyone's heads turned to see Tom Roberts, who had remained silent throughout Fred and Evan's entire story. As he saw their eyes on him, he looked down quickly, staring at the floor.
"Normal?" asked Rachel. "Like, having, um... Evan, what did you call them? Muddles?"
"Muggles," said Evan.
"Yeah, my parents are both Muggles," said Rachel.
"I am, too," said Tom quietly.
"Well, um... Well, that's cool," said Rachel, bemused by Tom's behavior. The group continued to stare at him, although he remained silent. They were just about ready to turn back to the front when he blurted out:
"How did they know we're normal?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, when I put the hat on, everyone got real quiet," said Tom, his eyes boring into the stone floor. "They were all staring at me. They knew I wasn't... I wasn't one of them, you know?"
"T... Roberts, we weren't..." Kyle stammered.
"Look, you guys came to me, alright?" Tom said, more loudly than before. "I didn't ask to be here. I didn't ask to be a magician, or whatever. I was asked to come here, and everyone's treating me like I'm some freak. Hey, look, sorry my parents aren't magic!" he said, and his voice trembled in embarrassment. "Sorry I didn't know I was a... a whatever until three weeks ago. But if that means that I'm going to be treated like this, because I wasn't born into it..."
"It's not that!" said Sean Wedgwood, one of the prefects, as Bridget Niko, the other prefect, nodded vehemently. "Look, Tom, they weren't staring and muttering and stuff because you're a Muggle-born."
"Then why?" Tom said, practically yelling. "Why am I the one that got the creepy looks all through dinner?"
"It's your name, mate," Fred said, shrugging uncomfortably. "It's your name."
Tom stood stock-still. "My... My what?"
"Your name," said Bridget. "Tom, look..."
"What's wrong with Roberts?" Tom said. "Or Tom? They're both... They're both a whole hell of a lot more normal than... God, wasn't there someone named Lycoris out there?"
"Okay, I'll try to put it... okay," Bridget sighed. "I'm a Muggle-born, too, Tom, so you'll get this. Tom's kinda become a taboo name around the wizarding world in the last twenty years. Kind of like how there's no one in the world named 'Adolf', you know?"
"I... what?" Tom asked, looking more confused than ever.
"You'll learn more about it in History," said Sean. "There was a wizard about seventy years ago named Voldemort. Really evil guy, killed a lot of people, reign of terror, all that. About twenty years ago he was finally taken down for good..."
"By my uncle," Fred said. "That's how everyone knows who I'm talking about when I talk about my Uncle Harry."
"--And soon after that, Voldemort's history started to be made public," Sean continued. "Turned out he was a halfblood by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle."
"So after that it kinda became unpopular to name anyone Tom," said Bridget. "There have been a ton of Harrys, and Rons, and Hermiones in the last few years, because they were named after the ones who helped win the war. But the only kids you'd see with a name like Tom were the ones that were raised by the hardcore loonies, the ones who still worship a dead Voldemort, who still wanted to keep his plans going."
"And Muggleborns," said Selena as Tom Roberts's face fell. "Which sucks, I know, it sucks a lot."
"Yeah, it does suck!" Tom yelled. "My Mum and Dad named me after Tom Petty, some singer they grew up listening to! I wasn't named after Vitamin, or whoever the hell this guy is!"
"We know!" said Fred. "I mean... I mean, we know now..."
"And everyone else will know soon enough," said Bridget. "You'll be fine, Tom. It was just a shock for people to hear it."
"It also doesn't help that you kinda look like him," Sean admitted. "The hair..."
"But they'll get to know you and you'll be fine," Bridget said, giving Sean a cross look as they approached the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. Sean reached up and knocked with the giant eagle-head knocker. After a few moments, the bird spoke:
What does man love more than life?
Fear more than death or mortal strife?
What do the poor have, what the rich require,
And what contented men desire?
What does the miser spend, the spendthrift save,
And all men carry to their graves?
"They start easy," Sean said to the first years. "As the year gets going, the riddles get harder and harder."
"And they don't always require a specific answer," Bridget explained. "Sometimes a well-reasoned argument is all that's needed to enter."
"This isn't exactly the safest system, is it?" asked Rachel. "I mean, anyone can answer this question. It's nothing. The answer is nothing."
Well put, the eagle responded, and the door opened.
"They're not all easy," said Sean as he escorted the group inside. "And there's also a reason you're in Ravenclaw. The Sorting Hat thinks you have more brains than the other Houses. Don't take that lightly. Not everyone at Hogwarts could even answer that question, let alone some of what you'll be hearing come May and June."
"But that's still a ways down the road," said Bridget as the students got their first glimpse of the expansive blue-and-bronze common room, loaded with books and housing the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, diadem perched proudly on her head. "In the meantime, enjoy your new home. We'll bring you up to your rooms in, say, ten minutes? Fifteen?"
The first year Ravenclaws all agreed, spreading out to search their new confines. As the older students started to come in behind them a few minutes later, Fred noticed that Tom was still alone, standing uncomfortably in the middle of the room, looking around at everything and nothing. Fred poked Evan in the ribs and motioned him over to the boy.
"Look," said Fred as the two approached Roberts, "if it makes you feel any better, Voldemort didn't like his name, either. Didn't like to be associated with people that he didn't think were worth anything. That's why he changed it."
"So here's what we're going to do," said Evan with a big grin. "We're going to make it our job to come up with a decent nickname for you. What do you think?"
"Really?" Tom said, a hopeful, nervous smile crossing his face for the first time. "Would that work?"
"Sure, why not?" said Fred. "Couldn't hurt."
"And I promise," said Evan, slapping Tom on the back, "it'll make a lot more sense than Voldemort."
---------
"Come on in," said a cheerful voice from inside the low-ceilinged room. As it spoke, the dungeon door slammed behind the first year Slytherins. A few of them jumped both at the sound of the voice and at the booming echo of the doors.
"Everybody, come on in, have a seat!" the voice said from a couch near the Slytherin fireplace.
"Alan?" called Galatea Davis, the Slytherin prefect that had been put in charge of getting the new students to their common room. "What are you doing here? First years are supposed to arrive ahead of the others."
"Well, that's a shame, isn't it?" said Alan, a large, intimidating Slytherin with a bright smile that didn't reflect in his eyes. "I took the shortcuts. I thought you'd take them, too, Davis."
"Alan, we're not going to do this now," said Galatea.
"Says who?"
"In fact, I'd rather we not do this ever. I'm a prefect, and..."
"And whatever, whatever," said Alan with a wave of his hand before turning to the first years. "Something wrong with Davis, kids. She doesn't know all there is to know about this school, unlike some of us. Frankly, I'm surprised Professor Tonks chose her as a prefect in the first place. Not exactly the brightest, is she? Doesn't even know the shortcuts. Have a seat."
Alan motioned to the chairs and couch in front of him, and as he leaned back, his feet thrown up onto the coffee table, the students noticed two hulking figures pull themselves from the shadows and stand on either side of the intimidating boy.
"Runcorn, really..."
"Watch it, Davis," Alan said, his smile dropping for the first time as he stared down the prefect. "You wouldn't want to cross me, would you?"
Galatea opened her mouth, ready to retort, but the two behemoths behind Alan Runcorn crossed their arms menacingly enough to stifle any protest. With great trepidation, the first years found seats around the coffee table, all facing Alan.
"So you're... You're not a prefect?" asked Harry McManus.
"Naw," Alan Runcorn said, his smile returning. "Professor Tonks and me, we don't exactly see eye to eye. I suppose I'm more like a, um, a social chairman?"
"Yeah," said one of the big Slytherins as the other one chuckled. "The prefects are in charge on paper, but Alan, he's the one who handles all the comings and goings around here."
"So if Davis doesn't mind," said Runcorn with a cold look at Galatea, "I'd like to get to know you. Shouldn't take too long, then you can all go beddie-bye. Let's see here..." At this he picked up a piece of parchment from the table and read it. "First off, we have... Borgin? Two of them?"
"Yeah, that's us," said one of the two dark-haired boys, identical down to their pale skin and dark circles under their eyes.
"Which one's Maxen and which one's Vaughn?" asked Runcorn. "And how can I tell you two apart?"
"I'm Maxen," said one of the two. "And, no, you can't tell us apart, so don't even try."
"Wasn't planning to," Alan shrugged. "Borgin as in Borgin & Burkes' Borgin?"
"Yeah, that's right," said one of the boys, leaning back smugly. "Great-great grandpa started the place. Dad owns it now, Granddad bit it a few years back."
"We get a family discount," said the other boy. "It's great."
"Not that you'd need it," said Runcorn. "Family like yours has to be rolling in the Galleons."
"Dad is," said Vaughn or Maxen. "We don't get any more than a sniff until he snuffs out."
"Yeah, right," the other snorted. "You get the sniff. You're the oldest."
"Really?" Alan said with a raised eyebrow.
"He's older by five minutes," the boy said darkly.
"Better watch yourself, eh?" Alan said with a pointed smile to the other Borgin. "He knows where you sleep, doesn't he?"
The older boy spun his head sharply towards the younger, and the two exchanged a suspicious glare. Alan seemed to be ignoring it, however, as he continued. "And your Mum? What about her?"
"What about her?" said the younger. "She's one of Burkes' cousins."
"She's a witch, then?"
"Pureblood for generations," the older twin said with a satisfied nod. "Borgins wouldn't have it any other way."
"Beauty," said Alan, scribbling a few notes onto his parchment. As he did, more students entered the Slytherin common room. Some anxiously joined the Runcorn's group, while others looked at the meeting with resigned disgust before going on their way. "Well, Slytherin's always glad to have the Borgins on board. Now, who's next... Regina Byrne?"
"That's me," said a short girl, her red hair showing black roots. She was curled up on one of the lounge chairs and looked like she was ready to fall asleep.
"Not a name I'm familiar with," said Alan slowly. "Who's your father?"
"Richard Byrne," Regina said importantly.
"And...?"
"Richard Byrne," Regina repeated. "The anchor."
"A what?"
"An anchor,," Regina said slowly, as though speaking to a small child. "You do know what that is, don't you?"
"Ties down ships, doesn't it?" said one of the boys behind Runcorn.
"Good Lord, are you stupid?" Regina said with a roll of her eyes. "Daddy's a newsreader for BBC News. Prime time. Very prestigious. Very famous. I'm amazed you haven't heard of him."
"And Mummy?" Alan said dryly.
"Mummy sits at home, drinks her breakfast, and tells the help what to do," Regina said carelessly.
"So they're both Muggles?"
"God, there's that word again," Regina sighed. "Yes, if by Muggle you mean that they're not Harry Houdini and Sabrina the Teenage Witch, then, yeah, they're Muggles."
"Mmm hmm," Alan said through pursed lips. "I think now would be a good time to mention Slytherin policy," he said to the first years as he scribbled notes on the parchment. "House elves do much of the work around the common room, but they can't do everything. Every one of us does their share. We'll have job postings tomorrow, but Regina, I think you'll be in charge of cleaning the Quidditch team boots after practice."
"The what?" Regina said, sitting up.
"I should mention that the pitch can get quite sloppy, so you'll want to be careful of the mud."
"I'm not cleaning anything!"
"Everyone does their fair share," Alan said simply. "That's the way it's been for years."
"Funny," said one of the students who had entered after the first years. "It always seems like the halfbloods and the Muggle-borns get all of the work, while the Purebloods get to lounge around."
"Hey, we do work!" said one of Runcorn's security guards with a big grin.
"Yeah, we're in charge of waking up all the Slytherin brats what sleep in too late," said the other.
"We get to use water," said the first with a chuckle. "Fire if they're really lazy."
"Convenient, isn't it," said the pale-haired boy, "that if someone's asleep when you wake up, they're oversleeping."
"Last time I checked," Runcorn said sharply to the boy, "your opinion's not worth a goddamn thing, Blood Traitor."
"And what about mine?"
It was as though an alarm had gone off in the Slytherin common room. Students who had so eagerly joined the group in the middle of the room suddenly sped off in multiple directions: some towards the dormitories while others quickly tried joining groups of students who had been doing their best to avoid the scene. Even the two large Slytherins bracketing Runcorn took three wary steps backwards as Professor Andromeda Tonks entered the common room. Alan Runcorn alone seemed unintimidated by the Head's presence, despite the fury she was aiming directly at him.
"What's going on here?" Andromeda asked sharply, looking around the room at the students, who quickly found something else to look at.
"Hello, Professor," said Alan with his most winning smile. "I didn't expect to see you down here tonight. Usually the prefects handle the common room on the first night--"
"And you're not a prefect, Mr. Runcorn," said Professor Tonks. "So why do you have all of the first years in front of you when they should be in bed? And why do you have a piece of parchment--" At this she flicked her wand, and the parchment flew from Alan's hand into hers, "--listing every first year along with numerous vulgarities dealing with their blood purity?"
"Since when has Mudblood been a vulgarity in our house, Professor?"
"Twenty points from Slytherin, Mr. Runcorn," said Andromeda, her heavy eyelids widening in anger. "I want a meeting with the prefects and with Mr. Runcorn. Everyone else, off to bed. You have classes tomorrow and I don't want our House to become any more of a mockery than it already is with students napping over their studies. Mr. Malfoy, Miss Thurston, if you would escort the first years to their dormitories..."
"Yes, ma'am," said the pale-haired boy and a short brunette girl standing near him.
"Professor... Tonks, is it?" asked Regina as the first years stood and joined Malfoy and Thurston.
"That's right, dear," said Andromeda, trying her best to soften her expression.
"I don't really have to clean up after the... the whatever they're called, do I?"
"Only if you're foolish enough to find yourself in my detention, Miss Byrne," Andromeda said shortly. "Now off to bed with you all. Timetables will be available for you at breakfast."
Regina gave a snobbish sniff at the idea of ever reducing herself to cleaning mud, even as a punishment, and turned to follow Olivia Thurston with her fellow first years. It was a self-centered attitude that Andromeda had encountered far too often last year, her first year as a professor and Head of House, and it was that had always infuriated her in her time in Slytherin, both as a student and a teacher.
The fact that that holier-than-thou attitude was carried not just by the pureblood members of her House but also by the half-bloods and, as Miss Byrne just proved, the Muggle-borns, often caused Andromeda Tonks to wonder if she had made the right choice accepting Tiberius's invitation to return to Hogwarts.
"I think it would do some of the students good to have a blood traitor holding their future in her hands," Ogden had joked that day two years ago in Andromeda's kitchen.
Oh, if only I could believe that, she now thought helplessly as she turned back to the prefects. Alan Runcorn's face, its patronizing look, proved to her that she was doing anything but good.
"This House is falling apart," she now said.
"Of course it is," said Alan smugly. "Ever since the Sorting Hat decided it'd be a good idea to let Mudbloods into our House, it--"
"I've told you that I will not tolerate that kind of language in my House, Mr. Runcorn," Andromeda snapped. "This House can be better than what it has been..."
"It can be better," said Dave Piper, one of the seventh-year prefects, agreed. "We've been last in the House Cup for the last ten years. Nowhere to go but up, right?"
"I mean that it can be better than it has ever been," Andromeda corrected. "Better than that pureblood maniac Salazar Slytherin intended it to be. The segregation has gotten out of hand. The competition has gotten out of hand."
"Isn't that the point of having the different Houses, though?" asked Galatea. "The competition?"
"Within the House," said Andromeda. "We're divided against ourselves. Bickering. In-fighting. Half of the points that you lost last year, half of the detentions handed out, were caused by Slytherins doing horrible things to other Slytherins. We simply cannot allow this division to continue."
Alan jumped in. "As long as I have to share a House with scum like--"
"Mr. Runcorn, the reason you are in this meeting in the first place is because you have clout amongst the Purebloods," Andromeda said angrily. "This is despite my best intentions. You've been given more detentions than anyone else at Hogwarts combined, you've been lost more House Points than anyone else at Hogwarts, and you are a hairs-breadth away from being expelled. You're here right now because I'm asking you, I'm asking all of you," at this she turned to the prefects, "to be better students. To be better people, and better role models for your fellow Slytherins. If you don't..."
"What?" Alan said with an arched eyebrow. "What will happen? You can't expel me, Professor," he practically spat the last word at her feet. "My dad has friends on the Board of Governors. As for the House, what's going to happen? It can't be shut down. It can't be disbanded. School bylaws prohibit it. The worst thing that could happen is that a blood traitor professor gets sacked. Cry a fucking river."
"I'm sure we're all moved by your feelings of superiority, Mr. Runcorn," Andromeda sighed in frustration, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Now if you would just..." She trailed off as she looked around the students. She wanted to say more. Wanted to start saying things that would best be left in one-on-one conversation. Things that your average professor usually wouldn't say unless they were trying their best to lose their job.
Thankfully this isn't an average situation, she admitted to herself. You've spent the last year settling in. Now it's time to make your presence known.
Tiberius will understand.
"Albert Alcahest was a wonderful man," she said to the students, "and a wonderful teacher. Fair, understanding, compassionate, and forgiving to a fault. He was woefully ignorant of many of the goings on here in Slytherin, and he often wrote other incidents off as simple childhood pranks and House initiations. He defended all of his Slytherins to the other professors when they found themselves in detention. Even you, Alan."
"What a sweetheart," said Runcorn sarcastically.
"I might have led you to think that things weren't going to change when I began teaching last year," she continued. "It was my first year, after all, and I was trying hard to get my legs beneath me, the same as those students that you were harassing earlier. You might have thought that I'd let this House continue to slide into ruin.
"That belief ends tonight.
"Mr. Runcorn, you may be right. Your father may have friends on the Board. They do, after all, choose themselves, with very little influence from either the Headmaster or the Ministry. There may very well be Governors that still hold your outdated beliefs, and it might be enough to keep you from getting expelled."
"The woman sees sense," said Alan, leaning back with his hands behind his head.
"But being expelled is completely different than failing out of school," said Andromeda. "Mr. Runcorn, your grades have been woeful in your first four years. It's a miracle you haven't had to repeat a year yet. But just remember that this is your O.W.L. year. The classes are much harder, the tests are infinitely more difficult, and the Ministry-appointed examiners will not be under your father's influence.
"In the meantime," she said, barely suppressing a grin as the self-satisfied smile slipped from Alan Runcorn's face, "I can't expel you, but I can give you detention. Often. Every night, if that's what it takes."
"You wouldn't..."
"I would," said Andromeda, crossing her arms. "I have very little social life, Mr. Runcorn, and I can see to it that you don't have one, either. If not me, then Professor Longbottom, Professor Hagrid, Professor Forseti, or any of the professors would love to give you some extra work, I'm sure. Get on our bad side, and I can make your last year in this school a living hell."
For once, Alan Runcorn was struck silent, which gratified Andromeda to no end.
"This House will turn around," she said to the prefects. "You will make me proud, and you'll make Hogwarts proud to have you. Embrace the present, embrace the new world, or you'll wish you had been Sorted into Hufflepuff."
---------
"No internet?"
"No internet," said Harry Norley as he unpacked his trunk.
"What do you mean there's no internet?" Drystan Bunker exclaimed.
"What's an internet?" asked Aiden Towler.
"But... But... How am I supposed to check email?" Drystan sputtered. "Was I supposed to bring a mobile card?"
"What's a mobile card?" Towler asked, looking around the Hufflepuff dorm for answers.
"There's no internet here," Norley explained. "If you want to contact the outside, you use owls."
"Oh, Lord, Bunker," Gopal Singh sighed as Drystan pulled a laptop from his luggage. "You didn't seriously bring that with you?"
"Well, yeah?" said Drystan. "How was I supposed to know I wouldn't have access out here in the middle of nowhere?"
"It's not a question of access," said Gopal. "Just... Just don't turn that thing on, alright?"
"Why not?" Drystan asked, flipping it open on his lap. "I still have to write papers, and..."
"And you'll melt your motherboard the second you turn it on. There's too much magical energy in the air, it fries anything not properly insulated. No computers, no mobile phones--"
"No mobile phone?" Drystan cried, reaching into his pocket. "But my mobile's been on since-- Oh, no...."
"Are you a halfblood, then, too, Singh?" Norley asked as Drystan pulled out his phone and flipped it open. He groaned in dismay as the mobile's screen flashed random digits and colors.
"No, I'm a Muggleborn," said Gopal.
"This phone cost two hundred pound," said Drystan. "I can't--Augh!"
"Then how did you know all of that?" asked Norley, ignoring Drystan's cry as sparks flew from his opened battery case. "My dad's Muggleborn, so I know all of this stuff, but you--?"
"I asked," Singh shrugged. "New world, and all. When Professor Longbottom brought my letter I asked him as much as I could. Tough to talk myself into coming into a world without computers or television--"
"No television?" Drystan gasped, dropping his phone and scanning the dormitory walls, as though hoping to see a plasma screen looking back at him.
"--but I think I can survive."
"But how are we going to keep up with our programmes without internet or a telly? Phantom Patrol, Doctor
Who, Carbine?"
"We have a wireless," said Aiden, pointing to the radio in the corner. "That's kind of like a tillyvisor, isn't it?"
"Nnnnnn!" Drystan groaned, falling onto his bed. "Jimmy Porter premieres next week, and I'm going to miss it!"
"Owl your parents," said Norley. "Have them Tivo it for you. It's not the end of the world, and it'll give you something to do when we're off on holiday."
"God, it's like I'm in some third-world country," said Drystan.
"So your parents are wizards, too, Towler?" Gopal asked Aiden.
"Hufflepuffs as far back as we can remember," Aiden replied.
"So that's a yes?" Gopal chuckled.
"That whole conversation you guys just had?" said Aiden, pointing between Singh, Norley, and Bunker. "I didn't understand one bloody word of it."
"What about you?" Singh continued, turning to the fifth boy in the room, who lay on his bed with his cat lying on his stomach. "Your parents magical?"
"Him?" Norley said with a chuckle. "You're joking, right? I thought you said you asked Professor Longbottom a lot of questions."
"He's a Weasley, man," said Aiden in awe. "His mum and dad saved the world back in ninety-eight. Longbottom didn't tell you about them?"
"Why would he?" asked Singh in confusion. "I didn't ask the history of the world, or anything."
"Well, he was involved, too, that's why," said Aiden. "He led the Hogwarts Rebellion, and killed Voldemort's snake. But Potter, Weasley, and Granger... They were the ones that did most of the job. Potter has a few kids in Gryffindor right now--"
"Mum and Dad named me after him," said Harry Norley proudly.
"--but Hugo here, he's Weasley and Granger's only son."
Hugo Weasley abruptly sat up, his cat jumping to the floor. Muttering something about forgetting something in the somewhere, he quickly left the dormitory, cat following close behind.
"What was that all about?" Harry asked.
"Wager the bloke doesn't like being talked about like he's some historic figure," Drystan muttered, tapping the battery of his now dead phone. "Bloody hell. Two hundred quid paperweight."
"Not that it'd even weight much paper," said Gopal. "Not exactly heavy, is it?"
Hugo Weasley slumped down the Hufflepuff hallway as the voices of his fellow first-years faded behind him. The cooridor was warm and inviting, with a long plush carpet and smiling portaits hung between frosted globe lanterns. To both sides Hugo could hear muffled voices laughing and chatting away behind dormitory doors, Hogwarts students returning to their friends who they hadn't seen since the previous June.
The aura of the Hufflepuff common room, now empty, was no different than the hallway. Two fires crackled on opposite ends of the room. The stone walls of the castle were covered by numerous draperies and banners, and there were paintings of fruit bowls, cornoucopias, and good-natured witches and wizards everywhere. The couches and chairs were so soft that you could fall asleep the moment you touched them, and the rugs seemed like your bare feet would simply sink into them.
It was comforting. It was homey.
And as he plopped down onto one of the couches, resuming the position he had held on his bed minutes before, it was the last place that Hugo Weasley wanted to be.
As he lay in silent contemplation, the room quiet except for the crackling from the hearths, his grey cat, Sasha, jumped up onto his stomach. As the tabby, which was to be shared by him and his older sister, curled up, Hugo absently scratched behind her ear.
"Sorry, Sasha," he said quietly. "Looks like you'll be running back and forth between here and Gryffindor a lot in the next seven years. Hope you don't mind too much."
As the cat yawned, Hugo heard a voice quietly humming from the outside hall. The voice grew nearer and nearer until it sounded like it was in the common room with him.
Odd, he thought. I didn't hear a door open.
"What's this?" said the voice as the humming stopped. "Someone's still up? You should be off to bed, child! Classes are in the morning, you don't want to-- oh!"
Hugo looked up to see the face of the Fat Friar poking over the top of the couch. The smile that seemed to on the ghost's face throughout the Feast seemed to slip slightly at Hugo's morose look.
"Oh, it's you," said the Friar, nodding in understanding.
"Hello, Mr. Friar," Hugo said sadly. "Sorry, I know I should be in bed, but..."
"It's understandable, my good boy," said the Friar as he floated around to the front of the couch. "Well, I assumed I'd be talking to you eventually, anyway. There's at least one every year. Budge over, would you?"
Hugo, not really wishing to know what it would be like to be sat upon by a ghost, picked up Sasha and pushed himself up. With a gentle meow, the cat obliged, readjusting herself on Hugo's lap as the Fat Friar drifted down beside the boy on the couch.
"It's odd, really," said the Friar in a resigned tone. "None of the other ghosts have to comfort their students after the Sorting. Boys and girls are perfectly content finding themselves in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Even the Slytherins, the decent ones, rarely wish that they had been placed somewhere else."
"I'm sorry, sir," said Hugo. "I didn't mean to--"
"No, it's fine," said Friar, and Hugo felt a chill as the ghost attempted to pat his knee. "It's quite fine. There's just something about Hufflepuff, I suppose, that make students think that there's something wrong with them."
"It's not that, sir."
"I knew there was going to be a problem from the beginning," the Friar continued. "When Madam Hufflepuff announced that she would take everyone and teach them... Well, say what you will about that kind of thought, but when you tell a group of students 'You're not the bravest, you're not the smartest, you're not the most cunning,' you're going to create an inferiority complex. Unfortunately, loyalty is greatly undervalued in society."
"I guess... I guess I don't have a problem with Hufflepuff," Hugo admitted.
"I should hope not!" the Friar chuckled. "We've had plenty of great students live in this House through the years. Actors, athletes, Ministers of Magic... Why, we even had a Tri-Wizard Champion not thirty years ago!"
"I know," said Hugo. "My mum and dad told me about Cedric..."
The Fat Friar sobered up slightly at the memory of the previous Tournament. "Yes, I suppose they would have told you," he said with a nod. "But Mr. Diggory was brave, Mr. Diggory was smart, Mr. Diggory was cunning, and yet he was here in our House. We're far from the refuse of the magical world, believe me."
"I know," said Hugo, absently petting Sasha. "My parents' friends, Mr. and Mrs. Macmillan and Mrs. Dursley, they were all Hufflepuffs, and they're great."
"Dursley?" asked the Friar.
"Susan," Hugo explained. "I think she used to be... Bones, I think?"
"Susan Bones, yes!" the Friar laughed. "Yes, of course! That boy's her son?"
"Evan, yeah. She married Uncle Harry's cousin."
"Wonderful!" the Friar exclaimed, clapping his hands (and how his hands actually made a clapping noise, Hugo wasn't sure). "Good for her! Lovely girls, Susan and Hannah, just a couple of delights when they were in our House."
"But my sister's in Gryffindor," Hugo said sadly. "My whole family's in Gryffindor. They've always been in Gryffindor, as far back as anyone can remember."
"Now that's not true."
"I suppose you're right," said Hugo. "Fred got sorted into Ravenclaw. But, still, he has Evan with him, and my dad always wanted me to be in Gryffindor--"
"No, what I meant is that there were Weasleys in the other three Houses before you and your cousin."
Hugo blinked. "But... But no one ever..."
"Oh, yes, it's quite true," said the Fat Friar with a bright smile. "When wizards say that a family goes back 'as far as anyone can remember,' they never do think to ask the ghosts. Oh, yes, there have been Weasleys in all four Houses. Three or four generations worth of Slytherins back in the thirteenth century, if I recall, and quite a large contingent of Hufflepuffs around the Reformation. In fact, there was a Weasley in Hufflepuff with me when I was a student under Madam Hufflepuff herself. Went by the name Wessel back then, if I recall, but the name's evolved since."
"You were?" asked Hugo with a trace of awe in his voice. "You were taught by Helga Hufflepuff, I mean?"
"I was," said the Friar. "I wasn't born a friar, you know. The whole concept of friars and medicant orders didn't come around until maybe a hundred years after I died, actually."
"Then why are you called the Fat Friar?"
"Well, I guess because I lived a life of poverty and service before it became fashionable," the Friar said modestly. "They just didn't have a term for someone like me back then. Well, they did have a name for someone like me, but it's not anything to be said in polite company. After I died, and after St. Francis and St. Dominic got popular, students started calling me the Friar. I'll never understand why people keep calling me Fat, though." As he said this, the ghost patted his considerable belly with an ironic smile that Hugo couldn't help but return.
"There, that's what I was hoping to see," said the Friar. "Give us a chance, eh, Mr. Weasley? Your sister might not be here as much as you'd like, but you'll see her plenty. And, in the meantime, you'll make many more new friends. We're a good House, and we're proud to have you with us."
Hugo reluctantly nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I think I can handle this."
"Good," said the Friar, gliding to his feet. "And now I'm going to show you one of the perks of being a Hufflepuff. If I recall, you barely touched your dinner. You must be starving."
"Well, I'm a bit hungry, yeah," said Hugo, who had only eaten a few bites of the Feast.
"Watch this," said the Friar, floating towards the wall. Sticking his head through the stone, Hugo heard faint mumbling on the other side. A few moments later, with a loud crack, a small house elf stood before Hugo, holding a ham sandwich and chips on a gold platter.
"One of the wonderful aspects of being housed beside the kitchen," said the Friar gleefully. "Mr. Weasley, this is Kreacher, one of the many hard-working house elves of Hogwarts."
"Junior, Master Fat," the house elf squeaked as Hugo took the sandwich with a word of thanks. "Master Theodore met Kreacher when he was at Hogwarts, and called him Junior, so as to not confuse him with his father. Junior has taken the name as his own."
"Oh, I do apologize, Junior," said the Friar quickly. "Mr. Weasley, if you could stop him before--"
"Junior will not punish himself for correcting Master Fat," said Kreacher, Jr. "Junior is a free elf, and say whatever he wishes to say."
"Oh, yes, of course," said the Friar as Kreacher, Jr. turned to Hugo.
"Junior carries the memories of his father," the house elf said to the boy. "He remembers the words Mistress Hermione and Master Ronald said to him over the years, and will not forget them. Junior is honored to have their blood living so close to his home again."
At this, Kreacher, Jr., bowed deeply to Hugo, who was turning red. "Thanks... um... Thanks, Junior," he said.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Master Hugo."
"Thanks," said Hugo as he took a bite of the sandwich. "Wow. Extra mustard. Just the way I like it."
Junior smiled. "Just the way Master Harry liked it, as well."
Sorting Things Out / Previous Chapters / Rash and Judgments
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: previous chapters
Rating: PG13 for language
Summary: Every House has a story
Notes: The riddle in this story was taken from onlyriddles.com. I own these characters. The others belong to JK Rowling.
Sorting Things Out / Previous Chapters / Rash and Judgments
"First years!" Fabian Weasley called out after Professor Ogden had completed his announcements and dismissed the students for the night. "First year Gryffindors, this way!"
Rose Weasley, who had barely paid attention to any of the words Tiberius had said, was on her feet faster than anyone in the Great Hall. Even with that speed, however, she suddenly found herself faced with a sea of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Fully prepared to blast her way through them, she held with a tug on the back of her robes.
"Let him go," said Albus Potter from below her.
"But I just..."
"Let him go," Albus repeated. "You don't want him to lose track of his prefects and get lost in the castle on his first night, do you?"
"But..."
"Sit," Albus said, pulling her sleeve. "We'll let the crowd thin out a bit before we head to the common room."
Rose bit her lower lip hesitantly, standing on her toes to peer over the crowd. At the end of the Ravenclaw table, Fred Weasley and Evan Dursley were trailing behind their prefects, laughing and chatting jovially with a group of their fellow first-years. Fred never had trouble meeting new people; he had enough of his father's sense of humor to break the ice in any situation, and Evan was more than happy to follow in his wake. George Weasley's son may be the first Weasley to not make Gryffindor in decades, Rose thought, but he'd cope fast.
Unlike Hugo....
"See you upstairs, Lil," Albus said as his sister passed by them with Matilda and Gideon. The three joined up with the rest of the new Gryffindors and were led out of the Great Hall by Fabian Weasley and Nancy Sprague, the other new prefect for their House. Following them were the new Slytherins and, taking up the rear, the Hufflepuffs, with Hugo trailing dejectedly at the tail end of the group.
"Hey," Albus said, poking his elbow into Rose's side as he saw the look on her face watching her brother walk out of the Hall. "He'll be fine. It's the Hufflepuffs, you know? They're good people."
"I know," Rose sighed. "I know, but..."
"This happens," Albus insisted. "Brothers and sisters get split up all the time in the Sorting. Vic's friend, Christine? Her brother was a Ravenclaw. And Mum and Dad's friends, Padma and Parvati, they're twins and they got split..."
"It's easy for you to say," Rose sighed, taking a fork from the now empty table and spinning it idly by its handle. "They didn't split up the Potters..."
"That's not the point," said Albus. "And it's not exactly like James and I are best buddies just because we both happen to be Gryffindors."
Rose looked around the Hall, and, sure enough, James was nowhere to be found. As usual, he and his friends had bolted as fast as they could in order to get prime fireplace seats. Rose wasn't even sure if James had stopped to say anything to Lily since her initial Sort.
"Look, the Hat sorts for a reason, you know?" Albus pressed on. "When we were at Kings Cross our first year, Dad told me that the Hat considered him for Slytherin, but Dad asked it to not put him there--"
"Hugo didn't ask to be in Hufflepuff!" burst Rose. "He didn't ask to not be in Gryffindor!"
"I didn't mean it like that!" Albus responded quickly. "Seriously, Rose, I'm stumbling here. You're usually the one to do the calm reasoning thing, you know? This isn't my field."
"Sorry," Rose sighed, running her hand over her forehead. "Sorry. But he didn't want this..."
"Maybe he did, and maybe he didn't," Albus shrugged. "Maybe he was considered for Gryffindor, but the Hat saw something in him, or something in the grand scheme of things, that made him a better fit with Hufflepuff, like it saw something in my Dad that made him a better Gryffindor."
Rose sighed, but remained silent, continuing to stare at the large front doors, where most of the students had now exited.
"Think about it," said Albus. "What does the Hat say every year since we started? Hufflepuffs are hard workers. Fair. Dependable. Now tell me that doesn't fit Hugo."
Rose shook her head slowly. "I can't. It works for him. Damn it."
"It's not like you'll never see him," Albus reasoned. "He's not like he's forbidden to talk to any other Houses. You'll see him at meals, you'll see him between classes. We all get to hang out together on the weekends, Hugo and Fred and Evan. We just don't get to see him in the common room, that's all."
"That's just it, though," said Rose sadly. "For all these years, I've been looking forward to sharing all of this with my baby brother, you know? Eating meals with him, playing Exploding Snap with him before bed. And what about Horus and Sasha? How are we going to share them when I'm in the tower and he's in the basement?"
Albus burst into surprised laughter. Of all the things that Rose worried about, and there were plenty of those, it was the owl and the cat that concerned her the most. "I'm sure you'll figure something out," he said, trying to contain himself, and Rose reluctantly cracked a smile at her cousin's response.
"Well," she said carefully, getting to her feet, "I suppose it could be worse."
"How's that?" Albus asked as the two left the Great Hall.
"He could be stuck rooming with Fred and Evan for the next seven years."
---------
Fred Weasley could barely contain himself.
"--So they're all--they're all running around the kitchen," he said, gasping for breath. "Smoke everywhere, right? And Uncle Harry's just screaming, "Aguamenti! Aguamenti!" Water shooting out of his wand and all...."
"Doesn't do a bloody thing," Evan continued between bursts of laughter. "Fire's splattering all over the place, starting tiny little fires on the counter and the cabinets and my Dad's flailing all over the place, yelling 'You can't put out a grease fire with water! Get a fire extinguisher!'"
"A what?" asked Kyle Hopkirk, doubled over with laughter along with most of the other Ravenclaw first years.
"Exactly!" Evan says, pointing to the boy as they made their way up the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower. "Fred's dad and Ron, they're just standing there with their mouths hanging open. They're wizards, they don't know a fire extinguisher from a toaster, right?"
"And Uncle Harry's just screaming at Mr. Dursley," Fred said, "'I don't have one! Why would I have one?'"
"So Dad yells back, 'Then why are you frying chips in the first place, Four Eyes?'" Evan howls.
"Four Eyes?" Ayan asked, reaching a whole new level of mirth. "He called Harry Potter Four Eyes?"
"You never cross my dad about housing code violations, you know?" Evan explained. "He gets personal, especially with his cousin."
"And the whole time the Ministry owls are flying around the kitchen," George continued, "just pooping all over the place cuz they're absolutely freaking out--"
"And that's when Ginny shows up..."
"Oh, no!" Ayan and Andrea, both covering their mouths to stifle their shocked laughter, which was now infecting nearly everyone, including the Ravenclaw prefects.
"So what did Weasel do?" asked Kyle, using Ginny Weasley's Quidditch nickname.
"Oh, she Floos home to a living room filled with smoke," Fred said, giggling uncontrollably. "Runs into the kitchen to see fire covering half of the stove. Everything's absolutely soaked from all the water spells, and Dad, Harry, Ron, and Mr. Dursley are running around the owls like chickens with their heads cut off, just screaming at each other."
"So Ginny just pulls out her wand," said Evan. "Flicks it once, and the fire goes out. And Harry turns to her, and her face is just... it's... it's purple...."
"I couldn't tell whether she's ready to start screaming or if she's just going to fall to the floor laughing," said Fred. "And Harry... he... he..."
Fred couldn't finish, he was leaning against the wall laughing, so Evan picked up his string. "He said, as calm as anything, 'Hey, Pumpkin...'"
"Pumpkin, even!" Selena screamed, leaning against Ayan for support.
"'Hey, Pumpkin. Dinner'll be ready in a few!'"
"Thenthenthen..." Fred stammered, his face turning purple itself, "Then the owl... the... the..."
"Oh, God, the owl!" Evan roared. "The owl... the owl lands on Harry's head... and... and..."
"No!" Ayan said. "No, it didn't!"
"Well, I told you," said Fred, "they were really freaked out..."
"And Ginny, she just keeps her composure through all of this," said Evan, trying to pull himself back to earth as the others were clutching their sides. "She just stares at Harry, at the... the... the stuff running down his forehead, and just walks out of the kitchen. Didn't say a word."
"Yeah, well, Lily heard her laughing fit to split in their bedroom a few minutes later."
"Oh, God," said Selena, wiping a tear from her eye. "Oh, I haven't..."
"So the moral of the story is that even The Chosen One can't make a decent batch of fish and chips," said Fred.
"You sure?" asked Evan. "I thought the moral was that even lightning scars can get bird poo on them."
"Well, either way," Fred shrugged. "End scene."
"Okay, I have a question," asked Rachel as the group calmed down. "She flew? We can fly? Why didn't anyone tell me we can fly?"
The Ravenclaws looked around at each other in confusion. "I don't follow," Kyle.
"Well, he said," she continued, pointing at Fred, "that she flew home to the living room."
"No, she Flooed home," Fred corrected. "It's like a... a... Evan, Muggle it up for me, would ya?" he said, poking Dursley in the ribs with his elbow.
"Like a teleporter," said Evan. "From Star Trek? Only its in a fireplace."
"Oh, so we can't fly?" asked Rachel.
"With broomsticks, yeah," said Selena. "But not many of us have learned to actually fly fly, you know?"
"Okay," Rachel said with a shrug. "Sorry, I'm still kinda new to this."
"You used to be normal, too?" said a voice from the back of the group. Everyone's heads turned to see Tom Roberts, who had remained silent throughout Fred and Evan's entire story. As he saw their eyes on him, he looked down quickly, staring at the floor.
"Normal?" asked Rachel. "Like, having, um... Evan, what did you call them? Muddles?"
"Muggles," said Evan.
"Yeah, my parents are both Muggles," said Rachel.
"I am, too," said Tom quietly.
"Well, um... Well, that's cool," said Rachel, bemused by Tom's behavior. The group continued to stare at him, although he remained silent. They were just about ready to turn back to the front when he blurted out:
"How did they know we're normal?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, when I put the hat on, everyone got real quiet," said Tom, his eyes boring into the stone floor. "They were all staring at me. They knew I wasn't... I wasn't one of them, you know?"
"T... Roberts, we weren't..." Kyle stammered.
"Look, you guys came to me, alright?" Tom said, more loudly than before. "I didn't ask to be here. I didn't ask to be a magician, or whatever. I was asked to come here, and everyone's treating me like I'm some freak. Hey, look, sorry my parents aren't magic!" he said, and his voice trembled in embarrassment. "Sorry I didn't know I was a... a whatever until three weeks ago. But if that means that I'm going to be treated like this, because I wasn't born into it..."
"It's not that!" said Sean Wedgwood, one of the prefects, as Bridget Niko, the other prefect, nodded vehemently. "Look, Tom, they weren't staring and muttering and stuff because you're a Muggle-born."
"Then why?" Tom said, practically yelling. "Why am I the one that got the creepy looks all through dinner?"
"It's your name, mate," Fred said, shrugging uncomfortably. "It's your name."
Tom stood stock-still. "My... My what?"
"Your name," said Bridget. "Tom, look..."
"What's wrong with Roberts?" Tom said. "Or Tom? They're both... They're both a whole hell of a lot more normal than... God, wasn't there someone named Lycoris out there?"
"Okay, I'll try to put it... okay," Bridget sighed. "I'm a Muggle-born, too, Tom, so you'll get this. Tom's kinda become a taboo name around the wizarding world in the last twenty years. Kind of like how there's no one in the world named 'Adolf', you know?"
"I... what?" Tom asked, looking more confused than ever.
"You'll learn more about it in History," said Sean. "There was a wizard about seventy years ago named Voldemort. Really evil guy, killed a lot of people, reign of terror, all that. About twenty years ago he was finally taken down for good..."
"By my uncle," Fred said. "That's how everyone knows who I'm talking about when I talk about my Uncle Harry."
"--And soon after that, Voldemort's history started to be made public," Sean continued. "Turned out he was a halfblood by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle."
"So after that it kinda became unpopular to name anyone Tom," said Bridget. "There have been a ton of Harrys, and Rons, and Hermiones in the last few years, because they were named after the ones who helped win the war. But the only kids you'd see with a name like Tom were the ones that were raised by the hardcore loonies, the ones who still worship a dead Voldemort, who still wanted to keep his plans going."
"And Muggleborns," said Selena as Tom Roberts's face fell. "Which sucks, I know, it sucks a lot."
"Yeah, it does suck!" Tom yelled. "My Mum and Dad named me after Tom Petty, some singer they grew up listening to! I wasn't named after Vitamin, or whoever the hell this guy is!"
"We know!" said Fred. "I mean... I mean, we know now..."
"And everyone else will know soon enough," said Bridget. "You'll be fine, Tom. It was just a shock for people to hear it."
"It also doesn't help that you kinda look like him," Sean admitted. "The hair..."
"But they'll get to know you and you'll be fine," Bridget said, giving Sean a cross look as they approached the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. Sean reached up and knocked with the giant eagle-head knocker. After a few moments, the bird spoke:
What does man love more than life?
Fear more than death or mortal strife?
What do the poor have, what the rich require,
And what contented men desire?
What does the miser spend, the spendthrift save,
And all men carry to their graves?
"They start easy," Sean said to the first years. "As the year gets going, the riddles get harder and harder."
"And they don't always require a specific answer," Bridget explained. "Sometimes a well-reasoned argument is all that's needed to enter."
"This isn't exactly the safest system, is it?" asked Rachel. "I mean, anyone can answer this question. It's nothing. The answer is nothing."
Well put, the eagle responded, and the door opened.
"They're not all easy," said Sean as he escorted the group inside. "And there's also a reason you're in Ravenclaw. The Sorting Hat thinks you have more brains than the other Houses. Don't take that lightly. Not everyone at Hogwarts could even answer that question, let alone some of what you'll be hearing come May and June."
"But that's still a ways down the road," said Bridget as the students got their first glimpse of the expansive blue-and-bronze common room, loaded with books and housing the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, diadem perched proudly on her head. "In the meantime, enjoy your new home. We'll bring you up to your rooms in, say, ten minutes? Fifteen?"
The first year Ravenclaws all agreed, spreading out to search their new confines. As the older students started to come in behind them a few minutes later, Fred noticed that Tom was still alone, standing uncomfortably in the middle of the room, looking around at everything and nothing. Fred poked Evan in the ribs and motioned him over to the boy.
"Look," said Fred as the two approached Roberts, "if it makes you feel any better, Voldemort didn't like his name, either. Didn't like to be associated with people that he didn't think were worth anything. That's why he changed it."
"So here's what we're going to do," said Evan with a big grin. "We're going to make it our job to come up with a decent nickname for you. What do you think?"
"Really?" Tom said, a hopeful, nervous smile crossing his face for the first time. "Would that work?"
"Sure, why not?" said Fred. "Couldn't hurt."
"And I promise," said Evan, slapping Tom on the back, "it'll make a lot more sense than Voldemort."
---------
"Come on in," said a cheerful voice from inside the low-ceilinged room. As it spoke, the dungeon door slammed behind the first year Slytherins. A few of them jumped both at the sound of the voice and at the booming echo of the doors.
"Everybody, come on in, have a seat!" the voice said from a couch near the Slytherin fireplace.
"Alan?" called Galatea Davis, the Slytherin prefect that had been put in charge of getting the new students to their common room. "What are you doing here? First years are supposed to arrive ahead of the others."
"Well, that's a shame, isn't it?" said Alan, a large, intimidating Slytherin with a bright smile that didn't reflect in his eyes. "I took the shortcuts. I thought you'd take them, too, Davis."
"Alan, we're not going to do this now," said Galatea.
"Says who?"
"In fact, I'd rather we not do this ever. I'm a prefect, and..."
"And whatever, whatever," said Alan with a wave of his hand before turning to the first years. "Something wrong with Davis, kids. She doesn't know all there is to know about this school, unlike some of us. Frankly, I'm surprised Professor Tonks chose her as a prefect in the first place. Not exactly the brightest, is she? Doesn't even know the shortcuts. Have a seat."
Alan motioned to the chairs and couch in front of him, and as he leaned back, his feet thrown up onto the coffee table, the students noticed two hulking figures pull themselves from the shadows and stand on either side of the intimidating boy.
"Runcorn, really..."
"Watch it, Davis," Alan said, his smile dropping for the first time as he stared down the prefect. "You wouldn't want to cross me, would you?"
Galatea opened her mouth, ready to retort, but the two behemoths behind Alan Runcorn crossed their arms menacingly enough to stifle any protest. With great trepidation, the first years found seats around the coffee table, all facing Alan.
"So you're... You're not a prefect?" asked Harry McManus.
"Naw," Alan Runcorn said, his smile returning. "Professor Tonks and me, we don't exactly see eye to eye. I suppose I'm more like a, um, a social chairman?"
"Yeah," said one of the big Slytherins as the other one chuckled. "The prefects are in charge on paper, but Alan, he's the one who handles all the comings and goings around here."
"So if Davis doesn't mind," said Runcorn with a cold look at Galatea, "I'd like to get to know you. Shouldn't take too long, then you can all go beddie-bye. Let's see here..." At this he picked up a piece of parchment from the table and read it. "First off, we have... Borgin? Two of them?"
"Yeah, that's us," said one of the two dark-haired boys, identical down to their pale skin and dark circles under their eyes.
"Which one's Maxen and which one's Vaughn?" asked Runcorn. "And how can I tell you two apart?"
"I'm Maxen," said one of the two. "And, no, you can't tell us apart, so don't even try."
"Wasn't planning to," Alan shrugged. "Borgin as in Borgin & Burkes' Borgin?"
"Yeah, that's right," said one of the boys, leaning back smugly. "Great-great grandpa started the place. Dad owns it now, Granddad bit it a few years back."
"We get a family discount," said the other boy. "It's great."
"Not that you'd need it," said Runcorn. "Family like yours has to be rolling in the Galleons."
"Dad is," said Vaughn or Maxen. "We don't get any more than a sniff until he snuffs out."
"Yeah, right," the other snorted. "You get the sniff. You're the oldest."
"Really?" Alan said with a raised eyebrow.
"He's older by five minutes," the boy said darkly.
"Better watch yourself, eh?" Alan said with a pointed smile to the other Borgin. "He knows where you sleep, doesn't he?"
The older boy spun his head sharply towards the younger, and the two exchanged a suspicious glare. Alan seemed to be ignoring it, however, as he continued. "And your Mum? What about her?"
"What about her?" said the younger. "She's one of Burkes' cousins."
"She's a witch, then?"
"Pureblood for generations," the older twin said with a satisfied nod. "Borgins wouldn't have it any other way."
"Beauty," said Alan, scribbling a few notes onto his parchment. As he did, more students entered the Slytherin common room. Some anxiously joined the Runcorn's group, while others looked at the meeting with resigned disgust before going on their way. "Well, Slytherin's always glad to have the Borgins on board. Now, who's next... Regina Byrne?"
"That's me," said a short girl, her red hair showing black roots. She was curled up on one of the lounge chairs and looked like she was ready to fall asleep.
"Not a name I'm familiar with," said Alan slowly. "Who's your father?"
"Richard Byrne," Regina said importantly.
"And...?"
"Richard Byrne," Regina repeated. "The anchor."
"A what?"
"An anchor,," Regina said slowly, as though speaking to a small child. "You do know what that is, don't you?"
"Ties down ships, doesn't it?" said one of the boys behind Runcorn.
"Good Lord, are you stupid?" Regina said with a roll of her eyes. "Daddy's a newsreader for BBC News. Prime time. Very prestigious. Very famous. I'm amazed you haven't heard of him."
"And Mummy?" Alan said dryly.
"Mummy sits at home, drinks her breakfast, and tells the help what to do," Regina said carelessly.
"So they're both Muggles?"
"God, there's that word again," Regina sighed. "Yes, if by Muggle you mean that they're not Harry Houdini and Sabrina the Teenage Witch, then, yeah, they're Muggles."
"Mmm hmm," Alan said through pursed lips. "I think now would be a good time to mention Slytherin policy," he said to the first years as he scribbled notes on the parchment. "House elves do much of the work around the common room, but they can't do everything. Every one of us does their share. We'll have job postings tomorrow, but Regina, I think you'll be in charge of cleaning the Quidditch team boots after practice."
"The what?" Regina said, sitting up.
"I should mention that the pitch can get quite sloppy, so you'll want to be careful of the mud."
"I'm not cleaning anything!"
"Everyone does their fair share," Alan said simply. "That's the way it's been for years."
"Funny," said one of the students who had entered after the first years. "It always seems like the halfbloods and the Muggle-borns get all of the work, while the Purebloods get to lounge around."
"Hey, we do work!" said one of Runcorn's security guards with a big grin.
"Yeah, we're in charge of waking up all the Slytherin brats what sleep in too late," said the other.
"We get to use water," said the first with a chuckle. "Fire if they're really lazy."
"Convenient, isn't it," said the pale-haired boy, "that if someone's asleep when you wake up, they're oversleeping."
"Last time I checked," Runcorn said sharply to the boy, "your opinion's not worth a goddamn thing, Blood Traitor."
"And what about mine?"
It was as though an alarm had gone off in the Slytherin common room. Students who had so eagerly joined the group in the middle of the room suddenly sped off in multiple directions: some towards the dormitories while others quickly tried joining groups of students who had been doing their best to avoid the scene. Even the two large Slytherins bracketing Runcorn took three wary steps backwards as Professor Andromeda Tonks entered the common room. Alan Runcorn alone seemed unintimidated by the Head's presence, despite the fury she was aiming directly at him.
"What's going on here?" Andromeda asked sharply, looking around the room at the students, who quickly found something else to look at.
"Hello, Professor," said Alan with his most winning smile. "I didn't expect to see you down here tonight. Usually the prefects handle the common room on the first night--"
"And you're not a prefect, Mr. Runcorn," said Professor Tonks. "So why do you have all of the first years in front of you when they should be in bed? And why do you have a piece of parchment--" At this she flicked her wand, and the parchment flew from Alan's hand into hers, "--listing every first year along with numerous vulgarities dealing with their blood purity?"
"Since when has Mudblood been a vulgarity in our house, Professor?"
"Twenty points from Slytherin, Mr. Runcorn," said Andromeda, her heavy eyelids widening in anger. "I want a meeting with the prefects and with Mr. Runcorn. Everyone else, off to bed. You have classes tomorrow and I don't want our House to become any more of a mockery than it already is with students napping over their studies. Mr. Malfoy, Miss Thurston, if you would escort the first years to their dormitories..."
"Yes, ma'am," said the pale-haired boy and a short brunette girl standing near him.
"Professor... Tonks, is it?" asked Regina as the first years stood and joined Malfoy and Thurston.
"That's right, dear," said Andromeda, trying her best to soften her expression.
"I don't really have to clean up after the... the whatever they're called, do I?"
"Only if you're foolish enough to find yourself in my detention, Miss Byrne," Andromeda said shortly. "Now off to bed with you all. Timetables will be available for you at breakfast."
Regina gave a snobbish sniff at the idea of ever reducing herself to cleaning mud, even as a punishment, and turned to follow Olivia Thurston with her fellow first years. It was a self-centered attitude that Andromeda had encountered far too often last year, her first year as a professor and Head of House, and it was that had always infuriated her in her time in Slytherin, both as a student and a teacher.
The fact that that holier-than-thou attitude was carried not just by the pureblood members of her House but also by the half-bloods and, as Miss Byrne just proved, the Muggle-borns, often caused Andromeda Tonks to wonder if she had made the right choice accepting Tiberius's invitation to return to Hogwarts.
"I think it would do some of the students good to have a blood traitor holding their future in her hands," Ogden had joked that day two years ago in Andromeda's kitchen.
Oh, if only I could believe that, she now thought helplessly as she turned back to the prefects. Alan Runcorn's face, its patronizing look, proved to her that she was doing anything but good.
"This House is falling apart," she now said.
"Of course it is," said Alan smugly. "Ever since the Sorting Hat decided it'd be a good idea to let Mudbloods into our House, it--"
"I've told you that I will not tolerate that kind of language in my House, Mr. Runcorn," Andromeda snapped. "This House can be better than what it has been..."
"It can be better," said Dave Piper, one of the seventh-year prefects, agreed. "We've been last in the House Cup for the last ten years. Nowhere to go but up, right?"
"I mean that it can be better than it has ever been," Andromeda corrected. "Better than that pureblood maniac Salazar Slytherin intended it to be. The segregation has gotten out of hand. The competition has gotten out of hand."
"Isn't that the point of having the different Houses, though?" asked Galatea. "The competition?"
"Within the House," said Andromeda. "We're divided against ourselves. Bickering. In-fighting. Half of the points that you lost last year, half of the detentions handed out, were caused by Slytherins doing horrible things to other Slytherins. We simply cannot allow this division to continue."
Alan jumped in. "As long as I have to share a House with scum like--"
"Mr. Runcorn, the reason you are in this meeting in the first place is because you have clout amongst the Purebloods," Andromeda said angrily. "This is despite my best intentions. You've been given more detentions than anyone else at Hogwarts combined, you've been lost more House Points than anyone else at Hogwarts, and you are a hairs-breadth away from being expelled. You're here right now because I'm asking you, I'm asking all of you," at this she turned to the prefects, "to be better students. To be better people, and better role models for your fellow Slytherins. If you don't..."
"What?" Alan said with an arched eyebrow. "What will happen? You can't expel me, Professor," he practically spat the last word at her feet. "My dad has friends on the Board of Governors. As for the House, what's going to happen? It can't be shut down. It can't be disbanded. School bylaws prohibit it. The worst thing that could happen is that a blood traitor professor gets sacked. Cry a fucking river."
"I'm sure we're all moved by your feelings of superiority, Mr. Runcorn," Andromeda sighed in frustration, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Now if you would just..." She trailed off as she looked around the students. She wanted to say more. Wanted to start saying things that would best be left in one-on-one conversation. Things that your average professor usually wouldn't say unless they were trying their best to lose their job.
Thankfully this isn't an average situation, she admitted to herself. You've spent the last year settling in. Now it's time to make your presence known.
Tiberius will understand.
"Albert Alcahest was a wonderful man," she said to the students, "and a wonderful teacher. Fair, understanding, compassionate, and forgiving to a fault. He was woefully ignorant of many of the goings on here in Slytherin, and he often wrote other incidents off as simple childhood pranks and House initiations. He defended all of his Slytherins to the other professors when they found themselves in detention. Even you, Alan."
"What a sweetheart," said Runcorn sarcastically.
"I might have led you to think that things weren't going to change when I began teaching last year," she continued. "It was my first year, after all, and I was trying hard to get my legs beneath me, the same as those students that you were harassing earlier. You might have thought that I'd let this House continue to slide into ruin.
"That belief ends tonight.
"Mr. Runcorn, you may be right. Your father may have friends on the Board. They do, after all, choose themselves, with very little influence from either the Headmaster or the Ministry. There may very well be Governors that still hold your outdated beliefs, and it might be enough to keep you from getting expelled."
"The woman sees sense," said Alan, leaning back with his hands behind his head.
"But being expelled is completely different than failing out of school," said Andromeda. "Mr. Runcorn, your grades have been woeful in your first four years. It's a miracle you haven't had to repeat a year yet. But just remember that this is your O.W.L. year. The classes are much harder, the tests are infinitely more difficult, and the Ministry-appointed examiners will not be under your father's influence.
"In the meantime," she said, barely suppressing a grin as the self-satisfied smile slipped from Alan Runcorn's face, "I can't expel you, but I can give you detention. Often. Every night, if that's what it takes."
"You wouldn't..."
"I would," said Andromeda, crossing her arms. "I have very little social life, Mr. Runcorn, and I can see to it that you don't have one, either. If not me, then Professor Longbottom, Professor Hagrid, Professor Forseti, or any of the professors would love to give you some extra work, I'm sure. Get on our bad side, and I can make your last year in this school a living hell."
For once, Alan Runcorn was struck silent, which gratified Andromeda to no end.
"This House will turn around," she said to the prefects. "You will make me proud, and you'll make Hogwarts proud to have you. Embrace the present, embrace the new world, or you'll wish you had been Sorted into Hufflepuff."
---------
"No internet?"
"No internet," said Harry Norley as he unpacked his trunk.
"What do you mean there's no internet?" Drystan Bunker exclaimed.
"What's an internet?" asked Aiden Towler.
"But... But... How am I supposed to check email?" Drystan sputtered. "Was I supposed to bring a mobile card?"
"What's a mobile card?" Towler asked, looking around the Hufflepuff dorm for answers.
"There's no internet here," Norley explained. "If you want to contact the outside, you use owls."
"Oh, Lord, Bunker," Gopal Singh sighed as Drystan pulled a laptop from his luggage. "You didn't seriously bring that with you?"
"Well, yeah?" said Drystan. "How was I supposed to know I wouldn't have access out here in the middle of nowhere?"
"It's not a question of access," said Gopal. "Just... Just don't turn that thing on, alright?"
"Why not?" Drystan asked, flipping it open on his lap. "I still have to write papers, and..."
"And you'll melt your motherboard the second you turn it on. There's too much magical energy in the air, it fries anything not properly insulated. No computers, no mobile phones--"
"No mobile phone?" Drystan cried, reaching into his pocket. "But my mobile's been on since-- Oh, no...."
"Are you a halfblood, then, too, Singh?" Norley asked as Drystan pulled out his phone and flipped it open. He groaned in dismay as the mobile's screen flashed random digits and colors.
"No, I'm a Muggleborn," said Gopal.
"This phone cost two hundred pound," said Drystan. "I can't--Augh!"
"Then how did you know all of that?" asked Norley, ignoring Drystan's cry as sparks flew from his opened battery case. "My dad's Muggleborn, so I know all of this stuff, but you--?"
"I asked," Singh shrugged. "New world, and all. When Professor Longbottom brought my letter I asked him as much as I could. Tough to talk myself into coming into a world without computers or television--"
"No television?" Drystan gasped, dropping his phone and scanning the dormitory walls, as though hoping to see a plasma screen looking back at him.
"--but I think I can survive."
"But how are we going to keep up with our programmes without internet or a telly? Phantom Patrol, Doctor
Who, Carbine?"
"We have a wireless," said Aiden, pointing to the radio in the corner. "That's kind of like a tillyvisor, isn't it?"
"Nnnnnn!" Drystan groaned, falling onto his bed. "Jimmy Porter premieres next week, and I'm going to miss it!"
"Owl your parents," said Norley. "Have them Tivo it for you. It's not the end of the world, and it'll give you something to do when we're off on holiday."
"God, it's like I'm in some third-world country," said Drystan.
"So your parents are wizards, too, Towler?" Gopal asked Aiden.
"Hufflepuffs as far back as we can remember," Aiden replied.
"So that's a yes?" Gopal chuckled.
"That whole conversation you guys just had?" said Aiden, pointing between Singh, Norley, and Bunker. "I didn't understand one bloody word of it."
"What about you?" Singh continued, turning to the fifth boy in the room, who lay on his bed with his cat lying on his stomach. "Your parents magical?"
"Him?" Norley said with a chuckle. "You're joking, right? I thought you said you asked Professor Longbottom a lot of questions."
"He's a Weasley, man," said Aiden in awe. "His mum and dad saved the world back in ninety-eight. Longbottom didn't tell you about them?"
"Why would he?" asked Singh in confusion. "I didn't ask the history of the world, or anything."
"Well, he was involved, too, that's why," said Aiden. "He led the Hogwarts Rebellion, and killed Voldemort's snake. But Potter, Weasley, and Granger... They were the ones that did most of the job. Potter has a few kids in Gryffindor right now--"
"Mum and Dad named me after him," said Harry Norley proudly.
"--but Hugo here, he's Weasley and Granger's only son."
Hugo Weasley abruptly sat up, his cat jumping to the floor. Muttering something about forgetting something in the somewhere, he quickly left the dormitory, cat following close behind.
"What was that all about?" Harry asked.
"Wager the bloke doesn't like being talked about like he's some historic figure," Drystan muttered, tapping the battery of his now dead phone. "Bloody hell. Two hundred quid paperweight."
"Not that it'd even weight much paper," said Gopal. "Not exactly heavy, is it?"
Hugo Weasley slumped down the Hufflepuff hallway as the voices of his fellow first-years faded behind him. The cooridor was warm and inviting, with a long plush carpet and smiling portaits hung between frosted globe lanterns. To both sides Hugo could hear muffled voices laughing and chatting away behind dormitory doors, Hogwarts students returning to their friends who they hadn't seen since the previous June.
The aura of the Hufflepuff common room, now empty, was no different than the hallway. Two fires crackled on opposite ends of the room. The stone walls of the castle were covered by numerous draperies and banners, and there were paintings of fruit bowls, cornoucopias, and good-natured witches and wizards everywhere. The couches and chairs were so soft that you could fall asleep the moment you touched them, and the rugs seemed like your bare feet would simply sink into them.
It was comforting. It was homey.
And as he plopped down onto one of the couches, resuming the position he had held on his bed minutes before, it was the last place that Hugo Weasley wanted to be.
As he lay in silent contemplation, the room quiet except for the crackling from the hearths, his grey cat, Sasha, jumped up onto his stomach. As the tabby, which was to be shared by him and his older sister, curled up, Hugo absently scratched behind her ear.
"Sorry, Sasha," he said quietly. "Looks like you'll be running back and forth between here and Gryffindor a lot in the next seven years. Hope you don't mind too much."
As the cat yawned, Hugo heard a voice quietly humming from the outside hall. The voice grew nearer and nearer until it sounded like it was in the common room with him.
Odd, he thought. I didn't hear a door open.
"What's this?" said the voice as the humming stopped. "Someone's still up? You should be off to bed, child! Classes are in the morning, you don't want to-- oh!"
Hugo looked up to see the face of the Fat Friar poking over the top of the couch. The smile that seemed to on the ghost's face throughout the Feast seemed to slip slightly at Hugo's morose look.
"Oh, it's you," said the Friar, nodding in understanding.
"Hello, Mr. Friar," Hugo said sadly. "Sorry, I know I should be in bed, but..."
"It's understandable, my good boy," said the Friar as he floated around to the front of the couch. "Well, I assumed I'd be talking to you eventually, anyway. There's at least one every year. Budge over, would you?"
Hugo, not really wishing to know what it would be like to be sat upon by a ghost, picked up Sasha and pushed himself up. With a gentle meow, the cat obliged, readjusting herself on Hugo's lap as the Fat Friar drifted down beside the boy on the couch.
"It's odd, really," said the Friar in a resigned tone. "None of the other ghosts have to comfort their students after the Sorting. Boys and girls are perfectly content finding themselves in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Even the Slytherins, the decent ones, rarely wish that they had been placed somewhere else."
"I'm sorry, sir," said Hugo. "I didn't mean to--"
"No, it's fine," said Friar, and Hugo felt a chill as the ghost attempted to pat his knee. "It's quite fine. There's just something about Hufflepuff, I suppose, that make students think that there's something wrong with them."
"It's not that, sir."
"I knew there was going to be a problem from the beginning," the Friar continued. "When Madam Hufflepuff announced that she would take everyone and teach them... Well, say what you will about that kind of thought, but when you tell a group of students 'You're not the bravest, you're not the smartest, you're not the most cunning,' you're going to create an inferiority complex. Unfortunately, loyalty is greatly undervalued in society."
"I guess... I guess I don't have a problem with Hufflepuff," Hugo admitted.
"I should hope not!" the Friar chuckled. "We've had plenty of great students live in this House through the years. Actors, athletes, Ministers of Magic... Why, we even had a Tri-Wizard Champion not thirty years ago!"
"I know," said Hugo. "My mum and dad told me about Cedric..."
The Fat Friar sobered up slightly at the memory of the previous Tournament. "Yes, I suppose they would have told you," he said with a nod. "But Mr. Diggory was brave, Mr. Diggory was smart, Mr. Diggory was cunning, and yet he was here in our House. We're far from the refuse of the magical world, believe me."
"I know," said Hugo, absently petting Sasha. "My parents' friends, Mr. and Mrs. Macmillan and Mrs. Dursley, they were all Hufflepuffs, and they're great."
"Dursley?" asked the Friar.
"Susan," Hugo explained. "I think she used to be... Bones, I think?"
"Susan Bones, yes!" the Friar laughed. "Yes, of course! That boy's her son?"
"Evan, yeah. She married Uncle Harry's cousin."
"Wonderful!" the Friar exclaimed, clapping his hands (and how his hands actually made a clapping noise, Hugo wasn't sure). "Good for her! Lovely girls, Susan and Hannah, just a couple of delights when they were in our House."
"But my sister's in Gryffindor," Hugo said sadly. "My whole family's in Gryffindor. They've always been in Gryffindor, as far back as anyone can remember."
"Now that's not true."
"I suppose you're right," said Hugo. "Fred got sorted into Ravenclaw. But, still, he has Evan with him, and my dad always wanted me to be in Gryffindor--"
"No, what I meant is that there were Weasleys in the other three Houses before you and your cousin."
Hugo blinked. "But... But no one ever..."
"Oh, yes, it's quite true," said the Fat Friar with a bright smile. "When wizards say that a family goes back 'as far as anyone can remember,' they never do think to ask the ghosts. Oh, yes, there have been Weasleys in all four Houses. Three or four generations worth of Slytherins back in the thirteenth century, if I recall, and quite a large contingent of Hufflepuffs around the Reformation. In fact, there was a Weasley in Hufflepuff with me when I was a student under Madam Hufflepuff herself. Went by the name Wessel back then, if I recall, but the name's evolved since."
"You were?" asked Hugo with a trace of awe in his voice. "You were taught by Helga Hufflepuff, I mean?"
"I was," said the Friar. "I wasn't born a friar, you know. The whole concept of friars and medicant orders didn't come around until maybe a hundred years after I died, actually."
"Then why are you called the Fat Friar?"
"Well, I guess because I lived a life of poverty and service before it became fashionable," the Friar said modestly. "They just didn't have a term for someone like me back then. Well, they did have a name for someone like me, but it's not anything to be said in polite company. After I died, and after St. Francis and St. Dominic got popular, students started calling me the Friar. I'll never understand why people keep calling me Fat, though." As he said this, the ghost patted his considerable belly with an ironic smile that Hugo couldn't help but return.
"There, that's what I was hoping to see," said the Friar. "Give us a chance, eh, Mr. Weasley? Your sister might not be here as much as you'd like, but you'll see her plenty. And, in the meantime, you'll make many more new friends. We're a good House, and we're proud to have you with us."
Hugo reluctantly nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I think I can handle this."
"Good," said the Friar, gliding to his feet. "And now I'm going to show you one of the perks of being a Hufflepuff. If I recall, you barely touched your dinner. You must be starving."
"Well, I'm a bit hungry, yeah," said Hugo, who had only eaten a few bites of the Feast.
"Watch this," said the Friar, floating towards the wall. Sticking his head through the stone, Hugo heard faint mumbling on the other side. A few moments later, with a loud crack, a small house elf stood before Hugo, holding a ham sandwich and chips on a gold platter.
"One of the wonderful aspects of being housed beside the kitchen," said the Friar gleefully. "Mr. Weasley, this is Kreacher, one of the many hard-working house elves of Hogwarts."
"Junior, Master Fat," the house elf squeaked as Hugo took the sandwich with a word of thanks. "Master Theodore met Kreacher when he was at Hogwarts, and called him Junior, so as to not confuse him with his father. Junior has taken the name as his own."
"Oh, I do apologize, Junior," said the Friar quickly. "Mr. Weasley, if you could stop him before--"
"Junior will not punish himself for correcting Master Fat," said Kreacher, Jr. "Junior is a free elf, and say whatever he wishes to say."
"Oh, yes, of course," said the Friar as Kreacher, Jr. turned to Hugo.
"Junior carries the memories of his father," the house elf said to the boy. "He remembers the words Mistress Hermione and Master Ronald said to him over the years, and will not forget them. Junior is honored to have their blood living so close to his home again."
At this, Kreacher, Jr., bowed deeply to Hugo, who was turning red. "Thanks... um... Thanks, Junior," he said.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Master Hugo."
"Thanks," said Hugo as he took a bite of the sandwich. "Wow. Extra mustard. Just the way I like it."
Junior smiled. "Just the way Master Harry liked it, as well."
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