Branching Out

You followed up with the Hufflepuffs during lunch in the Great Hall a week later. Or at least that was your initial intention, you found yourself pleasantly distracted during the encounter.

Your approach was positively Gryffindor as you simply walked over when you finished lunch and plopped yourself down on the bench in between Wayne Hopkins and Ernie Macmillan. This put you across from Justin Finch-Fletchley and Megan Jones. You figured that your pureblood housemates would have more trouble discerning which ‘Puff you were tutoring if you approached them all at once.

“Hello, Hufflepuffs,” you greeted all eight of the first year badgers then nodded to the muggleborn boy you’d sat yourself down across from. “What’s eatin’, Eton?”

“Erm, not much, Louie,” Justin replied, clearly surprised by your bold Gryffindor-worthy approach. “How’ve you been?”

“I think the notorious Captain Flint might actually be trying to kill us,” you confessed. “He seems to be of the mentality that if we don’t win the match against Ravenclaw then at least two of us are going to die trying. Bet you can’t guess which two!”

This earned you a light laugh, most notably from the girl sitting across from you.

You glanced down at the table, “Oh, hey, speaking of ‘eatin’ what’s with all the biscuits?”

There was a large, partially-eaten tray of Ginger Snaps in the middle of the eight Hufflepuffs.

“It’s my birthday, actually,” Hopkins informed you. “We were celebrating and Ginger Snaps are my favorite…”

“Well, Happy Fourteenth, Hopkins,” you exclaimed and gave the tanned, dark-haired half-blood a jovial slap on the back. Then you leaned a bit closer and ‘stage whispered’ so that everyone could hear. “Does that thing about ginger apply to girls too?” Your eyes briefly flitted over to the redhead sitting at the far end of the group.

“WHAT!? NO!” the flustered birthday boy sputtered, a bit too loudly if you were being honest.

“This explains why you seemed extra interested in Professor Sinistra’s lecture on Wednesday night,” you mused. Your first year Astronomy curriculum had a notable focus on identifying the astrological signs and the corresponding constellations. Every month Professor Sinistra would conduct a lesson on the latest star sign and the stars that composed it. However, the position of the sun and the constellations being hidden behind it during their assigned calendar time frame meant that locating the constellation was done about three months beforehand. The first monthly lecture back in September was on Libra but the first constellation you were assigned to locate was actually your star sign Capricorn. Draco had been the one to find it but much to his then and continued ire, he hadn’t earned any points for the deed. Professor Sinistra never gave points, she claimed it was so she could remain unbiased -- which made sense when you considered how the Heads of House tended to play favorites -- and she insisted that students should strive for success for their own benefit. It was why she was one of the two professors that you excluded from your game of House Point Bingo. The other one was ‘Professor’ Binns who you were positive didn’t even know any of your names.

“So you’re an Aquarius,” you noted, “I’m a Capricorn myself. My birthday was earlier this month.”

“We know, Louie,” Finch-Fletchley replied. You turned and stared at him in surprise. “We all saw Crabbe and Goyle carrying Bulstrode’s giant cauldron cake up to the castle. After last week, it’s no surprise that it was for you.”

“Wait a minute,” an unfamiliar voice piped up from Hopkins’ other side. “Isn’t LOUIE, Scrooge McDuck’s green nephew?”

You blinked in surprise and glanced around the birthday boy at the mousy brunette on his other side, Sally-Anne Perks - the other muggleborn first year. The girl was short, even shorter than Tracey Davis, but she had long brown hair that was braided into two rope-like strands that ran along the top of her head and were then woven together into a fairly intricate ponytail that hung down to the middle of her back. She also apparently watched DuckTales.

“Show no sign that you understood that reference,” you mentally instructed yourself as you schooled your face to match the neutral, somewhat confused expression of the two purebloods seated across the table on Justin’s right - Megan Jones and Zacharias Smith respectively.

“It’s more of a literary nickname,” the previously Eton-bound boy explained to his fellow muggleborn first year.

You noted that Perks’ comment caused the majority of the eight ‘Puffs’ gaze to dip down to your special green robes.

“Who’s this Scrooge McDuck fellow?” Ernie Macmillan, the third and final pureblood, inquired from your other side. Of the eight Hufflepuffs at the table, his family was the only one that still held onto ‘Sacred’ status as one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. You noted from your spot on the bench beside him that he was a little on the stout side but you couldn’t in good conscience hold that against him since both Crabbe and Goyle had at least two stone on him.

“He’s an extremely rich cartoon duck,” Perks supplied, then grinned and added, “Who’s Scottish.”

“That last bit was all you had to say,” Macmillan announced. “I approve.”

Wayne ‘the birthday boy’ Hopkins, who you learned last week had a habit of blurting out whatever he was thinking, wasn’t to be distracted though. “Alright, I suppose I’ll be the one to address the erumpent in the room…”

You smirked as the situation reversed and now it was the two muggleborns sharing confused looks and mouthing ‘What’s an erumpent?’ Considering the fact that the rest of the first year ‘Puffs were purebloods or half-bloods you figured it was a fairly common occurrence.

“Gaunt, what are you wearing?”

You grinned as you looked down at the green Quidditch uniform that you were wearing for the upcoming afternoon Quidditch practice. However, it wasn’t a Slytherin uniform. You currently wore the green robes of the Irish National Quidditch team.

“Darren O’Hare,” you proudly declared as you motioned to the name of the famous Irish Quidditch player emblazoned across your back in gold. “Keeper for the Kenmare Kestrals from 1947 to 1960 during the regular season. He also captained the Irish National Team during the 1952, ‘56, and 1960 Quidditch World Cup. That’s where this is from.”

“Alright,” Hannah Abbott responded, “And now as a follow-up question… WHY are you wearing a Darren O’Hare uniform? You’re not even Irish.”

You smiled at the pigtailed blonde seated at the far end of the group on Perks’ other side. The Abbotts were a ‘Sacred’ family back when the list of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood families was composed in 1930. But they were about as light side and pro-muggle as a family could go. Twenty years ago, when the Wizarding War of blood supremacy championed by your infamous Dark Lord of a relative was in full swing, Hannah’s father had caused quite a stir in the pureblood community by shunting his family’s ‘Sacred’ status and marrying a muggleborn witch.

“Now that is an excellent question,” you remarked, “But before I go into it, I have, of course, noticed that there are witches present. And while we do have Charms class together three times a week, it wouldn’t be good form to continue this conversation without properly introducing myself: Marvolo Gaunt, Potions Tutor Extraordinaire, at your service!”

You waved your arm in front of you with a flourish before bringing it to your stomach as you gave a short but showy neck bow.

The blonde girl rolled her eyes and shook her head. “And I thought Zach was full of himself.”

Ouch. No dice there.

“Oi!” The blonde boy, who proudly informed you last week that he could trace his family all the way back to Helga Hufflepuff, looked offended. He was a pureblood but Helga Hufflepuff never shared your ancestor’s stance on blood purity so while Smith could trace his family all the way back to the Welsh witch who founded Hufflepuff House, there was so much other blood mixed into that family line that, when the list was composed, the Smiths had never even been considered for ‘Sacred’ status.

“No worries, Smith,” you reassured the blonde boy with a practiced ease that came from spending so much time around Draco Malfoy. “You’re only full of yourself if you can’t back it up. You didn’t stick around, but I believe I proved that my marks in Potions speak for themselves.”

Your Hufflepuff ‘student’ nodded in agreement and vouched for your credentials, “Gaunt showed last week that he really does know his stuff. He’s a bit dramatic but he’s not that bad.”

Dramatic? You’d show him dramatic!

“Ah, ‘not that bad’!” you cried out with a stricken and overly dramatic sigh, “The status that every overachieving Slytherin strives for!”

This earned you a handful of smirks and another giggle from the dark-haired, dark-eyed, and dark-skinned witch seated across from you, and in between Smith and Finch-Fletchley. Ah-ha, what’s this a receptive audience? This you could work with.

“Right, so, back to the explanation of my Irish outfit,” you resolved, “You see, Captain Flint is of the mentality that, as reserve players on the Slytherin Quidditch team, Draco Malfoy and I need to earn our team uniforms. And we were fine with that last year when we only attended one practice a week. But now we’re in the middle of a cold Scottish winter and he’s got us coming to every practice. Wearing our winter cloaks five practices a week was really starting to hamper our movements so Draco decided in his typical fashion that we’d solve the problem by throwing some galleons at it. Earlier this week, we owl-ordered our own gear from Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley. As Slytherins, we felt obligated to wear green and figured that we should also get outfits from the same team.”

Actually, that wasn’t completely true. You hadn’t felt obligated to wear green. Although, that WAS the story you told Lysandra Yaxley when she got on your case about it. You and Draco realised that it simply wasn’t safe to wear the red and white robes of the English National Team. Not when you were playing with seven bigger, older, and stronger Slytherin players who might intentionally mistake the two of you for Gryffindors and spend all your practices using you and Draco as moving red targets. Flint was already like a raging bull, if you two turned up to practice with your red robes waving behind you, you’d likely have A HERD of angry bulls charging at you.

You also entertained the idea of wearing robes for a League team. But it turned out Draco was a Puddlemere United fan. It made sense. His family was extremely traditional and Puddlemere was founded in 1163, making them the oldest team in the British and Irish Quidditch League. But you couldn’t bring yourself to betray the Tornados by wearing Puddlemere’s signature muddy puddle brown. And while you would have personally loved to wear a light blue Blythe Parkin Tutshill Tornados uniform, the fact that the Slytherin team was training to play Ravenclaw, who not only wore blue but were also captained by a Parkin, made that idea seem somehow even more dangerous than coming to practice in Gryffindor colors.

“So we ultimately decided on Ireland,” you concluded, “I’ve got a vintage Darren O’Hare outfit and Draco has a more modern Aidan Lynch. We even had them add Warming Charms so now we’re not freezing our faux-Irish arses off out there.”

“What about Wales then?” The girl across from you inquired. You knew that the Joneses were a fairly prominent Welsh Wizard family but had never reached ‘Sacred’ pureblood status. “The Holyhead Harpies wear dark green but I guess you and your fellow snake reserve weren’t brave enough to wear the robes of the League’s all-witch team. But Wales plays in white with Welsh Green dragons on them. Figured your friend Draco would go for that. Plus, you would at least still be supporting a British team.”

Hmm… what’s this? A girl who knew Quidditch? You decided to bait her and see if her knowledge went beyond simple uniform aesthetics.

“We didn’t forget,” you replied, “We actually debated between Wales and Ireland for a bit. Draco was naturally tempted to go with the dragon team… but he’s big a Puddlemere United fan and while Aidan Lynch may be Irish, he plays Seeker for Puddlemere during the regular season.” You paused and then proceeded to toss a light barb at the pretty Welsh witch and see what she came back with. “My decision was based more on the fact that Ireland is a more solid green and, unlike Wales, they actually stand a chance of winning the next World Cup.”

Yup, that Gaunt-let had just been thrown. Your loaded comment had gotten a reaction out of Jones and, since she was across from you, you were close enough to see a spark ignite in her dark eyes and a small smirk spread across her face. You smiled when you noticed a cute dimple on her cheek.

But it also got a reaction out of Smith, “How dare you! Get him, Jones!”

Hmm… Smith was letting the lady fight the battle… this was interesting. He had a fairly vicious smirk which was your first warning that you might’ve stepped in something.

You ignored that warning.

“You seriously think Ireland has a better shot than Wales?” dark-skinned witch challenged you. “They’ve got one of the strongest Beaters out there.”

“Yeah, and that’s just the problem: ONE,” you pointed out. “One from Holyhead and the other from Caerphilly. Ireland’s bringing Connolly back as captain again and he’s likely to bring along his fellow Irish Beater from the Ballycastle Bats, Finbar Quigley. Those two developed a really strong chemistry this season and that’s essential for a proper TEAM of Beaters. They’ll be way stronger together than the thrown together pairing that Wales has.”

Megan Jones’ smirk shifted into a full smile and she let out a light laugh. “I’ll be sure to tell my cousin Gwen you said that.”

Your expression froze as it suddenly struck. Jones. Wales. Quidditch. Gwen. Gwenog Jones. The Welsh witch attended Hogwarts from 1981 to 1988. She played Beater for her house team and upon graduating joined the all-female Welsh Quidditch team - the Holyhead Harpies. She also wore the aforementioned white, dragon emblazoned robes when she played Beater for Wales in the most recent 1992 Quidditch World Cup. She was strong and tough as nails and had already developed a reputation for being brash and outspoken.

Smith and most of the other Hufflepuffs burst out laughing at seeing your stricken expression.

Gwenog Jones was not someone you wanted to mess with. But her cousin WAS because she flashed you that cute grin again and taunted you, “Going to take back what you said now?”

You pondered that for a couple seconds and tried to gauge her reaction. You were reasonably sure she hadn’t actually been offended and was just having you on. You also highly doubted that a professional Quidditch player like Gwenog Jones would be so thin-skinned that she’d come after a first year Hogwarts student for making a snarky comment.

“Nope.” You decided to double down and call her bluff and grinned back. “In fact, I’d welcome that. Because if your cousin Gwen is so sensitive that she takes offense to the opinion of a first year Slytherin, then it’s no wonder Wales didn’t even qualify for the final sixteen during the last World Cup. There she had everyone outside of the UK rooting against her.” You gave a casual shrug. “Worse case scenario, she comes here and kicks my ass and then, when I wake up in the Hospital Wing, I’ll brag to everyone that I got my ass kicked by Gwenog Jones.“ You leaned over and nudged Wayne Hopkins. “Hopefully, she doesn’t bring her bat.”

This earned you the laugh, as well as the smile you were hoping to evoke from the Jones girl.

“I’m hoping she does bring the bat,” Smith quickly insisted. “You deserve a good clobbering for picking Ireland over Wales. Gwenog could pound in those loose screws.”

“Erm… Zach, screws get twisted in,” Finch-Fletchley corrected, “Nails get pounded in.”

“Gwen’s strong enough to pound a screw in,” Jones assured him, “Justin, here’s the thing you and everyone else–” you received a very pointed look when she said ‘everyone else’ “--need to know about Welsh dragons… it’s the females that are more vicious!”

Wow! You were starting to like this girl! You glanced around and saw that, since your comment was stated as Ireland over Wales, the other Hufflepuffs were content to allow the Welsh witch and wizard to defend their homeland. But you had another prepared spell that was sure to draw a few more of them into the verbal duel.

“And now here’s the part where I alienate the rest of you,” you announced. “It’s not just Wales. I actually think that Ireland has the strongest team in the UK right now.”

“Gaunt, WHY!?” Almost as expected, Wayne Hopkins was the first to blurt out his response. “I was just starting to respect you!”

“I can see why you weren’t sorted into Hufflepuff,” the English Abbott added.

“Even I know you shouldn’t have said that,” Perks remarked.

“Gaunt, you may know your Potions but you don’t know rot about Quidditch,” Macmillan snapped.

Jones actually laughed, “Wow, it takes some kind of nerve for a lone snake to slither into a hole filled with honey badgers and hiss something like that.”

Justin shook his head, “There’s a famous quote attributed to the French writer Voltaire that goes ‘I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the **** your right to say it.’” He looked over at the others, “Louie wouldn’t have thrown out a loaded comment like that without a reason. So let’s hear it.”

“Look, it’s not a statement that I made lightly,” you explained. “I’ve done my research. But it’s my head versus my heart. I want to root for England. I really do. And I’ll cheer as loud as anyone any time they win. Probably even louder if they actually end up bringing in my favorite Seeker.”

You saw Jones’ dark eyes narrow at that bit.

“But other than her,” you continued, “I read that England’s going forward with the same unsuccessful team that they used two years ago. They’ve got the same Beater problem as Wales. Two Beaters from two different teams. And that same problem carries over to the starting Chaser line… you’ve got Avery Hawksworth from the Magpies returning as captain. And while he normally plays for a Scottish team, he’s an English wizard who’s once again leading the League in goals. Naturally, England’s going to have him on their World Cup team. But his partners from the Magpies that helped him score all those goals aren’t coming with him. Instead, they’ve paired him with Edric Vosper from Puddlemere and Keaton Flitney from the Falcons. Those two are strong Chasers in their own right but they’re not going to be as effective when they’re not with their normal partners. Meanwhile, Ireland’s bringing in Troy, Mullet, AND Moran from the Kenmare Kestrals as their Chaser line. Those three together are a scoring MACHINE. It will take the absolute best Keepers in the world to keep up with them.”

“It’s the World Cup,” Hopkins cut in, “That’s exactly who they’re going up against!”

“My point still stands, though,” you insisted then motioned to the girl across from you. “Jones’ cousin Gwen could be one of the best Beaters in the entire world but even she’s no match for a properly assembled TEAM. England’s population is more than ten times as big as Ireland’s and they’ve got more than twice as many English teams that the managers feel obligated to represent by bringing in someone from all of them. So they’re always going to have a problem, not just whittling down that large of a talent pool but also pairing together seven starters that’ll be able to match the explosive chemistry of a much more close knit Irish team where most of them play with each other during the regular season.”

“I’m still trying to figure out Quidditch,” Finch-Fletchley admitted, “You sound sure of yourself and you phrased it in a way that makes sense… but I just know that someone is bound to tell me at great length why you’re dead wrong.”

Zacharias Smith opened his mouth to do just that but paused to think of something that Jones hadn’t already said about the Welsh team. As a result, Ernie Macmillan, who had clearly been chomping at the bit to defend his own team, beat him to it.

“Of course he is! And I’m starting to get offended that he hasn’t considered Scotland. They proved they’re a strong team. They made it to the World Cup FINALS two years ago!”

You reached out and gave the Scottish wizard a soft pat on the shoulder to go with the sad, only slightly condescending, shake of your head. “That match went on for five days and they still lost. A grand stage, world-scale defeat of that magnitude takes its toll on morale. I’m sorry, but I don’t think old man Ethan Parkin has it in him anymore. Scotland has even less chance than Wales.”

Smith scowled.

“Caerphilly?” you asked the stewing Welsh wizard.

His nervous glance toward Jones was all the answer you needed. As she mentioned earlier, the Holyhead Harpies were the British and Irish Quidditch League’s only all-witch Quidditch team. And there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. But, if you were a young Welsh wizard with a fantasy of someday playing for a Welsh Quidditch team, then that meant your only option was the Caerphilly Catapults.

“Let me guess,” you mused with a slow shake of your head, “I’m not the first one Jones has threatened to sic her cousin Gwen on?”

A short, curt nod. “Better you than me.” Amusingly, Draco Malfoy had once said that to you too.

“Speaking of,” Megan Jones spoke up. “I’ll tell you where you went wrong, Gaunt. You’re thinking with your head and not your heart.”

You blinked in surprise upon realising that she had reversed one of your earlier statements. “How is that a bad thing?”

“It’s not,” Jones replied, then she pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “But that kind of analytical thinking will fly better at the ‘Claw table or with your like-minded Slytherins. But we do things differently here in Hufflepuff.” She smiled at you and folded her arms on the table in front of her. “Come on, Gaunt, haven’t you ever rooted for an underdog? Bet on the sentimental favorite? Because Hufflepuffs are always the sentimental underdogs.” She gave you a quick nod and her eyes dipped down to eye your Irish uniform. “You made some good points. And on paper, yeah, maybe Ireland does look like the strongest team. But Quidditch is about more than that and there are a bunch of things that you didn’t account for. Anything can happen in a Quidditch match. Sometimes it just comes down to a bad match up. Aidan Lynch is a good Seeker but what happens when he goes up against one of the best Seekers in the world and they get the Snitch before your Chaser line can run up the score? And then there’s the Snitch itself. That little ball is the ultimate wildcard. It doesn’t matter how good one Seeker is if it flies up the other Seeker’s sleeve as soon as it’s released.”

You smiled at the reference to one of the most famous/infamous moments in the history of the Tutshill Tornados. It was frequently referenced by the commentators in the Tornados matches you listened to on the Wireless. Back in a 1927 match against the Caerphilly Catapults, Seeker Roderick Plumpton set the record for the fastest Snitch catch in history at three and a half seconds. The Golden Snitch went right up his sleeve as soon as it was released. The moment was controversial as most people - especially the Welsh Catapult fans - claimed the quick catch was a complete accident but Plumpton swore until his dying day, a full sixty years later, that he did it on purpose. A Seeker scooping the Snitch up their sleeve was named the Plumpton Pass in honor of the iconic moment.

The Welsh witch gave you another smirk before she continued, “And then there’s the Beaters. Your Irish Chaser dynamic won’t count for much if one of them’s lying on the pitch **** after a Bludger shot puts them on the grass. Gwen’s done that dozens of times. And don’t forget that every player on the pitch has a wand. There are over SEVEN HUNDRED Quidditch fouls and while you Slytherins are known for your rough style of play and commit the most fouls out of the four Hogwarts teams, you’re really only scratching the surface. Most of the fouls were created because of players casting spells on each other. That kind of barmy stuff doesn’t usually happen in League matches. It’s when tensions are running EXTRA high and on a GLOBAL level during the WORLD Cup! The point is… the match isn’t over until the Snitch is caught!“

You stared at Megan Jones in shock. It wasn’t often that someone took your own words and rammed them down your throat. You actually ADMIRED the girl for the feat. And as you stared at her in slack jawed shock, this time you were actually looking at her. The other three Hufflepuff girls had their hair braided or tied in some way but Megan’s dark hair was loose and instead seemed to float around her head in frizzy, kinky waves. You idly wondered if the texture would feel wooly if you ran your hand through it. If you were to try and pinpoint an exact shade for her dark complexion you’d say it was a cup of coffee with a modest splash of cream mixed in.

Not that you drank coffee very often. You were a proper British boy - where beverages were concerned - and always selected tea over coffee when given the option. In fact, the wonderful Hogwarts House Elves seemed to have finally cottoned on to your general dislike of pulpy pumpkin juice and you could now count on a warm pot of flavored tea appearing on the table within arms reach of you during meals.

Your attention went back to Megan. It was likely only your imagination but the Hufflepuff girl almost looked like she was glowing and you could’ve sworn you felt your heartbeat pick up. Because you suddenly realised you were looking at a pretty, age-appropriate girl, with a cute smile who could not only hold her own in a Quidditch discussion but had just handed you your Irish-clad arse.

It was Wayne’s birthday! Not YOURS!

Justin waved his hand in front of your face to bring you out of your daze. “Not so funny when it happens to you, is it?”

“That certainly shut him up,” Abbott commented from down on the other end.

“I’ll admit… I am genuinely impressed,” you confessed as you smiled at Megan and gave her a respectful neck bow.

Jones smiled back but then her smile turned into another cute dimpled smirk that once again promised trouble for you, “But wait, I’m not done! Because I think I finally figured out our new faux-Irish friend. His favorite Seeker is a woman that’s rumored to be playing for England… he casually dismissed the legendary Ethan Parkin… and he smiled at the mention of the Lucky Scoop --” That was what the sour Welsh fans called the Plumpton Pass “--Ernie you’re gonna love this… because Marvolo Gaunt, Slytherin Reserve Keeper, and part-time Irish praiser… also moonlights AS A TORNADOS FAN!”

Macmillan turned and stared at you with a horrified expression. “Don’t tell me… you actually SUPPORT the Great Scottish Betrayer!?”

Wow. It seemed like the Hufflepuffs actually did appreciate your flair for the dramatic. It was clear that Ernie Macmillan was a proud Scottish Patriot and if you had to guess, based on how eagerly Jones threw you under the Knight Bus, he was most likely a Wigtown Wanderers fan.

You folded your arms across your chest and gave a casual shrug. “Guilty. But for your information, Jones, there’s no moonlighting about it. I’m a FULL-TIME Tornados Fan. And yes, there’s a Blythe Parkin poster on the wall next to my bed and I will admit without a single knut’s worth of shame that I’m hoping she’ll get the nod to play Seeker for England.”

Macmillan shook his head, “I can’t believe you’re sitting next to me.”

But… he didn’t tell you to leave. Neither did Jones. Or Smith. Or the two muggleborns. None of them did. Not even the silent redhead. As many barbs that had been thrown back and forth about Quidditch teams… it all boiled down to just that: sports talk. One fan’s opinion versus another’s. The only people who actually took that kind of talk personally and really got offended by it were over-sensitive morons.

You wanted to learn a bit more about the girl who turned your Irish head versus heart approach to the Quidditch World Cup on its arse. Her cousin was a professional Quidditch player so you wondered how good of a flier she was.

“So, stepping away from professional Quidditch players and famous relatives,” you segued, “How was your Flying Lesson with the Ravenclaws? I bet it was less dramatic than the one we had with the Gryffindors. I’m curious to hear how you did, Jones?”

“Oh, I did alright,” she said. The self-assured confidence from when she was tearing your Irish argument apart was gone. And you didn’t like that one bit.

Thankfully, Perks piped up. “Alright? She was the best in our class! I was a nervous wreck to fly for the first time. But Megan hovered beside me and spent the lesson giving me tips.”

You remembered doing something similar and hovering by a nervous Millicent during your lesson. That was another point in Jones’ favor.

“Come on, Jones,” you goaded the girl, “Slytherins don’t appreciate or even fully understand concepts like humility or modesty. We proudly flaunt our achievements in other people’s faces.”

“Figured that one out as soon as you sat down,” Abbott sniped. You got the distinct impression that she didn’t like you. Or perhaps she was taking swipes at you on behalf of the silent redhead sitting across from her.

“I’ll admit… she was even better than I was,” Zacharias Smith confessed, which was extremely high praise coming from someone who you often equated with Draco Malfoy. “After me, Corner from Ravenclaw was the only one who came close.”

“Zach, Madam Hooch said you’ve been gripping your broom wrong for years,” Hopkins heckled him. You watched the blonde boy flinch at the jibe. Apparently, being boastful wasn’t so well-received by the humble House of Hufflepuff. But you saw that he was actually trying to be supportive.

“It’s alright,” you reassured the blonde pureblood, “I think she told Draco Malfoy the same thing. Didn’t stop him from making Reserve Seeker. Maybe you were doing it the same way? Is there any chance that you were both instructed by the same person?”

The blonde boy blinked and shook his head, “Not likely… I was taught by my father so…”

“Then maybe he and Draco’s father were taught by the same person?” you suggested. “Might be something worth looking into.” You shrugged then turned your attention back to Megan Jones. “So yeah… your friends seem to agree that you’re a fair flier. Have you ever thought of trying out for your house team?”

The rest of the Hufflepuffs got notably quiet. Did you step in something again?

Every devoted Quidditch fan has that deep seeded wish that they could play Quidditch too. Not everyone could. But it sounded like Megan Jones had some talent. And she was clearly passionate about the sport. As an ambitious Slytherin, you hated to see talent or potential squandered and saw it as your mission to rectify that problem immediately.

“I mean, I’m fair, like you said,” Jones insisted. “Gwen was way better. Everyone said she was a natural.”

There it was. The unrealistic expectations of being compared to her famous cousin who was a professional Quidditch player.

“Okay, then that just means you’ll have to work at it,” you reasoned. “I heard the current star of your House Quidditch team was pants at flying in her first year. But she put in the effort and worked at it to get to the point she’s at now.” You pointed at her yellow and black Hufflepuff tie. “Something tells me you’re more than capable of doing the same thing. Applebee said herself that’s what being a Hufflepuff is all about.”

She blinked rapidly and could tell that some of what you said had struck a chord. But you weren’t done and decided to strike at the root of the problem.

“Is that ever a problem, though?” you inquired. “Having a famous Quidditch player for a cousin? Do you ever feel obligated to cheer for the Harpies?”

“Obligated?” Jones repeated. “No. We’re proud of her. It’s a little annoying being compared to her sometimes. But she’s family. And you support your family.”

You winced and reached up to rub the back of your neck, “Er… maybe it depends on the family.” You cast a wary glance at the eighth and final first year Hufflepuff. The only one who hadn’t said anything during the whole interaction… because she had been silently staring at you - and very clearly judging you - since you sat down.

Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t the two muggleborns that kept you from approaching and socialising with the first year Hufflepuffs. It was her.

Susan Bones. The red-headed half-blood. Much like the Abbotts and the Potters, the Bones Family was about as light-sided and pro-muggle as a family could get. They never cared about blood purity and as a result were never even considered for the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Unfortunately, that was to their detriment because it made them a target during the war. Much like Harry Potter, Susan Bones was a war orphan. And also like Harry Potter, she was a war orphan because the Dark Lord, YOUR infamous relative, had taken a personal hand in murdering her grand parents, parents, and most of her immediate family. Amelia Bones, Susan’s aunt, was one of her only surviving relatives. She was also the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And that meant she was one of the few people in the Ministry who knew the true identity of the Dark Lord… and that you were related to him. There was no telling how much the Head of the DMLE had told her niece about your family history but the unnerving stare that Bones was giving you told you that she knew something.

What were you supposed to do? Apologise? For some reason “I’m sorry my relative murdered most of yours” didn’t seem like it was enough. You had no earthly idea how to broach the subject. You tried your best to assure Harry Potter that you weren’t like your family back on the Hogwarts Express but any positive headway you might’ve gained was negated when you were sorted into Slytherin. The battle with the troll on Halloween and your Yuletide adventure with the Mirror of Erised had tempered some of the damage but it wasn’t like there were any MORE monsters or dangerous magical artefacts roaming around for you to prove yourself to ANOTHER student who your relative had orphaned.

You awkwardly bit your lip as you realised you’d been staring at Bones for way too long. You had to say something. “My relatives consist of vile prejudiced inbred near squibs, demented murderers, and criminal **** Eaters. They’re not the sort of people that a person with anything resembling a conscience or soul would support.”

That was all you could do. Assure the girl that you weren’t like your family. And maybe, if you said it enough times, she’d eventually believe you.

The atmosphere was now awkward and tense. There was a heavy weight hanging over the area. You knew that if you didn’t do something to rectify the situation and deflate some of the tension then you’d likely never be able to sit comfortably with the Hufflepuffs again.

Surprisingly, it was the muggleborn Sally-Anne Perks who threw you a lifeline.

“I wasn’t expecting to hear that from you,” the small brown-haired girl admitted. “They called you the Prince of the…”

“...Prejudiced Purebloods?” you finished for her as tilted your head back toward Ernie Macmillan who called you that very thing at the start of last week’s tutoring session. “So I’ve heard. But that stance, those breeding practices, the way they treated people in general… it was wrong and it needs to change. I count my lucky stars that I’m even here at all.”

You looked over at Ernie but watched out of the corner of your eye as the girl across from you sat up a little bit straighter at the sudden intense and personal turn of the conversation, “You want to know why I support the ‘Great Scottish Betrayer’ as you call her? My family doesn’t have any good role models. So I had to look elsewhere. Obviously, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the Parkins. But to someone like me, Blythe represents being brave enough to step out of the shadow of your family, to forge a new destiny for yourself, and create your own legacy. That’s what I need to do.”

“Damn, Gaunt,” Macmillan remarked as he gave you a hard slap on the back. “There’s no shame in that. If she means that much to you, then I suppose I can’t hold being a Blythe Parkin fan against you.”

“Now that is a proper heartfelt approach to Quidditch,” Jones informed you with an approving smile.

“You’re a January Capricorn, Gaunt,” Wayne the Aquarius pointed out. “Didn’t Professor Sinistra say in our last Astronomy class back in December that Capricorns are high achievers, interested in new beginnings and fresh starts? Guess she was right.”

“The Tutshill Tornados are based in Gloucestershire,” Smith supplied, “That’s right on the Welsh border. We’ll give you a pass.” Apparently, you’d earned his grudging support too. He paused for a moment then asked curiously, “You’re not actually from there though, are you?”

“Yeah, Gaunt, where have you been all my life?” Jones teased you. That sounded like a line. And it seemed like she wanted to know more about you as well. That cute teasing grin of hers was back and she was idly running her dark fingers through her thick hair. Was she flirting with you? Hm… you’d need to test that…

“I’m way up in the northeast,” you answered. “I’ve been secluded away in a dreary little village in Yorkshire called Little Hangleton. However… I used to listen to the Wizard Wireless in a flat in Eversham… which is a little market town in Worcester. It was close enough to pick up Tornados matches. Blythe Parkin came blowing in and turned my life upside down.”

And like that, you switched the conversation back to the lighter and safer subject of Quidditch. The lingering tension had been successfully dispelled.

Under the table, you slowly extended your leg and gave Megan’s foot a light nudge with yours, then immediately followed up with a verbal nudge. “And, Jones, I think you should take a page out of Parkin’s book too.”

“It better not be the one about playing for another country’s national team!” Smith warned.

“No,” you said before focusing your attention on the girl across from you. “But if you’re worried about always being compared to your cousin… then do something different. Maybe you won’t ever be as good a Beater as Gwenog Jones… but if you’re willing to put in the effort… you could be a better Chaser… or even a better Keeper.”

She smiled again. Actually, she had a resting smile. You felt her foot shift against yours under the table and she gave you a quick nudge back. “Not a better Seeker?”

“I mean, I’m sure you could if you really wanted to.” You left your foot partially pressed against hers as you leaned closer and gave her a soft grin, “But then we couldn’t play each other…”

Her smile grew as she folded her arms on the table in front of her and leaned toward you. “Be careful what you wish for, Gaunt.”

Oh yes, test positive. You had a live one on the line.

“Wait… what just happened?” Wayne wondered as he and the other Hufflepuffs caught the sudden shift.

“He went from talking Quidditch to blatantly flirting with Megan,” Abbott called you out.

Well, shit. That was annoying. Abbott definitely didn’t like you. But you decided to own it.

“Actually, Abbott, I’m doing both,” you countered with a shameless wink at Jones which earned you a small giggle and told you that your ‘blatant flirting’ was having an effect. “Because I’ll have you know, I am multi-talented. I’m also magically bilingual which I like to think helped make me a wonderful conversationalist.”

There was a gasp from the two half-blood girls down at the end.

Perks stared at them and then looked back, “What does ‘magically bilingual’ mean?”

“I’m a Parselmouth,” you explained to the muggleborn girl, “Which means I can speak the language Parseltongue…” you paused for a beat. “I can talk to snakes.”

“Oh,” the mousy brunette gasped with an awed surprise that came from someone who didn’t recognise the negative connotation associated with the language. “What’s that like?”

“Snakes are very vain creatures,” you informed her, “They love compliments. And if you want something from them then you’ve got to make it worth their while. I guess you could say I’ve been flirting since I first hissed at a snake when I was seven years old.”

“If that’s so, then why aren’t you better at it?” Megan teased you with that cute grin.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you returned with a coy smile as you propped your arm on your elbow and casually tilted your head to the side to rest your cheek on your hand. “I think I’m doing just fine.”

She laughed then shook her head which caused her loose dark tresses to flutter like a shrub in a breeze. “Gaunt, I’m not a snake and you’re not as charming as you think you are.”

“Ah-ha!” you quickly countered, “But that statement implies that you do still find me at least a little bit charming.” You shifted back a bit and gave an encouraging smile, “But do us all a favor, and at least try out for the team, yeah? The worst that can happen is that you won’t make the starting lineup… but if you’re half the flier your friends say you are then you could still make the team as a reserve. All the Hufflepuff starters are in fifth year or higher. I don’t know how many reserves they already have but, sooner rather than later, they’re going to need replacements. Take it from me, being a reserve isn’t that bad. It’s honestly the best way to improve and get better. And the best part is, the team will see you doing it. You show up, put in the work, and then make the most of the opportunity when your chance finally arrives. The only way you have absolutely no chance is if you don’t try out at all.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll try out,” she conceded with a smile and another pretty laugh.

This earned a chorus of cheers from the other Hufflepuff first years. Even Bones. Perhaps convincing Megan to try out for the Quidditch team was a regular thing that you pushed her over the edge on?

“Yes!” you cheered along and drummed your hands on the table in front of you then turned and called past Hopkins. “Perks!”

“Eep!” the mousy muggleborn girl squeaked at being directly addressed, “Yes?”

“You heard her,” you said, “She agreed to try out. I’m putting you in charge of ensuring that this Welsh witch won’t welch.”

“Wow,” Justin whispered. You knew from last week that he was fairly well-read so you hoped his whisper was on account of your wonderfully witty wordplay.

The brown-haired muggleborn girl blinked in surprise then smiled and actually saluted you, “Yes, sir, Louie Duck, sir, I’ll badger her into it!”

Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t fight the small smile that spread across your face at the Hufflepuff badger pun.

“What’s this snake doing over here in the badger’s lair?”

Your smile fell as you turned and looked behind you, and then up, and up, and up and found Tamsin Applebee towering over you.

“Can’t be sure,” Wayne responded to the fifth year, “But he’s been mostly flirting with Megan.”

The Hufflepuff Chaser’s eyes narrowed, “Gaunt, your little friend in the matching outfit just stood up and is staring this way. I think you have somewhere to be. Wouldn’t want you getting lost.”

“That’s okay,” Megan responded with a wide smile and an eager glint in her eyes, “Because Hufflepuffs are particularly good finders!”

The other Hufflepuff first years groaned as if it was a regular comment that they were tired of. You weren’t sure if it was a reference or an inside joke but you didn’t really get it.

“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” you realised. You raised your leg and then pushed on the table so you could stand on the bench then turned around to once again find yourself somewhere close to eye level with the tall fifth year. “Cripes, how tall are you anyway?”

“Six even,” the seventeen/eighteen year old fifth year answered.

“Sweet Salazar!” you gasped. The super-tall girl had a full nine inches on you! “Well, I did some recruiting for you. You’re welcome.” You reached up and gave Applebee a pat on the shoulder while you were still able to reach and then hopped off the bench. You spotted Draco staring and then he motioned to the door with his head. Time for practice. You nodded and made to follow.

“OH!” you called out, “I was having so much fun that I forgot the reason I came over!” You turned back, stepped around Applebee, and put your elbows on the table so you could lean across towards Justin. “The Slytherin versus Ravenclaw match is on Saturday the fifth. That means, including the one I’m about to head out for, I’ve got five more practices to survive. If the same time works for you, I can meet up again for Potions on either Saturday the twelfth or the nineteenth. Make sure it’s Professor Sprout who asks Professor Snape and not you and leave it up to him to decide which day he’ll allow us to use his classroom. He’ll appreciate having more control over the situation.”

“The twelfth is a Hogsmeade weekend,” the tall fifth year behind you informed you.

“And that means absolutely nothing to us first years who aren’t allowed to go yet.” You cast a quick glance at Megan and mouthed ‘too bad’ which earned you a sweet smile.

“No, but it’s the Hogsmeade weekend that everyone associates with Valentine’s Day,” Applebee explained, “And Snape’s usually extra miserable during that time.”

“In that case,” you regrouped, “Tell Professor Sprout to suggest the twelfth so Professor Snape can take pleasure in refusing then have her follow up with the nineteenth as a consolation.”

“Alright,” Justin agreed. “I’ll ask her.”

“Great, it’s a date then,” you replied with an over-the-top wink then shifted so you could address Megan, “And speaking of dates, we can’t go to Hogsmeade together…yet… but if you want to introduce me to your cousin so she can give me that clobbering, maybe you could score us a pair of tickets to a Harpies match? I’m free Saturday April second which just so happens to be during Easter Break.”

Her eyes went wide and she was clearly still trying to wrap her head around whether you were serious.

You quickly snagged one of the Ginger Snaps off of the biscuit tray. “One for the road. Happy Birthday, Wayne.” You pushed off the table, smoothly side-stepped Tammy Apples, and headed for the door where Draco had actually stopped to wait.

“HEY!” You looked back and smiled when you saw Megan on her feet. She jabbed a finger in your direction accusingly, “THAT’S THE WEEK THEY PLAY THE TORNADOS!”

“What?” You gasped in faux-shock, “I had no idea! What a wonderful coincidence!”

You had a wide smile on your face as you followed Draco out of the Great Hall. Oh yes, that girl was going to be FUN.

“What was that all about?” Draco asked as the two of you exited the castle and made your way down across the grounds toward the Quidditch pitch and broomshed.

You shrugged, “I was branching out. I only meant to check in about my next tutoring session but they asked about my Irish outfit and I found myself drawn into a wonderful Quidditch discussion.” You offered him the Ginger Snap you snagged, “It’s also Wayne Hopkins’ birthday. Grabbed a biscuit for you.”

Draco eyed the biscuit then shrugged and took it from you and bit into it.

MWAHAHAHA! He fell right into your trap! With his mouth full, you now found yourself with a captive audience so you could gush about the girl you developed a sudden interest in!

“And that Jones girl is brilliant!” you wasted no time in extolling. “Did you know she’s cousins with Gwenog Jones from the Harpies?”

Draco nodded silently as he chewed.

“Well, I didn’t,” you admitted, “Found out the hard way after I told her why we picked Ireland over Wales. She also exposed me as a Tornados fan which Macmillan was none-too-happy about. But that was really just the coup de grâce after she dumped my pro-Ireland argument on its head. My favorite part was when she said, ‘Your Irish Chaser dynamic won’t count for much if one of them’s lying on the pitch **** after a Bludger shot puts them on the grass.’”

Your fellow reserve’s eyes had gone wide and he was frantically chewing to finish his biscuit. Unlike Ron Weasley, Draco’s parents had ingrained refined table manners into him so he knew better than to try and talk with his mouth full.

“She’s quite fetching too,” you admitted, “She’s got this cute dimple that shows up on her cheek when she smirks… although I quickly learned to expect trouble when she does. And I think she might actually like me too because I nudged her foot under the table and she nudged me back.”

Draco finally swallowed, “BUT SHE’S BLAAaaaaaa…” He trailed off when he saw your glare. “Er… you don’t care, do you?”

You shook your head. “No. But any girl who can give me a new perspective to look at Quidditch from is worth taking a closer look at.”

“You know, Pansy’s not going to like that…” Draco warned you.

“Parkinson can get stuffed,” you retorted. “I don’t rightly care what she thinks.”

Draco shrugged. “Better you than me.”

You smiled at the familiar line, “You know, Smith said the exact same thing. He actually reminds me a bit of you. I think the two of you might get along.”

“As if I’d associate with a bunch of blood-traitors, mudbloods, and assorted riffraff,” he scoffed.

You shook your head sadly, “Let me ask you something… and you don’t have to answer. I just want you to think about it. Do you actually believe all that, or are you just repeating something your father said?”

His ears went pink and he opened his mouth with an angry retort but you cut him off a hasty wave of your hand. “I said don’t answer. Just think about it.”

He huffed and looked away then pointedly took another bite of his biscuit. A clear sign that you’d annoyed him and now he didn’t want to talk to you.

“They’re actually not a bad bunch, those Hufflepuffs,” you told your silently stewing companion, “I mean, Abbott made it obvious she didn’t like me and Bones just silently stared at me the whole time. But the others were fine. Even the two muggleborns. You know, Hopkins let slip that Madam Hooch had to correct Smith on his grip during their Flying Lesson. I know you once told me your father taught you to fly… Smith said the same thing. Do you think they could’ve had the same Flying Instructor? Do you even know who the Flying Instructor was before Madam Hooch?”

Draco shook his head.

“Like I told him, it might be something worth looking into,” you advised.

It was silent as you continued across the grounds and you didn’t speak again until you finally reached the broomshed.

“Look,” you said as you pulled the door open, “You know better than anyone how extremely fortunate I am to even be here at Hogwarts. Your father’s war orphan fund was the whole reason I was even found. I’m in Slytherin because I need to prove that I was worth all that. I HAVE TO make my family name mean something respectable again. And in order to do that, I need to outwork the Hufflepuffs, study harder than the Ravenclaws, and jump at the opportunities that even the Gryffindors are too scared to take. I think branching out and expanding my social circle into the other houses might be one of those opportunities.” You paused for a beat and then added, “And you’re welcome to come along with me on that ride if you want.”

He didn’t actually answer you. But you did catch him casting strange glances your way during practice. You hoped that meant he was at least thinking about what you said.

Marvolo Gaunt House Point Ledger

Current Total: +72

*1 Point awarded ‘off screen’ by Snape in Potions.*

Points awarded by: SS, RH, QQ, MM, FF, +AD