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“Shoko,” Satoru whines. “Shoko, you traitor.”
“I was handpicked by Yaga himself.” Shoko shrugs, not even having the decency to look the least bit guilty. “What’d you expect me to do?”
Satoru sighs. Leave it to Shoko to excel in all her classes, while being the best Chaser on their Quidditch team, and now juggling the role of Prefect. Actually, Satoru’s not entirely sure how she manages all of this. Either she secretly has a Time-Turner on hand, or she’s just relying on her regular coping mechanisms, like smoking by the Quidditch pitch after practice—which is still on the school grounds, so Satoru figures she’d probably have to quit doing that now.
“I dunno, maybe not join the club for sticklers?” Satoru glares at her Prefect’s badge, like it has personally offended him. He considers bewitching it to say something nasty. “You’re one of the cool ones, Shoko. You were. Now I’ve lost the only other Slytherin I give a shit about.”
“God, you’re so dramatic.” Shoko reaches into the hidden pockets of her robes and pulls out a cigarette. “I’m just glad he didn’t make me Head Girl. Now, that would’ve crossed the line.”
“Who’s Head Boy?”
“Geto Suguru. Hufflepuff fella.” She lights the cigarette like it’s nothing. “He’s their Keeper. I think we went against them last November.”
“The one with the bangs? And the earrings?” Satoru quirks a brow at her. “We’re still on the school grounds, Prefect.”
“Simple concealment charm. Not that you’d know anything about it, since you’re failing pretty much everything.” It’s just Potions that he’s failing, and even then only out of a personal conflict, but Satoru lets it slide. Shoko snickers. “The guy seems too… nice to be Head Boy. Not the kind of person I pictured, y’know? He’s got a—a pleasant face. Way too pleasant.”
“Don’t all Hufflepuffs?”
“Don’t be a dick, Gojo.”
“That your first order as Prefect?”
“Yeah,” Shoko says, rolling her eyes. “Now, buzz off. Don’t you have that Potions makeup test today?”
✦
That Geto fella, Satoru learns, indeed has a pleasant face. He also has some kind of dignified air about himself when he walks across the hallways, and not in a pretentious way, either—not like Shoko’s friend Utahime, who sticks her nose up and juts her chin out to look important—but in a way that humbles even Satoru when he passes him by. The hallways are so big that most students would get swallowed up by the light or the crowd of robes, but Geto seems to always stand out in some way or other.
Two weeks after Shoko takes up the mantle, she and Geto start having lunch together on the Transfiguration Courtyard instead of in the Great Hall, with everyone else. Damn Prefects’ privilege, Satoru thinks bitterly when he crosses the courtyard to meet them later, after the rest of the students have adjourned from the Great Hall. Shoko takes a drag on her low-tar brand of cigarette freely, since the teachers are still indoors.
“You,” Satoru jerks an accusatory finger at Geto and says, in perhaps the most juvenile tone he has ever had to make, “stole my lunch buddy.”
“Lunch buddy.” Shoko snorts. “What are you, five?”
“The Ravenclaws were annoying as hell today,” Satoru grumbles. He glowers at Shoko. “Especially your friend, who just wouldn’t shut up about their win against Gryffindor last week. Even though we all know she’s the worst player on their team, and they just got lucky as usual. God, it was so miserable. Count yourselves blessed.”
“Boo-hoo,” Shoko says, without effort.
“Well,” Geto smiles, and it is all at once gracious and kind, “you’re always welcome to join us, you know.”
At that, Satoru finds himself grinning as he regards Geto in a new light. He takes in the long hair—loosely tied, now mussed up by the breeze—and the earrings. How the hell did this guy make Head Boy? He must’ve been fighting right alongside Yaga in the First Wizarding War to have earned that much of the man’s respect, looking like the punk he apparently is. (He would’ve also not been born yet during the War, but Arithmancy is not really Satoru’s strong suit.)
“And here I thought Hufflepuffs were all teacher’s pets,” Satoru scoffs. “How do I know you won’t go right up to Yaga and tell on me?”
“We’re loyal, not pushovers,” Geto retorts. “That means we get to choose who and what we want to be loyal to.”
Satoru feels his sunglasses start to slip steadily down the bridge of his nose. He pushes them back up promptly. Yaga had recently given him grief about wearing them indoors, but Satoru had also given him grief by not caring one bit, so they’d both shut up about it altogether. He eyes Geto curiously, trying to gauge just how far the Head Boy would go before that loyalty he’s speaking of would sway.
“Okay, Hufflepuff, I’m game.” Satoru smirks, and then glances at Shoko. “Say, I like this guy.”
“Told you,” she replies, sticking her tongue out—and a cloud of smoke—in his direction. “He’s one of the good ones.”
✦
As a matter of fact, Satoru does believe he’s one of the good ones, so much so that they’re on a first-name basis within the next week.
Satoru arrives at the dungeons late for Potions class on Thursday. It is customary for him to loiter outside the classroom until he hears the Potions Master’s voice droning—his queue to push the door open. He grins at Gakuganji easily when he enters, and beyond the old man, he can see Shoko shake her head, smile fully intact.
“Hey, gramps.” Satoru greets the class—a clash of green and yellow ties tucked underneath black robes. “Don’t mind me! Please, carry on.”
“I should have you expelled, Gojo.” Gakuganji pinches the bridge of his deeply wrinkled nose. “You’re failing my class three semesters in a row, and you show no sign of even trying to improve. But Yaga—”
“But Yaga thinks I’m such a damn asset to this school, so unfortunately, you’re stuck with me.”
“Just grab a copy of Advanced Potion-Making from the cupboard and take a seat.” He glares at Satoru like he’s about to say something more, but a student coughs, breaking the tension. Gakuganji tugs at his robes and turns away. “We will be working on the Everlasting Elixir today.”
“Aren’t you already going on two hundred? How much longer are you planning to live for?”
“I believe what you’re referring to is the Elixir of Life, which has not existed for nearly a century now. We’re making the Everlasting Elixir today. This is why you’re failing, Gojo. Ten points from Slytherin.” Gakuganji sets his jaw, ignoring the students’ protests. “And ten more for your impertinence earlier.”
“But—!”
“Ten more if you keep talking for the duration of my class, Gojo.”
Satoru snaps his mouth shut, sulking as he trudges his way to the cupboard. He can already feel the hateful stares of the Slytherin students boring into his back, but frankly, he couldn’t care less about the House Cup. He’s never been one for school spirit; he’s always been content with being on his own, improving his own abilities, pushing himself forward.
He opens the cupboard door at the very same time the dungeon door bursts open. Satoru’s scowl melts away, and in its stead, a grin.
“Sorry I’m late, sir.” Suguru bows his head as he speaks, the epitome of an ideal student. “Head Boy matters. Yaga—”
“Fine, fine.” Gakuganji waves an apathetic hand. “Do grab a copy of Advanced Potion-Making from the cupboard, Geto, and take a seat.”
Suguru saunters toward the cupboard, and Satoru snickers at him. “Sir?”
“Shut up,” Suguru whispers, smirking back at him. “I can’t have the old man take points off the Head Boy, now, can I? All of Hufflepuff—no, scratch that, all of the school would hate me.”
Satoru’s lips quirk disbelievingly. Suguru doesn’t strike him as someone who particularly cares what people think of him, but then again, why else would he have taken the role of Head Boy? If he has Yaga’s trust the way Satoru does, then he could’ve easily turned the offer down.
Suguru points at the cupboard. There are two copies of Advanced Potion-Making, one brand-new and evidently untouched; the other, ragged and rough at the edges. In a beat, they’re shoulder to shoulder, grappling for the books. Satoru ends up with the bad one. It looks even worse than it had in the darkness of the cupboard, the spine decorated with numerous cracks and the pages dog-eared. Scribbled neatly underneath the title, in tiny letters, is Property of the Half-Blood Prince.
Satoru snorts. How utterly pretentious.
Twenty minutes later, Satoru is about to eat his own words, because holy shit, he’s actually good at Potions now. The Half-Blood Prince, or whoever the nerd might’ve been, had written notes in Satoru’s copy of the book, and from the looks of it, he’s owning the class. Even Shoko, who’s been the best at Potions in all of Slytherin history, is struggling. In fact, Satoru is doing so well that Gakuganji has stopped by his station four times now while doing his rounds, and the look of confusion on his old, wrinkly face is slowly turning into suspicion.
“Satoru,” Suguru hisses, “how’re you doing that?”
“What do you mean? I’m just doing what the book says.”
“No, you’re not.” They’ve known each other for barely a month, yet Suguru can already read him so well; can already tell when he’s lying. It’s both impressive and unnerving. “Are you cheating?”
“How can you tell?”
“For one, Shoko says you’re shit at Potions.” Suguru grins, an indication that he’s not exercising his Head Boy authority. “And right now, it doesn’t look like you’re shit at Potions, at all.”
“So, what’re you gonna do about it?” Satoru challenges back, but there’s no real bite in it.
“Nothing, obviously.” There’s a glint in Suguru’s eyes. “But… at least let me in on it. Don’t hog all the glory.”
✦
“So, did you give him a love potion or something?”
“What?”
“Geto.” It’s amusing, the way Shoko the Prefect tries to sound assertive, even with the trace of a smile playing on her lips. They’re standing in the hallway, and a few of the first-years who happen to pass by them duck their heads when they look at Shoko, Prefect’s badge shining ostentatiously in the sunlight. “What’d you do to him?”
“Shoko, I’m gutted,” Satoru says, sounding very much un-gutted, “that not only do you think I’m capable of creating a love potion from scratch, but that I’d also try to drug the Head Boy! What do you take me for?”
“A dirty punk. You know you don’t have the greatest influence on people, Gojo.” Shoko’s smile twists into a frown. “And I dunno, you seemed pretty capable at Potions class yesterday.”
“I just had a little help, ’s all.” Satoru shoves his hands into his pockets. “And you don’t need to worry about Suguru, y’know. He’s not as Hufflepuff nice as we thought he was. If anything, he’s influencing me.”
Shoko actually laughs at that. “It’s just… he talks about you all the time during patrol. It’s kinda weird.”
Something flutters within Satoru’s chest. “Really? What’d he say?”
“Knew it.” Shoko smirks. “Called it right from the start. Damn, Gojo, you should really see your face right now. You have a crush on him, don’t you?”
Satoru makes no attempt to deny it, because it’s not an untruth. Besides, Shoko would see right through him, which would only make it worse. She’s already a Prefect, and friends with the Head Boy in question; there’s no need to give her that much more power.
The truth is, Satoru doesn’t even know when it happened—when he started seeing Suguru’s smile in pretty much everything he does, the mischievous one that he keeps just for Satoru, whether in the dark of the Potions classroom or the brightly lit hallways. He closes his eyes slowly for some kind of dramatic effect, even though all Shoko can really see is her own reflection in the pitch-black of his sunglasses.
“You’re such a piece of shit,” he says. “Don’t you dare say a word to him.”
“Is that a threat? Are you threatening a Prefect?”
“Shoko,” he lets out a groan, “you are honestly such a piece of shit.”
✦
If anyone were to tell Satoru that he’d be spending the Hogsmeade weekend wading through the library in the Restricted Section, he would believe it one hundred per cent. He definitely hadn’t pictured doing it with Geto Suguru, Hufflepuff, Head Boy, though, but somehow it just fits.
Satoru isn’t permitted to go to Hogsmeade this semester, because he’d had no one to sign his permission slip—no one he’d really cared to ask, anyway—but truth be told, it doesn’t bother him. There’s nothing he’s really dying to visit in the little village, except maybe Honeydukes, but he’d already given Shoko a comprehensive list of sweets to buy for him.
“I couldn’t get my permission slip signed, either,” Suguru had said that morning. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“I can’t make any exceptions, Suguru, you know that.” Yaga frowned, tapping his foot impatiently as he threw a glance at Satoru, who’d stood silently by the school gates. “Not even for the Head Boy.”
“I understand perfectly, sir.”
It’s lunchtime now and Satoru and Suguru are both in the library. Satoru hadn’t really explored the place; barely set foot in it unless he absolutely had to, but Suguru seems to know his way around. They’re hidden in plain sight thanks to Satoru’s invisibility cloak that he’d inherited from his great-grandfather last Christmas, thrown over the both of them. As they walk between the aisles, Satoru bumps into Suguru’s shoulder too many times for him to count now—he stops far too often to read the titles on the books’ spines. His hair is tied up neatly in a bun today, and it tickles the bridge of Satoru’s nose.
“Here we are,” Suguru whispers, and Satoru looks up to see that they’re standing right before the door that leads to the Restricted Section.
Satoru lets out a whistle. The door is not just well-hidden from the rest of the giant library, but it’s also protected by a concealment charm so that unruly students like Satoru wouldn’t be able to locate it, and good, upright students like Suguru would be able to help teachers keep it that way.
“Suguru.” Satoru grins at him. “You were lying about your permission slip this morning, weren’t you?”
“How could you tell?”
“Just had a hunch.” He notices a tinge of pink on the tips of Suguru’s ears. It’s a pleasurable sight. He cracks his knuckles exaggeratedly. “Now, which shelf should we check out first?”
They find themselves at a shelf marked ‘Forbidden Magic’, which in itself is so utterly vague and tells them absolutely nothing. So they proceed to make themselves comfortable by sitting hunched underneath the invisibility cloak, poring over a few of the most interesting-looking books: Secrets of the Darkest Art, Moste Potente Potions and a random book of Spells that Satoru finds a huge disappointment.
“There’s nothing good in here,” Satoru grumbles, tossing aside the battered copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art. “I know Yaga’s a big softie, but to censor even the Restricted Section? That’s a depressing kind of low.”
Suguru gives him a sympathetic smile. “What are you looking for?”
“I dunno.” Satoru shrugs. “Something cool, I guess. Something really big.”
“What, for like, a prank?”
“Nah.”
A long silence falls between them. It’s thick and a little strained, like there are words begging to be spoken, but they’re only left hanging in the air between them. Satoru glances at the copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art like it had directly insulted him, before looking back up at Suguru, whose eyes are already fixed on him. Satoru’s heart lurches forward in his chest.
“Satoru,” Suguru says, carefully, sounding very much like a Head Boy, “why are you failing Potions?”
“I always can’t seem to get the measurements right,” Satoru replies easily, too quickly. He lets out a sigh. “I’m just not the brightest wizard of my time, unfortunately. Not even close. Shoko can definitely vouch for that.”
“Bullshit,” Suguru says, and Satoru’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. It’s a truly fascinating thing, seeing the perfect student façade shedding from Suguru. “I know for a fact that you’re ahead of everyone else in Defence Against the Dark Arts. The makings of a great wizard. Yaga told me so himself.”
“Funny,” Satoru replies, a smile playing on his lips, “Yaga told me the same thing about you.”
Another stretch of silence passes between them as they look at each other knowingly; unknowingly.
“You’re failing Potions on purpose, aren’t you?” Suguru grins. “How come?”
“I don’t like Gakuganji.”
“You and everyone else who’s not in Ravenclaw.”
“Yeah, but it’s not just his shitty, stuck-up attitude. I don’t like his whole shtick.” Satoru frowns. “He came from the Ministry.”
“The Ministry?” Suguru quirks a brow. “I didn’t think you were really into politics, Satoru.”
“I’m not. I just… I don’t like how they run things. Between the two worlds, you know.” He reaches out a hand toward the invisibility cloak around them, letting his fingers graze against the silky fabric. “I don’t get why they laid down the Secrecy law.”
“Neither do I.” Suguru’s voice is quiet. Satoru looks up at him in surprise. “I mean, if it were up to me…”
“If it were up to you?” Satoru smirks. “You’re a sixteen-year-old punk. Both the Wizarding and the Muggle world would crash and burn. In fact, I bet the only reason you agreed to become Head Boy is so you can break the system from the inside.”
Suguru laughs, but he doesn’t deny it. Satoru grins. He opens his mouth to say something more, but then he hears footsteps approaching them from somewhere within the great yawning of the library, and they both look at each other in fear. Immediately, they shuffle to their feet. Satoru adjusts the invisibility cloak around them and shoves Suguru lightly to get moving.
“Wait, what about the books?” Suguru hisses quietly. “They’re gonna know!”
“No, they won’t! Just go!”
As Suguru leads the way out of the Restricted Section, Satoru keeps his eyes downward so he can even his breathing. It’s oppressively hot underneath the cloak, and it doesn’t help that he’s practically pressed up against Suguru’s back as they walk. Satoru fights the urge to lean his face into the crook of his neck. Suguru’s hair is slowly coming undone from its bun. Then all at once, Suguru makes a sudden stop, and Satoru crashes into his shoulder.
“What—”
“Well, well.” It’s Shoko. Satoru looks up to see her staring at a spot just above their heads, and it dawns on him that she can’t actually see them. Her mouth is a thin line, but there’s not a hint of actual disappointment. “And just what have you two idiots been up to?”
“Aw, man,” Satoru groans, “how’d you know it was us?”
“This might be a shocking revelation, but you both do realise that you’re not the shortest people in the world?” Shoko points to the floor, where Satoru can see both his and Suguru’s shoes—and part of their robes—peeking out from the ends of the invisibility cloak. “You’re lucky Yaga decided to chaperone the trip today.”
“Oh, please, like he’d really do anything to us anyway.” Satoru slides the cloak off them. He glances at the bag in Shoko’s hand and catches the glossy, pink and green Honeydukes logo. “So, what’s the damage?”
“You owe me twelve Galleons,” Shoko says, and Satoru frowns. “They ran out of Cauldron Cakes by the time I got there.”
“I thought I told you to go there first,” Satoru sighs. “They always run out before lunchtime.”
“I’m a Prefect now, Gojo.” Shoko rolls her eyes and reaches into her robes. “I’m responsible for more things than just your candy, y’know.”
“Yes, yes. Very responsible indeed, Prefect.” Satoru snickers, eyeing the cigarette she’s just furtively placed in between her teeth. She sticks her tongue out at him. “Thanks anyway, Shoko.”
He pulls out two packets of Chocolate Frogs and hands one to Suguru. He watches as Suguru carefully unwraps the packaging, catching the Frog before it can hit the library floor—he’s sure this part of the library hasn’t been cleaned in ages. When Suguru pulls the card out, Satoru bursts out laughing.
“If it isn’t the tyrannical bastard himself!” They both glance at the card, and Salazar Slytherin glares back at them. Satoru smirks. “Oh, how terribly fitting. I’m kinda jealous.”
Shoko raises an eyebrow at him, and then at Suguru—Hufflepuff, Head Boy, accomplished student. But Satoru knows better.
“Inside joke,” he says, and Suguru nods along.