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Chapter Text

King’s Cross Station, London, England

Ron didn’t know what to think about all the muggles staring at them. At least most of their looks were aimed at Percy’s new owl and not at him, but they were still staring at his entire family as if they were all insane.

Fred and George were grinning maniacally, talking with stars in their eyes about all the things they could buy at Zonko’s now that they had permission to go to Hogsmeade. Mum and Ginny were walking beside him, just behind the twins, their mother wrapping an encouraging/reassuring arm around Ron’s shoulders. Percy was walking slightly ahead of the group, back straight and wearing his prefect’s badge proudly. 

Personally, Ron thought Percy was being a bit of a prat about it, but if it were him he’d probably be acting the same. Being a prefect meant having power over the rest of the student body. It meant being better than them. It was sort of cool, even if the twins disagreed.

“It’s like they’ve never seen an owl before, honestly” Mum was huffing, giving several muggles stern looks until they turned away, abashed. 

“They don’t use ‘em, Mum. The muggleborns react the same way the first time they see the post arriving” George said, over his shoulder.

“Might not even know what they are.” Fred added.

“Maybe we should start getting onto the platform by floo...” She looked thoughtful but then shook her head, smiling warmly at Ron, “ah, but this way is much more fun, dear. Always got quite the adrenaline rush whenever I went the muggle way when I was young”

“I thought Grandma and Grandpa thought the muggle way was stupid?” Ginny piped up from where she was walking on the other side of Mum, holding her hand.

“Well, yes, they did, but they let me do it anyway after asking a couple of times.” Mum laughed. Sometimes Ron couldn’t tell which parent Fred and George got their mischievousness from- Dad, who was currently tinkering with some muggle ‘car’ at home and enchanting it, or Mum- who seemed to have done whatever she wanted when she was younger without care for consequences. Charlie had also inherited a bit of Weasley chaos, but it only really came out on the quidditch pitch, mostly just manifesting in good-natured teasing directed at everyone the rest of the time. Bill and Percy were much more serious, though Bill was cool and stoic about it and Percy was just stifling. 

If anything, Ron wanted to be a cross between Bill and Charlie, cool and unbothered but also funny, but he knew he was just awkward. Ginny was the same, though she was like that in the shy, blushing girl way while he just said stupid things and didn’t know how to not make a prat of himself. He hoped being in Hogwarts, having a chance to befriend kids like him, would change all that.

“They thought it dangerous, actually. ‘Packed with muggles!’, of course it is, it’s King’s Cross” Mum sighed. “All for muggle protection but absolutely terrified by the lot of them, honestly”

Ron had never met his grandparents on his mother’s side before they passed, and had never spoken to a muggle, so he wouldn’t know. They looked harmless enough, if not slightly too open to blatantly staring at people. Hermes let out an indignant hoot up ahead.

“Now, what’s the platform number?” She asked Ron, testing his memory. As if he hadn’t walked five of his brothers to it before.

Annoyingly, Ginny yipped out “Nine and three-quarters!” before he could get a word in. “Mum, can’t I go…”

“You’re not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet” He felt horrible about it, but Ron couldn’t help but smirk at his sister’s deflating face. He was old enough for Hogwarts now, after all. Take that , Gin. He leaned back, sticking his tongue out at his sister from behind their mother- so she couldn’t see it happening. Ginny made an outraged sound, and Mum lightly smacked the back of Ron’s head, tutting with exasperation. “Behave yourself, Ronald, or you’re going straight back home”

They had all stopped at the wall between platform 9 and 10, trolleys banging against each other. It felt a little strange not to have Charlie with them, but he had left to study dragons in Romania the moment he’d received his NEWTs. It had felt the same when Bill had left too.

“Alright Perce, you go first” Percy huffed, before parading through the gateway to the station, vanishing before them all. 

“Fred, you next”

“I’m not Fred, I’m George” said Fred, looking affronted. “Honestly woman, call yourself our mother? Can’t you tell I’m George?”

Ron grinned at the antics, “Sorry, George dear” Mum said.

“Only joking, I am Fred” he laughed, making a runner through the wall before Mum could scold him, George following close behind.

Ron was quietly snickering, so he jumped a bit when a quiet voice behind them said: “Excuse me”

“Hullo, dear” Mum said as they turned around to face a brown boy with a cascade of messy hair falling around his face. He had large, round glasses and wore clothes far too big for his size, skinny frame that he had. There was a quiet determination in his surprisingly bright green eyes. A flash of something crossed his mother’s face before she asked: “First time at Hogwarts dear? Ron’s new too”

“Yes. The thing is, I don’t know how to…” the boy trailed off, looking at the wall Ron’s brothers had gone through.

“How to get on the platform?” Mum finished off his sentence, receiving a nod from the boy. “‘Not to worry, all you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Go on, go now before Ron”

“Er- Ok” He said, and off he went, running through the barrier with an uncertain jog. Was he muggleborn, maybe? Where was his family?

“Come on now Ron, before we’re late” Mum ushered him with a shoo -ing motion.

He sighed before he too ran through the barrier, the familiar rush of magic sliding by him as he entered Platform 9 ¾. He allowed himself to look around in awe- it never got old to see the station- before being banged into by his mother and sister.

“Ron!” Mum snapped, hugging him tearfully at the same time and really not giving Ron a moment to figure out how to respond. Apparently they really had taken too long, as Mum didn’t have the time to say goodbye to the rest of her sons and could only wave enthusiastically at them through the window. She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed the corners of her eyes.  “Don’t just stand about, put your things on the train!” 

He nodded, tightening the hug for a moment before rushing on board just as the train began to let out large quantities of steam. 

The first few carriages were all full as he passed them by, panic settling into his gut as more and more compartments seemed to be filled to the brim with people. He passed by his brothers and their friends by the middle of the train, one of their good mates- Lee- cackling as the twins ran away from a box of what looked like the biggest spider in the world, making Ron speed walk past them before they could get any ideas.

He found the emptiest compartment he could- the boy from earlier seemed to be hogging one for himself, the train was only so big- and resigned to the fate of having to talk to the quiet boy for the whole journey.

“Anyone sitting here?” He asked him as he slid the door open. The boy jumped a bit in surprise before shaking his head. “Everywhere else is full”

He sat across from him, trying to wrestle Scabbers, who had started writhing like he’d gotten rabies, into calming down. He’d been carrying him in his arms the whole time, and now he begins acting up, honestly…

“Hey Ron” The compartment door slid open to reveal Fred and George “Listen, we’re going down the middle of the train- Lee’s got a giant tarantula down there”

“Right,” Ron muttered, looking at them darkly. If they brought that horrid thing over he would hex the daylight out of them. It didn’t matter if he didn’t really know any spells, he could improvise.

“Harry,” George addressed the other boy, “Did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. See you later, then.”

Ron stared at them as they shut the door, “That was weird” he said to the boy- Harry, “They just came in to tell me about the spider and say hello to you? And then left immediately?”

“Met them earlier, they helped me move my trunk” Harry shrugged, apparently not caring for it. “People have been weird around me recently. Guess I should just get used to it”

Ron gave him a funny look, “What do you mean? Ron Weasley, by the way”

“Harry Potter,” the boy replied. Ron’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “Yeah, you’re not the first to react like that” He said, clearly unsure what to think of it.

Instantly, Ron’s eyes flickered towards his forehead, and lo and behold, the infamous lightning scar. He hadn’t seen it under Potter’s mess of a fringe earlier. “Wicked! You were raised by muggles weren’t you? That’s why you didn’t know how to go through the barrier, right?”

Harry nodded, “Didn’t know I was famous in this world”

“Really?” Ron said, honestly surprised. How do you live eleven years of your life not knowing that for ten of them you were a household name? “That’s weird, why not?”

“My uncle and aunt didn’t tell me anything” He said with another shrug, though there was a look in his eye that told Ron he cared rather a lot about being left in the dark. “Basically a ‘muggle’ when it comes to all of this”

Well if there was something less right in the world, “I’ll help you out” Ron said resolutely. “You’re the Potter heir, technically lord, you need to know your stuff”

Harry looked at him curiously, “Are you the Weasley heir, then?” he said ‘heir’ as one would say a newly learnt word in a foreign language.

Ron, “Nah, the heir is the eldest child. Male one, that is”

Harry, “So, your other brother- not one of the twins- is the heir?”

Ron laughed, “Percy acts like it, doesn’t he? No, that would be Bill. My family isn’t that into all that heir crap anyways. My dad says it’s all blood elitist rubbish”

“Are all your family wizards?” Harry asked, still having not lost that interested gleam in his eye.

“Er- yes, I think so,” he replied “I think Mum’s got a second cousin who’s an accountant, but we never talk about him.” 

“So you must know loads of magic already,” Harry leant forward, “Can you show me some?”

Ron, deciding it was his moment to shine, pointed his wand at Scabbers, who had finally calmed down “ Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow !”

The silence in the compartment was deafening.

“Knew I shouldn’t have trusted Fred and George…” Ron muttered, face bright pink.

They were saved from the awkwardness by the trolley lady showing up. Harry pulled out a bag filled with gold and bought at least two of everything. What surprised Ron was Harry then asking to share his sweets with him.

“You don’t have to” Ron protested, despite eyeing up the pumpkin pasty in Harry’s hand with an undeniable hunger. He pulled out his sandwich Mum had made for him, staring glumly at it before he registered Harry looking at him. Mum always forgot he hated corned beef.

“I want to” Harry insisted, the knowing glint in his eye making Ron furiously fight back a blush. 

‘Don’t ever accept charity, Ronald,’ Mum had said to him in the time before Dad got promoted. It had been before the food they did have on the table was quite enough to feed seven hungry mouths. Things were changing now, thankfully, with Dad working overtime and Bill and Charlie out of the house and not adding to the strain, but everyone in the family could still feel it, remembering the ache of not having enough . It was difficult to move on from things like that. ‘It comes from pity’

Nowadays, Mum wouldn’t let any of them leave the dinner table without an adequately filled stomach, putting her heart into her food. It was better now.

Ron thoroughly devoured his disgusting (Scabbers had nibbled some of it) sandwich, but Harry still had his hand out in an offering of a packet of ‘Bertie Bott’s Every Flavoured Beans’, some cauldron cakes and a pumpkin pasty, all perilously balanced. He looked up at the boy, uncertain, and was met with a reassuring smile. It was small, shy, but it was enough to convince Ron that it was okay.

They were making a fine effort between them to finish off the absurd amount of sweets- Ron had a right laugh when Harry discovered what Dumbledore looked like through a chocolate frog card - when the compartment door opened to reveal a snivelling blond boy with freckles on his nose and a determined looking black girl whose hair was impressively voluminous if not a bit under-attended. She already had the Hogwarts robes on, but didn’t have a tie or a jumper with a house emblem on, so Ron figured she was in their year.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one” She said with a curt nod aimed toward the boy. She sighed as they shook their heads, Neville wailing.

“He keeps getting away from me!” He said miserably. 

“He’ll turn up,” Harry said kindly.

 Ron looked down at Scabbers, sneering. “Wouldn’t be upset if I lost you ” he said to him, a little venomously. “I tried to turn him yellow to make him more interesting, but the spell didn’t work” he told Neville and the girl.

“What was the spell for that?” The girl asked. She had the same curious expression that Harry had had when asking about the wizarding world earlier. “Can you tell me?”

“Uh,” Ron was caught off guard, giving Harry an alarmed sidelong look. Harry just smirked at him. “Can’t remember. Just copied what my brother had told me”

“You have a magical family? Neville does too” The girl said. “No one in my family’s magic, though I really wish they were. It’s all just so fascinating . It was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard- I’ve learnt all our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough- I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”

“I’m Ron Weasley,” Ron snorted at the maniacal look in her eye. “You’ll be Ravenclaw, then?”

She and Harry stared at him in confusion. Neville looked up in surprise, saying: “You’re a Weasley?”

Ron nodded, and the boy fumbled into the carriage and offered him his hand, “Heir Neville Longbottom, well met” he said with a slight shake in his voice.

“Well met, Heir Longbottom” Ron shook his hand, before turning to look at Granger and Harry, “Ravenclaw is one of the houses of Hogwarts. It’s where the tryhards go. Longbottom-” he gestured towards Harry, “-this is Heir Potter”

“ Harry Potter ?” Longbottom gawped, before nervously, much more nervously than he had Ron, turning towards him and offering his hand, “W-well met”

Granger was looking at this exchange with adamant interest. Harry looked surprised, before he cautiously shook Longbottom’s hand. Looking uncertainly at Ron, he said: “Well met?”

Ron nodded at him, and that cleared away Harry’s wariness, looking considerably more confident as he released their hands. Turning to Granger, Ron explained: “There are four Hogwarts houses, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Huffle-”

Granger snapped her fingers, “Hufflepuff and Slytherin! Yes I remember, I read that in Hogwarts, A History . Each student goes to whichever house has the values that fit them the most!”

“What are those values?” Harry asked as Ron glared, irritated, at Granger, who failed to notice him.

Granger seemed pleased to have a reason to talk, it seemed, “Hufflepuff values being loyal and hard-working, Gryffindor- courage and chivalry, Ravenclaw- intelligence and wit, and Slytherin- cunning and ambition”

Ron pulled a face, “Slytherins are all slimy gits if you ask me”

Granger frowned, “That sounds a bit unfair, not all of them are. I know they have a reputation for being a bit nasty and all, but there were plenty of decent ones. Merlin, for example.”

“And there hasn’t been a good one since him” Ron huffed.

Granger turned her head to shout out into the corridor, “Vivienne?”

A moment later a girl showed up to the compartment door, and, to Ron’s despair, she was wearing the Slytherin uniform, “Yes, Hermione?”

“Vivienne here has been helping out with trying to find Neville’s toad” Granger said, pointedly looking at Ron, “Not exactly the epitome of evildom, is she Weasley?”

“Wouldn’t say that too quickly” Vivienne winked at her before turning to Ron, “Another Weasley? I know your brothers, the twins. Vivienne Thornton, well met”

“Well met” He replied, a little stiffly. ‘ Another Weasley?’ was echoing in his head a bit . “Awfully nice of you, helping out Longbottom”

Thornton shrugged easily, “Well, Hermione asked, so”

Ron eyed her suspiciously, “Even though she’s muggleborn?”

Granger looked incredulous whereas Thornton rolled her eyes, “My brother’s muggleborn. Through our dad,” She explained at Ron’s confused look, “different mothers, mine’s a witch”

“Oh, well then obviously-”

“I’m not a bigoted ‘blood purist’ and I’m a Slytherin, Weasley, they are not in spite of one another” She said sharply. Ron blinked in surprise. He’d never thought of that being possible, which, now he was considering Thornton’s words, was bizarre. In his defence, it had kind of been drilled into his head that Slytherins were no good from a rather young age, his parents and then his siblings all holding a clear disdain for the snakes. Maybe less so the twins, but that was because they had a friend there who helped them out with pranks sometimes. Thinking of that…

“Are you the girl who helped Fred and George rob Filch’s office last year?”

“ What?” Granger exclaimed.

The girl laughed, “Not that anyone else knows it, so I’d rather you all keep that to yourselves” Thornton said sunnily, with too many teeth to her smile. Ron understood it as a threat, as had Harry and Granger, all narrowing their eyes. Longbottom just nodded, still looking around their compartment as if the toad would turn out to have been sitting on one of the seats this whole time. 

“They seemed to like you quite a lot after that. Especially Fred.” Ron waggled his eyebrows a bit to get the message across. He was actually just throwing them under the Knight Bus because the atmosphere was getting a bit tense, but they deserved a taste of their own medicine from time to time. Ron hoped they wouldn’t retaliate with Lee’s tarantula.

“Oh?” Thornton smirked, “Thank you for telling me Weasley. Now that you mention it, I think I’ll go see them, chat for a bit. I’ll of course continue to keep an eye out for your toad, Neville”

As she slinked away, Granger said to Ron: “Rather cunning of you, Weasley”

He froze, then shook his head, “Thought you just said Slytherin wasn’t all bad?”

“Yes, but that’s not what you said.” She paused, clearly thinking about something. “Personally, I think Gryffindor is the best fit for me”

“Gryffindor? I think you fit Ravenclaw the most” Harry spoke up. “You’ve got the intelligence and wit thing down to the dot”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded in agreement.

“I thought you said that Ravenclaws were all ‘tryhards’?” Granger said, looking uncertain.

“Well, they are, but tryhards tend to do well in life so it’s not that deep of an insult” Ron said with a shrug. Granger lit up at that. “I’ll probably be Gryffindor, though, my whole family has been”

Longbottom said, rather concerningly, “So has mine, but I reckon I’ll turn out to be Hufflepuff or something. I don’t know how much family matters to the Sorting Hat”

On that note, Granger and Longbottom left them to continue looking for the toad, going the way Thornton had left.

Ron frowned, “I don’t know how my family would react if I turned out Hufflepuff or Slytherin”

Harry cocked his head, “What about Ravenclaw?”

That made the redhead laugh, “Not a chance! Fred and George would make Dumbledore replace the Sorting Hat with something else because if I went to Ravenclaw then it is clearly faulty. Where do you think you’ll go?”

Yet another shrug from Harry, “I have no idea. I don’t think I’m particularly anything”

“You’ll probably be in Gryffindor too. Your family were” Ron pointed out.

“Nothing is set in stone” 

Their compartment was opened again , this time revealing a haughty looking blond- almost white- haired boy with two rather large boys on either side of him, making them look like bodyguards. 

“Is it true?” he said. “They’re saying all down the train that Harry Potter’s in this compartment. So it’s you, is it?”

“Yes” Harry said, looking between the bodyguards apprehensively. 

“Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle,” said the blond carelessly, noticing where Harry was staring. ‘And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy”

Ron couldn’t help it. Really, he couldn’t. Draco ? He probably couldn’t talk, being named Ronald, but to say such a cringe name so proudly? He couldn’t hold back a snicker, which he poorly tried to disguise as a cough.

In an instant, Malfoy’s eyes were on him, a sneer on his face, “‘Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair and more children than they can afford”

His humour shrivelled away immediately, and now Ron was seconds away from beating Malfoy’s face in. He had five brothers, he knew how to fight. Crabbe and Goyle would probably snap him in half if he tried though, he realised, eyeing them up as he scowled.

“You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Heir Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there” Malfoy said to Harry, holding out a hand. 

Harry didn’t take it, expression cool, “I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.”

Ron laughed cruelly at Malfoy’s face, whose blush was extremely noticeable on his pale skin.

“I’d be careful if I were you, Potter-”

“Threatening him now, are you?” Ron interrupted, delighted at the fury that painted Malfoy’s face as he did so. “Thought you wanted to be his fwiend ”

Harry snorted, which combined with Ron’s mocking of him, made Malfoy take an angry step forward into the compartment. One of his goons- Goyle maybe- took this as the opportune moment to try and nab one of the chocolate frogs. Which, obviously, Ron couldn’t allow. He lept after it, but before he even made contact the boy let out a screech. 

Scabbers was hanging off his finger, sharp teeth sunk deep into Goyle’s knuckle- Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and round, howling, and when Scabbers finally flew off and hit the window, all three of them disappeared at once.

“Scabbers!” Ron exclaimed as Harry shut the compartment door, glaring out of the window darkly. He picked him up from where he lay on the floor and patted his head. “You’ve proven yourself to me, mate. Not so useless after all!”

“Not a lot of love for him?” Harry asked.

“He was Percy’s before he got that owl” Ron shrugged. Harry shrugged back. Shrugging seemed to have become a gesture they were familiar with throwing at one another. Ron didn’t think either of them were going to end up in Ravenclaw. Harry stood a higher chance, but only marginally.

The compartment door opened again . Ron threw his hands up in the air, snapping an agitated “ What? ” towards Granger.

“What has been going on?” She demanded.

Ron elected to ignore her in favour of checking on his rat. “‘I think he’s been knocked out- no- I don’t believe it- he’s gone back to sleep!”

Harry turned to Granger, “Can we help you with something?”

“‘You’d better hurry up and put your robes on, I’ve just been up the front to ask the driver and he says we’re nearly there. You haven’t been fighting, have you? You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!” She frowned, looking down the corridor where Malfoy and his bodyguards had run away from them.

“Scabbers has been fighting, not us” said Ron, scowling at her. She looked at him with confusion, before jolting when she saw his rat. “Would you mind leaving while we change?”

Her cheeks darkened as she blushed, nodding before slamming the door shut. Then she opened it again to tartly tell him: “You’ve got dirt on your nose”

It was Ron’s turn to blush, glaring at Harry, who hadn’t told him this entire time, as she left. He just smirked at him as he furiously rubbed at his face. 

“People have come to bother us four times, ” Ron grumbled.

“I think if you stick around me it’s going to happen a lot” Harry said, then his amused look faltered for a moment “You are going to stick around..?”

Ron nodded. Harry was his first Hogwarts friend, after all. “Of course, mate”

And so that was that.

—

The Great Hall fell silent as McGonagall led the first-years inside, all starry-eyed and nervous as they followed her closely. Mouths were wide open like fish at the sight of the open night sky peaking through the hundreds of floating candles, emitting a warm glow that reached every corner of the room.

Even Blaise allowed himself to look a little impressed at Hogwarts’ magic. But not too much. It was made rather obvious who the muggle-borns were, as they looked as though they had stepped into heaven itself in their slack-jawness. The more pure of blood, including Blaise, had their eyes focused on something else.

Harry Potter was in their year, apparently ignoring the stares he was receiving not only from a large majority of the first-years, but the entirety of the school in a display of magnificent nonchalance and/or obliviousness. He was just as taken by the magical scenery as the muggleborns, by the look of things.

He knew several people in this crowd he was in, either personally or just being aware of his fellow purebloods. Pansy and Ernie he knew quite well, and he had heard of the majority of the people related to the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and while his mother and him were not considered a part of it they had very close ties with many of them, unlike certain red-headed individuals he could see sitting at the Gryffindor table. While still technically being a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, no less.

They were all facing the headmaster, Dumbledore, now, as he droned on about welcoming back past students and welcoming the new. Blaise was rather getting tired of standing, and if the sorting was going to be alphabetical…he’d better make a conscious effort to walk away from the hat without making the soon-to-be numbness of his legs known.

“Abbott, Hannah” Abbott looked nothing short from terrified, shuffling her way forward to sit on the rather dank stool facing the school. Blaise was entirely unsurprised when the dusty old hat yelled out ‘HUFFLEPUFF!’ moments later.

“Goldstein, Anthony” “RAVENCLAW!”

“Goyle, Gregory” “SLYTHERIN!”

“Granger, Hermione” “RAVENCLAW” Blaise found that he had expected as much. The girl would fit right in, as he was sure she was the one he had heard quoting ‘Hogwarts: A History’ for the entire Sorting so far.

“Greengrass, Daphne” “SLYTHERIN!”

“Li, Su” “RAVENCLAW!”

“Longbottom, Neville” “GRYFFINDOR!” A ridiculous placement, Blaise thought, as he watched Longbottom almost walk away with the Sorting Hat still on his head. The boy blushed red as he had to run back to give it to the girl who’s name was called up next.

“MacDougal, Morag” “RAVENCLAW!”

“Macmillan, Ernest” “HUFFLEPUFF!” Ah, Ernie. They had been forced to be playmates when their mothers had tea together when they were young. Blaise was somewhat expecting Ravenclaw from the boy, but in all fairness he had come from a long lineage of Hufflepuffs so it wasn’t too outrageous. Blaise inspected his nails, overcome with boredom at this point.

“Malfoy, Draco” “SLYTHERIN” His slicked-back hair disturbed slightly by the moving hat, he cheerfully made his way to the table. The hat had barely even grazed him before yelling out his answer. Typical of a Malfoy, Blaise presumed. 

“Moon, Lilian” “HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Nott, Theodore” “SLYTHERIN!”

“Parkinson, Pansy” “SLYTHERIN!” No surprises there. They caught each other’s eyes and smirked.

“Patil, Padma” “RAVENCLAW!”

“Patil, Parvati” “GRYFFINDOR!” The hall seemed to react to the separation of girls who were probably twins, but it was muted as the tension grew as McGonagall read further down the list of surnames beginning with ‘P’.

“Potter, Harry” Everyone seemed to hold their breaths as a brown boy with messy black hair strolled towards the hat, jumping a little when it presumably spoke to him. Perhaps he had not been told about the Sorting? It was said that he’d been raised by muggle relatives, but they must’ve known at least a thing or two about Hogwarts before sending him off, right? If Blaise’s mother wasn’t presented with every detail of a place she sends off her son then he wasn’t going, simple as. Maybe he was reading into the movement too much.

…

Merlin, he was taking his time over there, though. Blaise glanced around at the seven other people left waiting to be assigned a house and finally have some dinner, making a note of them. There were four other boys and three other girls, all, apart from a black boy Blaise assumed was Muggleborn, looking at Potter as if he had descended from the heavens themselves for this moment. A ginger was particularly enraptured in staring at (in Blaise’s honest opinion) the most boring thing to ever happen, ever. Maybe it was because Potter’s fame was somewhat less revered in Italy, the boy not truly achieving celebrity status there rather than renown urban legend, or maybe it was because Blaise had spent nearly forty minutes standing up- with no end in sight- but he really could not see the appeal in staring at the boy.

Honestly, Blaise was seconds away from setting the hat ablaze when it bellowed out: “SLYTHERIN!”

About half of the Slytherin table erupted into applause, but the rest of the school just looked gobsmacked. Potter himself didn’t look as though he particularly cared for the stares, simply shrugging and giving a slightly judgemental frown at the gaping mouths he was being presented before heading off to the green-clad table.

Blaise was impressed with the display of nonchalance, almost on par with his own. The muggleborn-to-be-sorted (?) appeared to be a little confused at this reaction from the hall. Blaise felt slightly disheartened to see that even the majority of the teachers shared similar expressions with the student body. Surely it was inappropriate to be so blatantly partial towards the houses at the school they worked at? His mother really should’ve sent Blaise to an Italian school if that were the case. 

“His entire family was sorted into Gryffindor” he supplied him helpfully. Normally he would be content to allow the muggleborn’s confusion to stew, but he was about to fall asleep standing at the rate things were going.

The muggleborn looked baffled, “Why does it matter so much? Is there a wrong house to be in?”

Blaise shrugged. His British friends had explained the concept of the Hogwarts houses, as had his English grandfather, but it frankly didn’t make much sense to him either. “Slytherin’s got a bad rep”

The muggleborn’s confusion seems to rise still, “But there were loads of Slytherins called out before him? No one reacted like that to them”

Blaise didn’t respond as McGonagall, looking a little dejected, resumed calling out the names from her list: “Rivers, Oliver”

The hat looked far too pleased with itself as it cried out “HUFFLEPUFF!” After a mere half minute of consideration. Rivers looked like he wanted to cry, shooting a teary look towards the teachers’ table before trudging to his house. Blaise would’ve reacted the same, honestly. Hufflepuff was a bit lame.

Thankfully, the next five students were all sorted quickly enough too (one Hufflepuff, one Ravenclaw, and three Gryffindors, one of which was the muggleborn), until it was only Blaise and the ginger boy who had been mouthing words to, remarkably, the sitting Potter, since his Sorting. He appeared quite distressed at first, but was now restraining a laugh at whatever the celebrity had responded with. The ginger was receiving a rather nasty glare from Malfoy, which also meant that the two ogres that seemed to have accompanied him were doing the same. Curious.

“Weasley, Ronald” Nevermind. Blaise was as aware of the Malfoy-vs-Weasley feud as anyone else. 

He was actually looking forward to seeing how the blond fared against the other Weasleys currently in the castle. Blaise was hoping for a 4v1 fist fight to come up at some point.

Weasley looked a little caught off guard, his mouthed conversation with Potter interrupted, before trudging wearily towards the Sorting Hat. 

…Only to proceed to take just as long as Potter had! Blaise was sure his irritation must be showing on his face now, because this was unbelievable. 

Hurry up and go to the Gryffindor table already, Merlin .

In all fairness, Weasley seemed to be just as bewildered on how long it was taking as he was. Seriously though, this was getting selfish. There is literally one person left and then everyone can eat and get on with their night and you take your sweet time getting sorted? It’s rude.

Finally, the Sorting Hat cleared its throat(?) and bellowed: “SLYTHERIN!”

No one clapped. Not even Weasley’s brothers, who, when Blaise searched the Gryffindor table to check, looked appalled. Well, at least the boys who he thought were Weasleys, he was just looking for ginger Gryffindors if he’s honest. 

The ginger Slytherin looked just as appalled as his brothers and appeared as though he was going to snatch the hat right out of McGonagall’s hand and demand a different answer. Blaise really hoped he didn’t.

Thankfully, the boy shuffled his feet away from the front of the hall and went to sit with Potter, the two of which seemed to be receiving sneers of disgust from the rest of the table.

“Zabini, Blaise”

He willed his aching leg to move forwards, grateful to finally be sitting down somewhere, even if it was a wobbly stool that had 30 other student’s residual heat.

“ Zarina Zabini’s boy, eh? ” Potter was right to jump, its voice was so croaky “ She was a very cunning one indeed, resourceful, ambitious and prideful… ”

Blaise smirked. His mother had a perfectly good reason to be prideful. Alongside her many personal achievements, she had him as her son, after all.

“ Hmm, yes, I see the resemblance clearly. Where else but SLYTHERIN!”

He wasn’t sure if he’d managed to stop the bounce in his step as he began to walk towards the Slytherin table. He’d known where he was going to be put, obviously, but with how Potter and Weasley’s sortings had turned out he’d begun wondering if he was doomed to Hufflepuff or something. It would be a cruel twist of fate, that’s for certain.

On the topic of those two, he eyed them up as he strolled leisurely down. The beginnings of an idea began to form. Like his mother, he knew when the best decision was to hang around in influential people’s shadows if it meant he too could be recognised, riding on the coattails of the attention that headed their way. Who would be receiving more attention over a Slytherin Weasley and The-Boy-Who-Lived? No one. 

Now, this was one of those ideas his mother would reprimand him for, because while they were eye-catching enough that association through friendship would earn him attention enough, the attention may not be positive. The boys looked as though they would be jumped by at least ¾ of their own house.

Fortunately his mother was not here. He maintained eye contact with Weasley, winking charmingly in the way step-father #4 always had. This resulted in a bewildered look as Blaise slid into the seat beside Potter. “In case you didn’t hear, I’m Blaise Zabini. Charmed to meet you two”

“Hiya, I’m Harry.” Potter said.

“Ron Weasley,” Weasley supplied after a pause, looking at Blaise suspiciously. “Something you want?”

“Just wondering what took the both of you so long getting sorted” He responded calmly. Damn, maybe Weasley had figured out his agenda and didn’t like it. “My legs were about to collapse.” he added jokingly, hoping to exhibit an aura of friendliness.

Potter laughed as Weasley turned red. “It seemed mad that I didn’t really care which house I went to” said Potter, lips quirked upwards a bit. “It ranted in my head for so long.”

Nodding agreeably, Blaise said: “Sounds like a nightmare. For a thing that only uses its voice once a year, it sounds like it's been singing at an opera house for months” He turned to look at Weasley, who had begun devouring his food with the grace of a starved troll. “What about you?”

“Huh?” Weasley said, rather disgustingly, around his chicken leg. 

“Why did you take so long?” 

“Oh” He put down his chicken. “It said I had Gryffindor qualities and that, but my ‘ambition and determination is most Slytherin-like’” Weasley mimicked its voice rather well, earning Blaise a surprised huff of laughter.

“Then why didn’t he just put you straight into Slytherin?” Potter inquired.

“Well, because there was a lot of Gryffindor in me and I really wanted to be there” Weasley looked mournfully towards the lively table on the other side of the hall. “And I don’t have ‘self-preservation’, whatever that means”

“That is one of the traits of a Slytherin” Blaise quipped helpfully. Weasley looked rather irritated. “But at the end of the day it still chose Slytherin, so you’re stuck with us for the next seven years”

Weasley groaned, “It’s going to be hell. Fred and George are going to destroy me”

Blaise blinked until Potter said: “Some of Ron’s older brothers. They’re twins”

“Ah, I think there’s a set of twins in our year too. The Patils?” Blaise smirked, wiggling his eyebrows, “Rather pretty too”

“ Very pretty” Weasley blushed at the pleasantly surprised look he got from Blaise. “Gotta put the right amount of credit on their names, is all”

“I think there’s more people here than I’ve ever seen in my life,” Potter said, looking around. “I’m never going to remember all of them”

Blaise shrugged, “Don’t bother with some of the older years then, they’ll be gone soon enough. Anyways, it’s your name that other people need to remember, not you theirs”

Honestly, he hadn’t meant it as a compliment more than as a truthful comment. Potter looked a little put off, apparently unused to people pointing out his celebrity status, before seemingly taking it in stride as a pleased smile slowly grew on his lips. “Alright then”

“Is that why you’ve sat here then?” Weasley confronted him with a display of brashness that made Blaise begrudgingly understand the Hat’s struggle to house him. “So you can leech off of Harry’s name?”

Briefly, he thought of lying. However, Weasley and Potter seemed like the type of people who appreciated a straightforward answer, being so thoroughly genetically Gryffindor and all. “And off of your’s”

Weasley looked flabbergasted, as if being the first Weasley to be in Slytherin for centuries was no big deal at all and completely unworthy as something to be leached off of. 

“Mine? Me? Plenty of Weasleys out there, mate, and I’m definitely not as leech-able as most”

“That’s because they’re grown and you’re eleven. But to say you’re not leachable?” Blaise leant across the table a bit, adding a conspiratorial air to their conversation. “Trust me, by tomorrow Ronald Weasley is going to be talked about almost as much as Harry Potter will be. To me, that’s very leachable”

It appeared as though Weasley was having some sort of ground-breaking revelation, his face switching between interested, pleased and horrified in rapid succession. “Oh”

“So you’re okay with that?” Blaise said amicably, straightening his posture.

“With you being a leech or me being talked about?” 

“With us being friends” So I can leach off of you being talked about.

“Oh” He said again, “Might as well. Probably will need a friend or two if I’m sharing a room with Malfoy ”

It was good to see that Malfoy’s hostility wasn’t one-sided, at least. Blaise hoped that being Weasley’s friend meant that he got front row tickets to see their fights. “Glad to hear it. I think we’re all sharing with four other guys”

Weasley groaned, “Merlin, spare me. We’re going to be with Malfoy’s thugs too”

Blaise agreed with that description, “And Theodore Nott”

“Oh good, more Death Eaters. Can’t wait to sleep in a room with that lot”

“Whv a duf ituh?” Potter said incoherently as Blaise turned to see him talk around a huge chunk of pork. The appalling table-manners of these two was seriously making Blaise reconsider his decision to befriend them.

“Death Eaters were You-Know-Who’s followers.” Weasley somehow managed to understand Potter’s muffled question and had responded with the most baffling answer.

“You don’t know what Death Eaters are?” Blaise asked, confused.

“Harry was raised by muggles. They told him literally nothing about the wizarding world” Weasley explained.

Blaise was more confused, “I feel like that’s something that should’ve been mentioned to him though”

“I don’t think they know what they are. Wouldn’t’ve told me either way” Potter shrugged before putting a whole yorkshire pudding in his mouth without cutting it and chewing rather loudly on it. Merlin, it was like neither of them had been fed before.

“Potter, you mean to tell me they wouldn’t have told you what is basically the reasoning behind why you lived with them in the first place?”

Potter looked uncomfortable before saying, “If we’re going to be friends, call me Harry”

“Alright, then call me Blaise, both of you” He looked between them as Weasley nodded and said: “To you I’m also Ron then”

They chatted for quite a while as Blaise ate like a civilised person as Harry and Ron put the banquet’s reputation for there never not being enough food to the test. It was actually quite relaxing until somewhere up the table a screech of ‘You’re a mudblood ?’ was heard. 

Ron hissed in rage as everyone turned their heads to the source of the noise. 

Four 1st year girls, three of whom Blaise recognised as Greengrass, Pansy and Bulstrode were all looking at the other with them.

The fourth person, an Asian girl with space buns, was frowning. “Well that sounds very rude. I think that was a bit out of nowhere”

Bulstrode, the person who’d apparently screeched, glared openly at her. “Listen, Davis, your sort doesn’t belong here”

Davis blinked in confusion, “I thought racism wasn’t a thing in the wizarding world?”

“What’s racism?” Pansy asked, looking between the girls in front of her wearily. 

“‘What’s racism’??” Potter muttered, bewildered.

“Bit much for you to say that Bulstrode, considering you’re a half-blood” Greengrass said cooly. Pansy nodded along cautiously. Unlike Ron, Pansy was very big on self-preservation and it was clear she couldn’t tell which stance to take on the argument; he was sure she’d noticed every Slytherin openly listening in on it.

When they were nine, Pansy had told him that her elder brother, Parris, had spoken to her about his girlfriend, an Irish muggleborn. He told her that she’d shown him that blood purity had nothing to do with intelligence (being the Ravenclaw she was) or magical ability. That had rocked her foundations quite a bit, and consequently had rocked Blaise’s when she told him. He’d change his answer depending on who asked him, but his real view on blood purity was rather undecided. 

Parris himself was throwing Bulstrode a rather dirty look.

Bulstrode flushed angrily as she spat at Greengrass, “I’m sorry my parents didn’t think to marry their cousins Daphne . It’s called broadening the gene pool”

Greengrass recoiled a bit, vehemently muttering: “They’re second cousins” 

Harry looked a little sick. Blaise was not going to be the one to tell him about the intermingling on his father’s side. 

Pansy was mouthing something to Parris, probably trying to ask about how to respond. He made a cutting-neck motion and she nodded.

“People keep on bringing that up” Bulstrode huffed before turning back to glare at Davis, “So I’m not associating myself with dirt- it will only make it worse”

“I don’t want to be seen with a mudblood,” Pansy said, a trace of either caution or hesitation lingered in the undercurrent of her voice.. Parris probably told her to go along with what the rest of Slytherin will want to hear , Blaise realised. Since when was the last time a muggleborn was in Slytherin anyways?

Wait a minute…

“Hey, Harry,” Blaise whispered to him. “You should intervene”

“What?” Harry said sharply, eyeing him suspiciously. “Why don’t you do it if you want to so badly?”

“Self-preservation, remember?” He grinned at Harry’s rolling eyes.

“Fine. OI, DAVIS!” He yelled down the table. Everyone was definitely listening in now, with the involvement of the Boy-Who-Lived slipping into the conversation.

Davis turned to look at him, quite clearly not recognising Potter. She was regarding him neutrally, “Yeah?”

“Why don’t you sit with us instead?” Harry said, causing murmurs to circulate around them. “Those guys look lame”

Pansy’s huff of indignation was genuine.

“Because you’re such a good judge of character, Potter” Malfoy sneered, giving Ron a pointed look everyone could see. 

Ron smiled without really any joy before leaning across the table to stage-whisper into Blaise’s ear: “He’s just mad because Harry would be friends with him”

Blaise, probably against his best interest, laughed quite loudly at that. 

Davis looked back at the girls, before standing up and walking over, saying “I think you’re right about that”

Oh, Blaise loved this. Here he was, sat with the Boy-Who-Lived and the first Weasley and muggleborn to be placed into Slytherin in centuries. They were 100% going to be the main topic of conversation for weeks. He loved making a big impression.

“I’m Tracey,” Davis said as she sat beside Ron. “Are those lot really going to be my roommates?”

Ron grimaced, “I don’t know who has it worse, you or us” He shook it off, smiling at her in the friendly way Blaise had probably failed to earlier. “I’m Ron Weasley”

Davis nodded, “I know, you and- Blaise, right?” She waited until he nodded yes, “-were the last ones. It was funny as hell seeing how long you took and then Blaise gets sorted in like 10 seconds”

If she’s calling him Blaise, then he’s calling her Tracey off the bat too. She turned to Harry, leaning onto the table, “Thanks for calling me over. That was getting so awkward. You’re Harry, right?

Harry nodded, “Yes I am. And yeah, that looked like it was getting rough. What was that thing she called you?”

“Mudblood, I think,” Tracey said, looking surprised when Ron began to choke on his pumpkin juice. “What does it mean?”

As Ron was busy choking, Blaise took it within his own hands to explain to both her and Harry with a sigh. “It means dirty blood. It’s incredibly offensive because some people believe that having muggle parents makes you less pure than people who don’t” He pointed to Tracey, “You’re muggleborn and Harry’s half-blood.” He told them, figuring that the words didn’t mean anything to them yet.

Tracey said: “Is there anything that applies for half-bloods or am I the only one who gets to have slurs thrown at?”

Ron looked thoughtful at that, “Maybe calling one a half-breed? Insinuating that the muggle relatives someone has makes them part beast, I guess”

Blaise tried not to openly react to that. Especially to the word beast.

It’s not as though Weasley could’ve known, in the ginger’s defence, but wording like that grated like nails on a chalkboard. He knew what people said of his mother’s ruby-red eyes- knew that one day he’d have to bear the talk as well- but it was hardly what Contessa Zabini was most well known for or anything. It was an understandable thing for Weasley to say, especially since it was true , that was exactly what blood-purists insinuated when they called a half-blood half-breed . For that reason, he managed to hold his tongue from hexing the Weasley out of his skin. 

“People don’t tend to insult half-bloods from what I’ve seen.” Blaise said, the only sign of his turmoil- his hard-clenched hand around his goblet- unnoticed. “Maybe if one of their parents is a muggle, but it’s definitely not as looked down on”

“Fun” Tracey picked up some trifle, and thankfully, ate like a normal person. “Do we do maths in this school, or is it all hocus-pocus?”

Blaise was about to ask what ‘hocus-pocus’ was, before Harry said: “That teacher has been glaring at me for ten minutes, I’m not joking”

Blaise, Tracey and Ron all turned to see who Harry was talking about. A man with rather greasy black shoulder-length hair and a rather sickening complexion had indeed been scowling at Harry before snapping his attention to the teacher beside him, a man in a turban, as he became the focus of four different children. 

“Dunno, looks a bit grim though doesn’t he?” said Tracey.

“What do you think would happen if I recommended some shampoo?” Blaise asked, causing Ron and Tracey to snicker.

Harry turned to the person beside him, which was one of Malfoy’s friends. “Do you know who that emo guy is?”

The boy he had spoken to looked a bit shaken, glancing at Malfoy as if he wasn’t really sure what to do with Harry talking to him. Blaise liked having friends that made other people nervous. He also liked other people being nervous of him, but he was projecting friendly-Blaise to his new group in the making so he would have to hold back for now.

Malfoy rolled his eyes before turning, sniffing rather snootily at Harry, “What are you doing talking to us, Potter?”

“We’ve got a question and we are at the end of the table; you’re literally the only guys we can physically talk to” Harry reasoned, “So who is he?”

Malfoy turned to look up at the staff’s table before waving at the very man that had looked like he was seconds away from cursing Harry. Bizarrely, the man acknowledged the wave with a nod. “He’s Severus Snape, our head of house.”

Ron burst out laughing, “Harry! How did you manage to make a teacher hate you on the first day? Our own head of house too!”

“Who are the other Heads of Houses, apart from McGonagall?” Tracey asked, genuinely interested.

“Don’t talk to me, mudblood” Malfoy hissed viciously, making Tracey’s eyes widened with surprise.

Ron’s fist banged against the table as he leant into Malfoy’s face, “Say that again and I’ll break your bloody nose Malfoy ” he sneered at the boy’s name. 

Blaise was overjoyed at this development, as were Tracey and Harry. Apparently they all wanted to see Ron pummel Malfoy. The latter probably as a form of justice, but who cares if Blaise wants to see a fight for the sake of seeing a fight? Blaise was a count who’d lived a sheltered life! He wanted to see someone punching the soul out of someone else. If gladiators were still a thing Blaise would watch them frequently. Sadly they were considered too barbaric to go on after a certain point in history.

Unfortunately, the fight had been broken up before it had even started because Dumbledore had begun speaking. 

Ron growled as he leant away from Malfoy and Harry looked heartbroken to see the remains of the feast vanishing from the table.

The wizard cleared his throat, “Just a few words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. 1st years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” Dumbledore glanced at a pair of twins at the Gryffindor table Blaise assumed were Fred and George, mostly on the grounds of them being ginger Gryffindors. “‘I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death”

Ron and Blaise shared a confused glance as Harry and Tracey laughed, apparently taking the headmaster’s words as a joke.

“He is just kidding, right?” Tracey said, noticing their reaction.

“Hopefully” Blaise said as Ron added: “Reckon there’s lots of things in Hogwarts that can kill you”

That made the girl look rather alarmed.

Dumbledore had the school belch out something that could barely be described as a song-  Blaise was glad that the most of Slytherin found it below themselves to join in- and then promptly sent everyone to bed.

Much to Blaise’s delight, the three people he had tactically selected stuck by him as they were being led through the castle by Slytherin’s fifth-year prefects. Tracey and Bulstrode were giving each other the stink-eye while Ron and Malfoy were doing the exact same. Harry and Blaise, between the two, were preening at the awed stares they were receiving. Harry seemed to have taken Blaise’s words to heart and seemed to be determined to have everyone remembering him. 

“Congratulations on getting into Slytherin House, you’re our biggest lot yet” The female prefect said, “I’m Gemma Farley, I’m one of the prefects for our house. Beside me is Prefect Marcus Flint, whose also our quidditch captain”

Flint just nodded in their direction. Farley continued as they led them down some stairs, “Our common room is in the dungeons, under the Great Lake. You will be roomed by gender, and will not be allowed to enter each other’s dorms”

Tracey groaned and Blaise gave her a genuinely sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Harry seemed to be doing the same to Ron.

They all stopped, facing a stone wall. Farley addressed them: “When we enter a speech will commence.You will all stand and listen quietly so we can get this over with” She then turned back to the wall and said: “ Semper Primus ”

A part of the wall slid to the side, exposing a green-lit room with dozens of people inside. Farley and Flint ushered them all in, and the wall closed off behind them. 

What Blaise assumed was everyone in Slytherin stood in a large circle around two people, a man and a woman, and the 1st years were forced into an opening in the circle by the prefects.

“Alright, finally we’ve got everyone here” The woman said. “I’m Ophelia Sommertime”

The man said, “And I’m Nathan Crockett. We’re the 7th year prefects here to overlook the duels and drill he rules into your heads”

From beside Blaise, Ron made a questioning noise. It occurred to him that he was the only one with family who’d been in Slytherin in his group.

“Rule one: ‘Disagreements are under no circumstances to be known by people outside of Slytherin. We must present an image of perfect unity’. This is crucial . For the firsties who don’t know why we’re going to bang on about that one, good luck because you’re going to be getting a nasty surprise. For the few older years who seem to struggle with this one, don’t think I won’t, ah, reinforce it” She cracked her knuckles threateningly at that. Sommertime had been a good choice of prefect, it seemed.

Polar opposite of Sommertime, Crockett merrily chimed in, “Rule two: ‘The common room is a shared space. Conspire to keep it neat and liveable’. I think that’s reasonable, don’t you?” He said, directing his speech towards the first-years, who cautiously nodded. “Lovely. Next rule please, Lia?”

“Don’t call me that'' Sommertime snapped back at him, “Rule three: ‘House meetings must be attended. You will get word that one may be happening prior to the actual meeting’. It will always be a prefect leading a house meeting, usually the sixth-year ones as they are not so busy with exams. That’ll be Higgs and Vaisey'' She nodded in the direction of the prefects standing beside Farley and Flint. They glumly raised a hand in greeting to the stares being directed at them.

“Rule four: ‘Don’t sully the Slytherin name by making a fool of yourself’. Don’t be an idiot, it reflects badly on all of us” 

“Rule five:” Sommertime grinned at this one, which rather horrifically resembled a shark’s. “‘Don’t get caught’”

“We’re not Gryffindors, after all” Crockett said with a wink at the crowd, which sniggered. Blaise felt Ron stiffen beside him. The prefect turned to his female counterpart, “I believe it’s time we get started with the duels, Lia?”

“ Ophelia, you utter imbecile. The normal rules apply, no unforgivables, no challenging first-years, and no mentioning the duels outside of these walls ” Sommertime hissed out the last bit at the first-years. “Remember rule one, it’s our first for a reason”

“Any challengers?” Crockett asked, looking around the room.

An auburn-haired boy stepped forward, nose high in the air and announcing to the room: “I challenge Warrington”

A boy with hair so bright it could only be described as golden sighed as he stepped forward. “I accept. Again” He smirked, “Back so soon, Pucey? Not scared you’re going to lose again? My second is Faheem, but I doubt I’ll need him”

“Everyone, make space for them.” Crockett warned.

Immediately, they began casting at rapid fire, and, immediately, Blaise could see who was better. Warrington was casting some of his hexes non-verbally . He whispered to his group: “That’s going to be you lot next year”

“What? Why?” Ron said, looking sick.

“Well, Tracey’s muggleborn, and you’re a Weasley, and Harry’s responsible for sending half of these people’s relatives to Azkaban”

“How do you know we won’t drag you down with us?” Tracey said, hopefully incorrectly. Negative attention was still attention, but Blaise didn’t want to duel anyone. Especially not at twelve years old. 

“What’s Azkaban?” Harry asked, thankfully quietly. If he’d been heard saying that while being responsible for people never seeing some of their families again he would’ve been jumped. Blaise didn’t answer as he was becoming enraptured with the way Pucey’s ears had grown to double the length of a particularly old elf’s. 

 Several people in the crowd were getting rowdy, yelling things like: “Clobber him Cass!”, “Fight back properly Adrian!” “Merlin, his ears are about to touch the ceiling!”

“ Calvoria! ” Warrington cast a spell that had Pucey’s hair promptly falling out into the carpet. “My, what a shiny head you have”

Pucey howled with rage, sending off a spitfire of curses, “ Slugulus Eructo! Furnunculus! Locomotor mortis! Ebublio! ”

Warrington sidestepped each one, looking rather pleased about it before smoothing his face into mild boredom. “ Petrificus totalus ” he said coolly.

Pucey, bald and with ears scraping the glass ceiling that showed off the bottom of the Great Lake, froze still as a board before promptly tipping over backwards onto the floor, paralysed. Several people in the crowd behind him had to jump away to avoid being hit by one of his ears.

“That was amazing” Ron said in a hushed breath, stars in his eyes, and Blaise could see Harry and Tracey nodding along to that sentiment, looking at Warrington with deep admiration. 

Sommertime stepped forward, “As Pucey hasn’t named a second, Warrington wins this duel” There was some cheering from the crowd, Blaise and his friends joining in. “Will there be any other contenders tonight?”

The cheering died out immediately. Sommertime sighed before clasping her hands together, “Then I bid you goodnight. Flint, Farley, show the first-years to their rooms”

Sommertime then swept away. Crockett groaned before also stepping away from the crowd, “Someone sort out Pucey”

Flint forced them to start moving, leading them to a corridor off the side of the common room. “Girls, follow Miss Farley; boys, follow me” 

Blaise brushed against Pansy, who jumped in surprise as he whispered: “Tell Davis how to ward her bed”, before moving to catch up to where Flint was leading six other boys. Blaise was an only child for Merlin’s sake, he was not used to this number of people rooming with him. Being around them all the time was going to be a nightmare.

“Malfoy’s going to murder me in my sleep” Ron said to him, though he didn’t look too scared. Actually, he was looking at Malfoy in a way that said ‘try me’. 

Blaise hummed, “He’ll get Harry after you. Then probably me”

Patting his arm in solidarity, Ron embraced his upcoming death, “We’ll go down together then. It’s been good knowing you. Best hour and a bit of my life”

“Glad to hear it.” He said with a wink, making the other boy chuckle.

Flint stopped in front of a door at the end of the corridor, gesturing at it half-heartedly. “This is yours. Enjoy” He promptly walked away, leaving them alone. 

They all hovered, unsure of what to do. Then, Ron sighed before pushing the door open.

The room was illuminated by the green glow that came from the lake. Seven poster beds were evenly spread out around it, equipped with thick sheets and emerald hangings attached to the frames. It was carpeted in dark green and walled in stone, looking slightly mediaeval by Blaise’s standards. There was a fireplace to the right side, which was closer to the entrance. 

“It’s okay, I guess.” He said, brushing past Ron to enter the room. He walked up to the bed with all his luggage, pleased to find the one furthest from the door, where it would undoubtedly be warmest. That may be a problem in the summer, but Blaise doubted that it ever got that hot when you’re actively under a lake. He couldn’t get over that fact, really.

Ron had gotten the bed beside his, and Harry the one beside that. After Harry, it went from Nott, Malfoy, Crabbe, to Goyle. Blaise rather hoped that Goyle shivered all night long. The boy hadn’t actually done anything to him yet, he just hadn’t any love for ugly people.

Squeaking could be heard as Ron appeared to be trying to wrestle a rat out of the cage it must’ve travelled in. In Italy Blaise would have such a creature killed on sight, but perhaps things were different in Britain. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just Scabbers being an idiot” Ron grunted before running a hand through his hair, “He’s been to Hogwarts before, used to be Percy’s, but he got fed up with him and gave him to me. Dunno why he’s fussing about now”

“Maybe it’s cold?” Blaise suggested, unsure on why Ron couldn’t just keep the rat in the cage it came in.

“If he’s messing about because it’s too cold I’ll throw him into the fire” He said, seemingly speaking more to the rat than he was Blaise, cocking his head towards the fireplace. Miraculously the threat worked on the thing, seeing as it was scuttling hurriedly into the palm of Ron’s laid out hand.

“Is it the travelling, do you think?” Blaise asked, honestly not caring for the answer. However, it was crucial to him that he solidified his alliance/friendship with Weasley, Potter and Davis, and Ron seemed like the type of person who appreciated someone showing an interest in things that were important to him. Like his pet rat, apparently. “Moving around, adjusting and all that”

“Nah, Scabbers is okay with it. S’perfectly fine whenever we go on holiday, I think he’s just being dumb because I called him stupid and tried to turn him yellow on the train”

Blaise blinked, “Are you suggesting that the rat is- offended?”

Ron shrugged, undeterred by his disbelief, “I’m pretty sure most owls can understand some English. Anyways, Scabbers is mad old and perfectly healthy, been in my family for 10 years, he has. Wouldn’t be shocked if he can understand a thing or two after being around people for so long”

“Ron, I doubt the rat can understand you.” Harry said from where he was crouched beside his bed, looking at his belongings. “How come you have Scabbers? Where’s Hedwig?”

“She’s probably been put in the owlery. I think you can have her here, but I think most people keep their owls there” In an act that reminded Blaise that Ron had many siblings and was likely used to immodesty, began changing into his pyjamas as he spoke. 

He didn’t know where to look, eyes wandering around and accidentally making contact with Nott’s. The boy, dark haired, freckled and button-nosed, didn’t appear the Death Eater material that Ron had claimed him to be quite frankly. Truthfully, if he hadn’t known who everyone else in the room was, making the outlier Nott by default, he never would’ve guessed that he was the son of the intimidating Lord Nott. He raised an eyebrow at him, and Nott raised one back. Seemed he too found Ron’s casual stripping a bit surprising, but had the sense not to say anything about it. 

“It’s definitely there, Harry” Blaise said, turning away from Nott to look at the celebrity, “Trust me, if my falcon is guaranteed to be in the owl ery then your owl is”

“Falcon?” Malfoy asked from the other side of the room, where he had been talking rather mundanely about his father to Crabbe and Goyle.

Blaise, “Owls aren’t as quick. It would take five days for a letter to get here from Florence. Colombina gets there and back in just over one”

“Wicked” said Ron, looking at ‘Scabbers’ with what Blaise considered to be a reasonable amount of contempt. Colombina, his striking peregrine falcon, scored several leagues higher than a rat in terms of how ‘wicked’ a pet could be .

They all got changed and went into their beds rather quickly, an air of exhaustion hanging about the room. Ron, Crabbe and Goyle were wiped out the moment their heads touched their pillows. Malfoy- despite his angry mutterings of how uncomfortable the beds were- followed them soon after. 

Only Blaise and Harry were awake now, the latter tossing and turning as if he couldn’t bring himself to be comfortable. Blaise himself was up mostly because his body-clock hadn’t yet attuned, leaving him rather fed up. He was tired but genuinely couldn’t doze off. The rustling of Harry’s bed sheets certainly wasn't helping. He sighed softly.

“Stop moving about” He muttered to Harry, who froze before whispering out: “Sorry”

Blaise sighed before reaching out a hand to grab something from his bag.

“Potter, catch,” he said, throwing a bottle over Ron’s head to reach Harry, who’s hand snatched it out of the air perfectly. Impressive reflexes, that. Blaise raised an unseen eyebrow as he explained: “Sleeping draught”

“Like melatonin?” Harry mumbled, already unscrewing the lid off of the potion, entirely confident Blaise would not be attempting to take his life via poison or something. This is not a trust Blaise would have for many if he were the Boy-Who-Lived, let alone a boy he’d met only a few hours ago. “Cheers"

Blaise grabbed one for himself as Harry threw his head back and chugged.

Chapter Text

Tuesday 3rd of September 1991 - Hogwarts Castle, Highlands, Scotland

Life at Hogwarts was slightly hectic. The staircases kept on moving while students were on them, Ron was fairly certain some passageways and corridors only showed up when you didn’t need them; there was a poltergeist whose life’s(?) aim was to torment the entire student body, and Ron was quite sure that this was the most magical place he’d ever been. And he’d literally been raised as a wizard.

Blaise and he were working diligently to help Harry and Tracey catch up with what wixen their age tended to already know. Blaise in particular felt it was important to stress the importance of more traditional customs, which, in all honesty, was a bit of a blind spot for Ron. His family rarely dabbled with that sort of thing, after all.

“How does somebody become a lord or lady?” Tracey asked him on their way out of DADA, which had been slightly unenjoyable due to the alarmingly strong smell of garlic that a ginger- not the bright orange of his own hair, it was more auburn- Hufflepuff girl explained was due to Quirrell having been traumatised by an experience with some vampires. A boy with her- Ernie Macmillan- had claimed that the professor had put said garlic in his turban. “Like, without being an heir? How does someone start a lineage?”

Blaise appeared to be rather stumped at this questioning, “I’m not sure, actually. I don’t believe Britain has granted anyone a lordship for centuries.”

“Wizarding Britain, that is,” said Harry. “Making people lords is still a thing in muggle Britain, but the title isn’t passed down to their kids.”

Blaise didn’t look like he particularly cared for muggle Britain’s lordship customs, instead sniping at two: “In Hogwarts right now, which people are heirs?”

“All first-born children of families in the Sacred Twenty-Eight” Harry responded. There had been regular quizzes since the beginning of the week, and the muggle-raised members of the group had information on the wizarding world being drilled into their heads by Blaise non-stop. “As well as people with politically powerful families, like the Bones’.”

“Greengrass, Bulstrode, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Harry in our house and year,” Tracey mused before looking at Blaise. “Are you one, actually?”

Blaise nodded, “I’m also a count. Count-to-be!” He said hurriedly at Ron’s astonished face, “My mother is the head of the house.”

“Countess Zabini,” Ron murmured, “I feel like I’ve heard that name before…”

“Yeah, probably,” Blaise said flippantly. “Do we have anything else today?”

“No other lessons,” Harry cheerfully replied. “We get more per day in each year that’s coming.”

“Yeah, Bill and Charlie told me to enjoy it while it lasts.” Ron nodded, thinking glumly about the years worth of Charms lessons to come. If he heard Parvati Patil tell Seamus Finnigan ‘wingardium leviOsa, not leviosAR’ one more time he would happily wingardium leviOsa the two of them off of the Astronomy Tower. Ron was shit at charms. Thankfully, Tracey was just as bad, if not worse, and had given up at some point to cruelly mimic Patil’s voice to their group, causing them to snicker at them for most of the lesson. Then Ron remembered that Patil and Finnigan were people he’d hoped to have been housemates with and sobered rather quickly.

Though perhaps he’d dodged a stunner there, he thought, as they turned the corner to witness Finnigan make Longbottom’s bag explode while it was still on the boy’s back.

Longbottom wailed as he fell to the floor, bits of his bag littering the ground surrounding him.

“Oh my god!” exclaimed Harry, appalled. “Neville! Are you alright?”

“Blimey, sorry, Neville!” Finnigan was saying, “I didn’t think that would happen!”

”You said you were changing the colour of it, not blowing it to bits!” Longbottom cried out.

“Perhaps that’s where you went wrong, Longbottom.” said Blaise, looking mildly amused. “Finnigan seems to lack any magical finesse other than the ability to set things on fire- I certainly wouldn’t trust the man to successfully cast even something as simple as a colour-changing spell.”

Harry discreetly elbowed Ron. Neither of them were looking at each other, but Ron saw Harry’s smirk in his peripheral vision and kicked him in the shin for it. Ruddy bastard.

Finnigan grew red in the face, realising he’d had witnesses to his cockup. 

Sophie Roper, a Gryffindor girl who had been quietly snickering at Longbottom, stepped forward, scowling impressively at the Slytherins, “It’s not that easy- I’d like to see you try and change something’s colour!”

Ron couldn’t quite resist pointing out the obvious: “Can’t really prove it, can he? There’s nothing left of Longbottom’s bag to change!” At least Ron’s attempt hadn’t had rat guts exploding everywhere!

Longbottom wailed again: “Gran’s going to kill me! Two days! Two days, I’ve had that bag!”

“I’m really sorry, Neville.” Finnigan said, though he looked too annoyed for it to sound that sincere. It was probably the Slytherins’ presence that peeved him off.

“Why were you changing its colour anyway?” asked Tracey, foot toeing at a stray piece of leather that had once been a bag. Or a part of one.

“It was dark green- it was clashing horrifically with our uniform” explained Lavender Brown.

Blaise grimaced. “Yes, bright red and dark green would clash quite a bit. What colour were you aiming for, Finnigan?”

Roper snorted, a cruel look in her eye when she said: “I recommended pink. I thought it would suit Neville as a person more, you see.”

“What type of pink?” asked Tracey.

Roper faltered, “What?”

“What kind of pink? Hot pink, baby pink, rouge, rose gold, coral..?”

“I don’t know, just said that it should be pink,” said Roper, frowning. “I didn’t have an exact shade in mind.”

“With how dark our robes are, I would’ve gone with rosewood,” said Tracey, unperturbed by Roper and Brown exchanging exasperated glances right in front of her. “The pinky-brown would’ve gone well- hot pink would’ve been mortifying, and don’t even get me started on how grim coral would’ve been, though coral can be more orange than pink. With uniforms like this school’s, you have to have a rather dark bag, or it looks revolting compared to the uniform. Really, the only safe options are the darkest or dullest shades you can get in a colour- or brown, I suppose. I’m surprised you didn’t go with red for a bit of Gryffindor pride, but frankly, I think you lot would’ve gone with firetruck red instead of, I don’t know, maroon or mahogany or something sensible-”

“Trace, I think she chose pink because she thought it would embarrass Longbottom, not because she extensively thought out the pros and cons of every shade of every colour and landed on rosewood pink. ” Blaise thankfully interrupted Tracey’s tirade.

“Oh,” Tracey blinked. “So… coral? Fire engine red?”

“What’s a fire engine? Nevermind” Roper interrupted Tracey as she opened her mouth to respond, “I was envisioning ‘hot pink’, if anything.”

“Er,” said Harry looking between the Gryffindors with a conflicted expression, “Aren’t you meant to be friends? Why are you trying to embarrass Neville? You’re not…bullying him, are you?”

“Of course not, Potter,” Finnigan said quickly. “It’s just banter”

“Sure,” said Ron, not at all convinced. “Well, your ‘banter’ has destroyed Longbottom’s bag and several of his belongings, so you might want to at least help the poor sod up from the floor”

Longbottom was starting to look a little pathetic down there, after all. 

Brown clasped her hands around her mouth and said, “Oh Merlin, I didn’t even think about that! Neville, your schoolwork!”

“Oh, who cares?” waved off Roper, unbothered. “It was only history and charms.”

Finnigan offered a hand to Longbottom, struggling to haul him up as Harry stepped forward, looking annoyed, “And anything else in his bag!”

“Which was probably almost nothing, Potter. Frankly, I don’t see how any of this is your business, anyway” argued Roper.

Harry ignored the last comment, saying: “It doesn’t matter if it was almost empty! What if Neville saved up for that bag, or it was passed down to him, or something? What if he really liked it? What if it meant a lot to him?”

Roper laughed loudly at that. “Longbottom is filthy rich, like you are, Potter. The only person here that would be pathetic enough to be that sentimental towards a bag is Weasley , seeing as he probably barely scraped in enough money for his own”

Ron, completely blindsided by that, gaped in outrage, “What the fuck? Where did that come from?”

“Well, it’s true,” Roper sniffed, “Neville is hardly going to miss the stupid bag”

“No, you stupid slag, why’d you gotta drag me into you being a bitch to Longbottom ?” Ron hissed, extremely pissed off. “Mad uncalled for, that was. You also seemed to have forgotten that you live in the same tower as plenty of other Weasleys”

Finnigan scowled, “Is that a threat, Weasley? Gonna get them to gang up on us?”

“If you want,” Ron sniped back.

“Hey now, let’s not fight in the middle of the hallway…” Longbottom protested weakly.

“Shut it.” Both Ron and Finnigan snapped at the blond boy, ignoring the way Harry and Brown bristled in response to them being so harsh to him.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Finnigan, but I’m sure I can mention you to them anyway. You and Roper can have a nice chat with them. Though I’d watch what you eat at dinner, Fred and George might just slip something into the food- by mistake, obviously…” Ron trailed off, smirking as he saw Finnigan pale a little. The twins must’ve already started their pranks, if Finnigan had caught wind of how malicious they could be if they wanted. In the corner of his eye, he could see Blaise light up in excitement. The boy was desperate to witness a fight, apparently.

“Sophie didn’t mean anything by it,” Finnigan said. It took Ron a moment to realise he was talking about Roper. “She was just trying to point out that Neville will be fine without the bag”

“It still shouldn't’ve been destroyed in the first place” Harry said hotly, “Neville, I hope your going to make this berk pay for it”

Finnigan’s face dropped, “Well, hang on…”

Blaise was smirking, “What, don’t think you owe Longbottom that?”

Finnigan shifted uncomfortably, “I mean- it’s just- it was only a mistake, Neville”

Longbottom nodded hesitantly, “Yeah, I know”

“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you”

Longbottom didn’t reply to that, and his silence told everyone his exact opinions on that statement.

“It’s- uh- look, I really am sorry, alright?” said the Irishman, “You- you aren’t going to make me pay for it, are you?”

The other boy sighed, “I won’t”

“What?” Harry protested with a frown, “You can’t be serious”

“He’s right, it was just an accident” said Longbottom, though it looked more like he was giving up on arguing in his own defence rather than actually believing in what he was saying, “Gran will… she’d understand. Maybe”

Ron felt that Longbottom was more of a weak little kitten than a lion. A stray one that had been orphaned. And recently hit by a car. The feeblest a kitten could get- that was what Longbottom was. A really unfortunate kitten. One that wouldn’t make a great lion.

Harry was forced to leave the whole Longbottom’s bag issue behind, as Longbottom himself wasn’t bothering to have a fight about it. They left the Gryffindors with a few scathing remarks on their characters and went on with their day. 

Gryffindors were turning out to be somewhat arseholish, which was really going against what Ron had been raised to know. He’d always thought of Gryffindors as headstrong, chivalrous, brave, and so forth. The reality was… disappointing, and hard to grasp.

In what seemed to be a suicidal decision of Dumbledore’s, Gryffindors and Slytherins shared a shocking number of classes together. And, as Ron noted as he looked at his timetable, it was the most risk-filled classes as well. Flying, potions… it was like he was orchestrating the accidents that were bound to happen.

Unfortunately, Tracey and Ron’s solidarity at being horrid at most of their lessons ended in the Transfiguration classroom. She turned her matchstick into a needle after a mere four tries, beaten only by Granger, who’d done it in two. His only comfort was that no one else, apart from Anthony Goldstein, had successfully done it either, with Blaise and Harry both glaring hatefully at their matches as the lesson ended. Ron had congratulated Tracey before promptly calling her a neek, making her laugh and slap his arm playfully.

In truth, Ron had been quite worried about not fitting in, oftentimes feeling like a lion wearing snakeskin instead of an actual Slytherin, and felt like he didn’t really want to lose that sentiment because it would be like accepting a part of himself he didn’t especially appreciate. But Harry was funny in a lowkey way, Blaise was charismatic and delighted in subtly encouraging mischief, and Tracey was just as a sore thumb in Slytherin as Ron was. All together, the four enjoyed a mean type of humour that Ron had previously tried to deny himself. Being judgemental was valid amongst them; making comments about Malfoy’s pompousness, Granger being an insufferable teachers’ pet, and Finnigan’s sneers at them entertained Ron to no end. He just couldn’t see that kind of thing sliding if he were a Gryffindor instead.

When Ron had met Harry, the boy was unsure how to treat his newfound fame, but with the help of Blaise, Harry readily accepted it with subtle greed. He tried to be cool about it, Ron could tell, but sometimes his delight slipped onto his face. Ron couldn’t find it within him to blame him for it. It was probably intoxicating after the childhood he’d had (what he had picked up on was appalling), and Ron felt that the boy deserved a little self-pride for once.

Ron himself had become more confident as, as Blaise had predicted, people picked up on him being a Slytherin Weasley and regarded him with some awe (and some discontent, but Ron found he was glad for it. He would lose his mind if he wasn’t actively quarrelling with at least three people at once, after all). He was brash for a Slytherin, and Harry Potter’s best mate, though he received plenty of stares even when Harry wasn’t there (a rare occurrence, but still). The only issue Ron had with it was that the attention was very secondary. He wanted his own glory, for things he’d achieved for himself. Which wasn’t anything, yet, but the sentiment still stood.

Blaise and Tracey were stylish, good with their words, and both seemed to be perfect at picking up where Ron and Harry were lacking, wrapping the four of them together in a neat parcel.

Ron suspected that Blaise had ensured this dynamic, somehow. He was definitely socially competent enough.

Their first Friday at Hogwarts promised them an introduction to Potions, Herbology, and Astronomy, of which they had the first with the Gryffindors and the latter two with the Ravenclaws.

“It’s a double,” Tracey told them as they waited outside the classroom. It was, pleasantly, located somewhat near their common room, so all the Slytherins had found it easily. None of the Gryffindors were there yet, presumably lost. “Is it like chemistry, do you think?”

Ron wasn’t 100% sure what chemistry was.

“Probably not,” Harry answered, “My primary school said it was important to have an open space when we had a lesson with Bunsen burners. Do you see any fire exits here, Trace? Or fire extinguishers?”

Blaise looked at Ron, eyebrow raised. He just snorted and shrugged back at him.

“What’s a Bunsen burner?” Greengrass asked from where she was standing with Parkinson, looking between Harry and Tracey. She was rather aloof, like a female version of Malfoy, but with darker hair and less whiny, from what Ron could tell. 

Tracey hummed, “Do you know what a blowtorch is?”. Greengrass looked mystified. 

“I reckon we’ll be using them in potions,” Harry told her, before twisting back to Tracey, “Do you think we'll be like mad scientists?”

Tracey looked delighted. “I want a lab coat!”

The classroom door burst open, revealing the stern face of Slytherin’s Head. All chatter died immediately; subconsciously, it had been demanded as such. To Ron’s disdain, the Gryffindors actually managed to make it just before Snape slammed the door shut. The teacher looked as disappointed as Ron had felt.

Now, it’s important to say that Ron didn’t have anything against Gryffindors. Merlin, a week ago he’d been desperate to be one. But there was something about the first-year ones that made them very dislikeable. Maybe it was the way they accused every Slytherin of being pure evil, barring only Harry. If you were one to assume that Tracey and Ron, being muggleborn and blood traitor, would be saved from this fate as well, you’d be astronomically wrong. In fact, some students looked at Ron and Tracey like they were eviler than the rest of their house, just on account of being Slytherin enough to override their Weasley and muggleborn-ishnes. Yeah, maybe that was it.

Ron sat with Harry, and Blaise with Tracey the next table over in what was a very dark, dank room. There were jars of rather disgusting things lined up on shelves on the walls, one of which had something gooey that Ron swore was blinking at him. A cauldron was laid out for each of them to share with a partner. Somewhere behind them, Ron heard Emma Vane grumble quite loudly at being forced to share with Longbottom.

“Neville Longbottom?” When the register reached him, Longbottom let out a pitiful squeak that could be identified as a ‘yes, sir’ at some point, maybe in mouse. Snape sneered but continued to drawl out the names of his students with increasing disdain. “Draco Malfoy?”

“Yes, sir,” Said the peacock from where he sat with Crabbe. He received a ‘hm’ of acknowledgement. Ron hoped that wasn’t what people meant when they said Snape favoured Slytherins, because that could barely be counted as civil. Yet again, it was the only neutral response from a whole lot of negative ones so far.

“Theodore Nott?”

“Yes, sir.” Nott was rather quiet. The loner type that Malfoy kept on trying to pick up and make him join his gang. He kept to himself mostly, not speaking to anyone (other than Malfoy sometimes ) in their dorm; head was always stuck in a book. Ron wondered why he wasn’t in Ravenclaw. It unsettled him, actually. Nott tended to silently stare at people, looking at them like insects under a microscope. He was getting worried that his roommate was secretly a psychopath. Hopefully he was just quiet around new people, and not plotting their gruesome deaths.

“Pansy Parkinson?” 

“Here, sir.” From what Ron could tell, Blaise and Parkinson were friends. They were both rather vain and enjoyed gossip, so he could see why. Parkinson was objectively pretty, he supposed, her sleek black bob was never a hair out of place, and her lipgloss was tinted with just the right colour of cherry pink that contrasted her skin tone beautifully. But Ron was put off by how she kept on talking to Malfoy as if he were godsent, and the way she came off as sleazy when she went with the flow of whatever he was saying.

“Parvati Patil?” Also very pretty- she and her sister could easily be the prettiest in their year. She and her dormmates- Vane, Roper, and Brown- seemed to have become very tight-knit. She was easily the most likeable of the four. 

“Here, sir.” 

Snape paused. Ron had a feeling in his chest that something was about to go down. 

“Ah yes,” he said softly. “Harry Potter. Our new celebrity ”

Ron glared at the people who sniggered, making a list of them in his head: Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Finnigan, Vane, and Roper .

“Yes, sir,” Harry said pleasantly, even though Ron could see how tight his grip on his quill was. The feeling in Ron’s chest subsided as Snape looked a bit put out at the perfectly polite response before scowling and moving on with a gruff: “Sophie Roper?”

The professor sneered out the rest of the names on the register, disdain practically dripping by the time he’d reached Blaise, before looking up sharply to stare at his class. Ron couldn’t deny that the look he gave him was terrifying. Like a vulture with a carcass. Or Fred and George after finding a spider.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” He said softly. Ron had the feeling that his speaking like this was more dangerous than his screaming at them all. He was going to ask his dad about Snape the moment he stepped out of the classroom. Ron was already creating the format of his letter: ‘ Hi Dad, how have you been? Hogwarts is cool. What are my chances of getting murdered by my potions professor?’ “ As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death- if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

Ron and Harry raised their eyebrows at one another. “ Dunderheads? ” Ron mouthed at him, receiving a humorous smirk back.

“Potter!” Snape snapped, probably having seen the exchange “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Ron and Harry looked at each other, this time in confusion, both shrugging in unison. “I’m not sure, sir,” Harry said smoothly, though he had a slight frown.

The professor opened his mouth, probably to rebuke him, before Ron spoke up cautiously: “Did we have summer revision to do or something?”

Harry nodded. “I wasn’t told we had to know stuff before the first lesson.”

Snape sneered at the both of them, “Think yourselves too good to open a book before coming, did you?”

“Did we have to?” Ron said uncertainty, catching Blaise’s eye from across their tables. The boy was mouthing, ‘ Stop talking ’. The ginger looked away in time to see Snape’s face contort even further in contempt. It almost looked painful. Ron reckoned Snape would have wrinkles by the time they reached the end of the year.

“No, Mr. Weasley, you ‘ did not have to ’ but I think it’s rather telling of your attitude towards school work if you find yourselves so above a bit of preparation for the subject you’re to study.” His black eyes flashed. “Since you seem to insist on being included, however, maybe you could tell me the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“Uhh,” Ron said, rather caught off guard. He spotted Patil’s hand nervously rise, though, and pointed at it hurriedly, “I dunno, but I think she can, sir.”

He heard Blaise groan and Tracey and Harry snicker.

“Put your hand down, Miss Patil, I didn’t ask for your input.” Patil looked rather surprised to have been called out by Ron and then reprimanded by Snape for it, while the teacher looked thoroughly unimpressed with Ron’s diversion. “Potter- asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, Weasley, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?”

The sound of people rushing to pull out parchment and quills from their bags filled the room in an instant. Ron was reluctantly impressed by how easily Snape had everyone obeying him.

The rest of potions went poorly. Snape was sniping at every Gryffindor in sight and ignoring all the Slytherins. He was only civil with Malfoy, who was apparently the Merlin of potion-brewing. Harry and Ron’s own potion was turning a funny colour by the time they heard a screech from behind them.

Everyone whipped their heads around to see Vane and Longbottom’s potion leaking onto the floor from where it had melted through the bottom of their cauldron. In an instant, everyone lept onto their stools, Vane weeping over her ruined shoes that had holes that definitely weren't there at the beginning of the lesson. The only one who hadn’t moved was Longbottom, who was whimpering as his skin broke out in boils across his arms.

“Idiot boy!” Snape snarled harshly, striding towards him and clearing away the mess on the floor with a flick of his wand. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”

Longbottom didn’t answer, too distressed as the boils started to spread onto his face. Snape sighed, turning to Vane and saying, “Take him to the hospital wing.”

To Ron’s bewilderment, Vane shook her head, tears streaming down her face, “It’s his fault my shoes are ruined! They’re ruined! ”

“We can take him, sir,” Harry offered, looking at Longbottom with sympathy as Ron glared at Vane in disgust. 

“How noble of you, Potter,” Snape drawled out, “Fine then, Potter, Weasley, take Longbottom to the hospital wing. Your potion’s seconds away from becoming like his anyway.”

With that in mind, Ron was rather happy to leap away from their cauldron to sling one of Longbottom’s arms across his shoulders, with Harry hurrying behind to do the same on the boy’s other side. “Real chivalrous of you,” Ron spat at Vane as they walked past the girl, receiving a very dirty look from her. He thought he heard Snape snort quietly at that.

“Don’t worry about it, Neville,” Harry told the boy as they walked out of the dungeons. “He shouldn’t be expecting everyone to get everything in the first lesson.”

What Longbottom should be worried about, Ron reckoned, was the way his entire house seemed like they half hated the boy. In fact, the only time he recalled any of them being remotely nice to him was when Brown expressed concern over his ruined possessions yesterday.

“Proper harsh that,” Ron nodded. “And Vane is horrid for caring more about a shoe. ” Ron actually would’ve been devastated if it were his shoes, but that was mainly because he’d have to wait months to replace them. Besides, he still would’ve gone to the hospital wing with Longbottom despite the loss. He wasn’t a total slag.

“Lives up to her namesake, that one,” Harry added, which finally managed to elicit a strangled laugh from Longbottom’s whimpering. “Vain Vane.”

“I-It’s not her fault the potion went wrong, she didn’t have to come…” Longbottom looked between them and said, “And neither d-did you two. Thank you.”

Harry and Ron looked slightly abashed. “Um,” Ron searched for a change in topic that wasn’t Longbottom tearfully thanking them, “Harry, you said Hagrid wanted to see you?”

Harry shot him a thankful look, “Yeah, he did, for some tea. Want to come?”

“Sure, might as well. When is it?”

“After lunch. Hey Neville, have you had herbology yet? We’ve got it after potions.”

Longbottom lit up at that: “Yes! It’s loads of fun; I'm actually good at it too…”

Ron sensed that he was about to be reminded of how he was not so good at potions in a second, so he said, “Is it like gardening?”

Harry pulled a face, which had Ron hiding a snicker as Longbottom replied, “Sort of, but a lot more in depth. You study the plants as much as you take care of them. Are you good at gardening?”

“I’m alright at degnoming, if that counts.”

“What’s degnoming?” Harry asked.

“It’s when you punt gnomes out of the garden; it’s quite fun if you can make a game out of how far you throw ‘em.” Ron mused. Harry didn’t seem to know how to react to that. A scowl pinched his face as he added: “But Mum’s banned it ‘cause Fred threw one through the Fawcetts’ window once. It’s so unfair, they probably would’ve been fine with it if it hadn’t hit Mrs. Fawcett in the back of the head…”

“You make a game out of it?” Longbottom seemed to be thinking about it: “I toss the ones in my garden into a bucket, and then Uncle Algie drowns them for us.”

“Er,” Harry looked mildly appalled, “That doesn’t sound very nice”

“What’s not nice is having one of them bite you.” Ron said darkly.

They turned a corner and almost walked into none other than Professor Quirrell, who didn’t mimic the trio’s jolts. In fact, he didn’t react at all, even though they’d almost ran into him.

“Oh, sorry, sir,” Ron said sheepishly, trying to subtly hold his breath to avoid smelling the garlic that Quirrell must’ve been carrying around. He refused to believe the man had stuffed them in his turban. Ron didn’t know a lot of things, but he was fairly sure that turbans weren’t used for that.

“I-It’s quite a-alright, Mr. Weasley” The man said, eyes lingering on Harry before giving Longbottom a look of surprise, “Might n-need to go t-to the hospital wing f-for that!”

“That’s where we’re headed, sir,” Harry said politely, but he was also turning a bit purple. Ron knew that he was also trying not to breathe in the smell.

“B-best be on your w-way then.” Quirrell smiled nervously at them, “Five p-points to the pair of y-you for helping a classmate in n-need”

Ron grinned at that, “Thanks, sir!”

Quirrell didn’t move, so the three had to awkwardly go around him to continue on. Ron didn’t look behind him, but he felt the teacher’s stare at their backs. Harry and he glanced at one another in confusion. 

“Here we are, mate,” Ron said as they finally reached the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey instantly moved Longbottom away from them while fussing about how it had been the second time this week, which was a bit worrying as lessons had begun on Tuesday.

“That was creepy,” Harry said as they left, probably referring to Quirrell and not Longbottom’s apparent uncanny ability to wind up in the hospital wing.

“Tell me about it,” Ron agreed immediately. They were walking back to their lesson at the slowest pace they could, dragging their feet against the polished floors. Snape had vanished their potion as they had left, meaning there wasn’t exactly any work to get back to. “He just stood there and stared at us. Maybe he wasn’t walking around in the first place- maybe he was just standing in the corner waiting for us.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Harry said before snorting. “ Snape would definitely do that though.”

“Don’t jinx it, mate,” Ron laughed, but his stomach did lurch as they turned a corner. Thankfully, the dungeon bat was not waiting for them there. “Do you think he knew we were trying not to smell him?”

“He’s probably used to it by now.” He hummed, “Maybe he has no sense of smell, and doesn’t know that he stinks.”

“Maybe he’s trying to scare everyone away,” Ron suggested, swinging an arm across Harry’s shoulders. “He secretly hates everyone and is trying to make people avoid him by stinking up the place.”

“I heard he’s trying to scare off vampires, actually.” Harry flinched minutely at the contact before stiffening and forcing himself to relax. Ron mentally frowned, wondering if he should move his arm away, before deciding against it. Harry’s jaw was tense as Ron studied him, apparently not as subtle in his worried glance as he’d thought.

He decided not to linger on it. “Vampires? Are there any in Scotland? Or any other part of Britain? Nah, I'm telling you, he hates people and wants to be left alone.” Ron snorted. Harry visibly calmed before letting out an amused huff. “Through any means possible, I guess”

Harry rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, sure, it’s a tactic to scare people off. How has no one seen it?” He sarcastically agreed, “Maybe Snape should pick up some tips from him.”

They’d returned just as the lesson had ended, receiving a severe stink-eye from Snape as they did so. Probably because they’d left for 45 minutes. Still, the man did actually favour his Slytherins, because he didn’t take points off of them.

Their next class, Herbology, was with the Ravenclaws. They were looking at some sentient toadstools, and had been partnered with a person from the other house to fertilise the soil together, or something. The pairs went as followed:

1. Terry Boot and Daphne Greengrass
2. Amanda Brocklehurst and Theodore Nott
3. Millicent Bulstrode and Stephen Cornfoot
4. Michael Corner and Pansy Parkinson
5. Vincent Crabbe and Su Li
6. Tracey Davis and Anthony Goldstein
7. Gregory Goyle, Draco Malfoy, and Lisa Turpin
8. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley
9. Morag MacDougal and Harry Potter
10. Padma Patil and Blaise Zabini

Parkinson looked delighted to be with Michael Corner, whereas Tracey was immeasurably displeased with Goldstein (neither of them looked happy about this arrangement, actually, as Ron had heard Tracey calling the boy insufferable just 24 hours ago, and Goldstein had caught wind of it, by the looks of things). Su Li and Lisa Turpin looked horrified. Blaise was already flirting with Patil.

Thankfully, Granger and MacDougal had taken stations beside one another, so Harry and Ron got to stand next to each other, somewhat behind the other girls. MacDougal looked close to fainting.

“ Don’t touch,” her Scottish-accented voice was gruff as she denied Harry’s offer to help with the toadstools. She was blushing, and sounded slightly starstruck as she added, “You’ve already done so much for us.”

Harry looked bewildered. “Er- what?”

“As the saviour of the wizarding world, I think you have a right not to do the work,” MacDougal said haughtily.

“Saviour..?” Harry repeated, looking slightly stunned.

Granger huffed loudly, shoving Ron towards the potted mushrooms. “Well, Weasley, the wizarding world has no debt to you , so how about you help me out, hm?”

“Yeah, yeah, bloody hell,” He gave her a hard look as he stumbled forwards., “No need to get all handsy, I can move by myself, you know.”

“Well, you certainly didn’t look like you were about to any time soon, so I found it imperative that I take action.”

“‘ Imperative I take action ’.” Ron stuck his tongue out at her, mimicking her voice squeakily.

“Oh, real mature, Weasley.” Granger snapped.

Malfoy laughed harshly a few pots down, apparently assuming he could join in on the conversation. “Where’d a mudblood like you learn such fancy words, Granger?”

Granger baulked at the outright use of the word to her face. Ron’s own face twisted in fury as he spat: “Shut your bloody mouth, Malfoy, before I knock your jaw out, d’you hear me?”

Malfoy recoiled in surprise, before opening his mouth- probably to say something scathing about Granger’s blood status or Ron’s family- only to be stopped by Parkinson grabbing his ear, hissing “ Rule one! ” into it. The blond looked furious about it, but he only sent Ron a glowering look before he turned away from them.

“There was no need to do that,” Granger said, eyeing Ron, interrupting what was going to be Ron continuing to goad Malfoy and then hopefully getting to wallop the prat with a watering can. “I can defend myself, you know.”

Ron glared at her, “Oh, so next time the git calls anyone a slur, I’ll just sit back and relax, will I? I didn’t do it for you, Granger, I called him out because it’s the ruddy principle of the thing. I’d do the same if it were Tracey or just a random person.”

Granger was silent for a moment, before saying: “You didn’t exactly ‘call him out’, you threatened him with bodily injury.”

Ron shrugged jaggedly, “Yeah, and I’ll do it again.”

“‘ Will do it again’ ? Jesus, I’d been wondering how you were doing in Slytherin- I hadn’t realised you were consistently fighting with your housemates since we’d gotten off the damn train!”

“I’m not consistently fighting with them!” Ron defended himself, “Only with Malfoy. That bastard. Though I’m reaching my limit with Crabbe and Goyle- they snore proper loud, I can’t catch a wink of sleep”

That was a lie. Well, not Crabbe and Goyle being snorers, that was true, but Ron slept like a baby.

“That blood feud in play, huh?” said MacDougal, who was pureblood and therefore considered the Malfoy vs Weasley blood feud common knowledge. Harry and Granger decidedly hadn’t known that, and were now looking between Ron and Malfoy alarmedly as if they’d have to hold them back from leaping at one another in a fit of rage any second now. “I get it. Whenever Brown is around, my teeth start to grind.”

“That’s awfully bad for them,” Granger chastised her. “You’ll get temporomandibular disorder if you’re not careful.”

Ron wasn’t sure that had been English. MacDougal’s face was a mix of confused and frightened. “What? What’s that? Am I going to die from it?”

“You might need fillings when you're older,” Granger informed her.

“What are those?”

“Dental transplants, where they fill in the space of the missing tooth.”

“...will that kill me?”

“Yes,” Harry told her gravely, “Thousands die a year from fillings, you know.”

MacDougal’s eyes grew in horror, whimpering as Granger glared at Harry. “No, they don’t!”

Harry’s face was severe, but his lip was twitching in a way that told Ron he was holding in his laughter. “Sure they do, they can fall out and make you choke on them in your sleep, or something.”

“That has never happened!” snapped Granger.

MacDougal glared at her, “I think I trust his word over yours , Hermione,” she said, before looking at Harry as if he were Merlin himself, “What should I do?”

Granger made an enraged noise, nostrils flaring: “ My parents are dent- ”

“I don’t care,” said MacDougal shortly. Her eyes were hopeful as she stared at Harry. “Please, Potter, what can I do to stop this?”

“Hm…” hummed Harry thoughtfully, obviously pretending to think about his response long and hard. “I reckon you need to get rid of all your teeth now, before it’s too late and you need the fillings. Better safe than sorry- woah! ”

MacDougal pointed her wand at her mouth. It clearly hadn’t occurred to her that the saviour of the wizarding world had the ability to lie to her.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Ron, snatching it from her before the girl did something stupid. “Are you dim? Couldn’t you tell he was taking the piss?”

“What? You were joking?” MacDougal looked outraged. “I was about to live life toothless!”

“I’m sure there’s a spell that would’ve regrown them” Ron told her, but her face was darkening rapidly as she glared at Harry hatefully.

“Christ, sorry , I didn’t think you’d actually try and do that!” Harry raised his arms up defensively. 

“I can’t believe you, after I commended you for what you’ve done for us, you treat me like that?” Ron gawped at the tears that grew in her eyes. “How could you? After I planted the toadstools for you?”

“You wouldn’t let me touch them!” protested Harry, looking horrified at how close she was to crying.

“After everything we’ve been through,” MacDougal’s voice cracked. 

“I’ve known you for ten minutes!”

The Scottish girl wailed, “You smiled at me when we were partnered up together! How could you play with my emotions like that? You can’t smile at me and then disregard the things I have done for you! So what, we’ve known each other for only ten minutes? Does the quality of the time we’ve spent together not outweigh the quantity?”

She was making a right scene now. Blaise was looking astonished from where he stood beside a giggling Patil, who was pointing at them. Tracey had leant down over her plant pot, apparently observing her toadstools, but Ron could see her shoulders shake in silent fits of laughter.

Granger was staggered at how the situation was playing out, gaping slightly. 

“It’s called being friendly?” said Harry, “What should I have done, spat in your face? Thrown dirt into your hair?”

MacDougal recoiled, hands on her head, “Don’t you dare. ”

“I wasn’t planning on it!”

“I am, though,” said Ron, raising a trowel threateningly and with narrowed eyes. “Pull yourself together.”

Granger gave him a stern look, but added: “I agree. There was no need to throw a fit over a joke, Morag.”

“ No need - no need?” spluttered MacDougal, glaring hatefully at Harry, “Stephen was telling me how you must be evil, being put in Slytherin, and I refused to believe it! Turns out you really are right where you belong!”

Like clockwork, every Slytherin in the room bristled. Ron turned to Stephen Cornfoot, who was shying away from his partner- a very angry looking Bulstrode. Ron rerolled his sleeves- they had been slipping down from when he had pulled them up to handle the toadstools, now long forgotten- cracking his knuckles. “Harry’s evil to you, is he?”

“Not just Harry, Ron,” said Blaise, looking at Cornfoot coolly, “ All of us, ‘being in Slytherin’ and all. In fact, I think I’d get my money’s worth if I betted he’d said the same about you. ”

Ah, the first-Slytherin-Weasley thing here to bite him in the arse.

“Evil, am I?” Ron reiterated, stepping towards Cornfoot, but he was stopped by a vicious yank of his shirt. Turning his head around, he glared at Granger’s austere face. “Let go.”

Patil had her hand gripping Blaise’s arm, as if he were about to join Ron. Parkinson and Greengrass looked positively venomous, their partners- Corner and Boot- exchanging terrified expressions. Malfoy was sneering, and Crabbe and Goyle looked ready to back Ron up in a miraculous display of house unity.

“No!” she hissed, “You’ll get in trouble!”

“I don’t care, I’m trying to bash this guy up!”

“You have severe violent tendencies! Stop threatening to fight everyone in the room!”

“They’d ruddy well deserve it, is what I’m saying,” he grounded out.

“This is exactly what Stephen was talking about!” said MacDougal loudly, pointing at Ron- “You keep on terrorising everyone-”

“- terrorising-? ”

“-and you lied to my face! My face!” She full-on screamed at Harry. “Slytherin is the embodiment of immorality! You’re all flat out horrible!”

“ It was a joke! A joke! Where on earth is Sprout- can someone please get rid of this madwoman?” said Harry, jumping away from MacDougal’s pointed finger.

“I defended you!” she cried, before snatching her wand back from Ron and sprinting out of the greenhouse.

Ron tried to make way towards Cornfoot again, who was slowly creeping his way to the exit as well, but Granger tugged him back. “ No ”

“He can’t chat shit about me and Harry- everyone in my house - and get away with it!” Ron tried to get out of her grip, “ Merlin , how are you so strong?”

“Books are heavy,” she said distractedly, “And that’s besides the point! What would happen when Professor Sprout returns and sees you brawling in the middle of her classroom?”

“Then I hope she’d understand that Cornfoot would bloody well deserve it!”

“Why didn’t Morag deserve it, then?” Granger asked, supremely cross.

“Well Cornfoot said it first, and I’m sure one of the girls-” he indicated towards Greengrass, Parkinson, and Bulstrode. “-would love to give her a good smack in my place!”

“I’ll do it,” said Bulstrode instantly, turning on her heels and sprinting out of the greenhouse without a hint of hesitation.

“House unity is such a beautiful thing,” said Tracey.

“ Weasley !” Granger shook Ron’s shoulders. “You just sent someone off to beat up another person!”

“It wasn’t just me!” wailed Cornfoot, pointing at Boot. “He did too! He said it with me! He said you were all no-good bastards!”

Boot trembled. Greengrass slapped him in the face, hard, and all hell broke loose.

…

Professor Pomona Sprout returned to her lovely little greenhouse after a quick errand that took maybe around ten minutes, fully expecting to find ten pots of toadstools, neatly planted, and a classroom of children patiently waiting for her. She did not expect to be almost hit in the head by a stray flying plant pot upon arrival.

Surveying the scene before her, she gasped in horror, shrieking: “By Gaia’s green earth, what are you all doing?!”

Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Ron Weasley were punching the daylight out of Stephen Cornfoot. Terry Boot was writhing on the floor under a barrage of slaps from Daphne Greengrass, smacks with a rather heavy book from Theodore Nott, and being half-drowned by a small rain cloud conjured by Pansy Parkinson. Draco Malfoy and Tracey Davis (not working together) were loudly jeering at the unfortunate two Ravenclaw, saying things such as: ‘oh, how evil ’ ‘no good of us, really, absolutely abhorrent’. Michael Corner was reluctantly praising Parkinson on her conjuring, looking unsure of what to do. Blaise Zabini was holding back both Amanda Brocklehurst and Anthony Goldstein, stopping them from either intervening or joining in. Su Li and Harry Potter were throwing things at one another- one of which had been the plant pot that had almost killed Professor Sprout- and were covered head to toe in dirt. Padma Patil and Lisa Turpin had crawled beneath a table, trying to avoid being hit by everything. Hermione Granger was loudly insulting both Weasley and Potter about their lack of consideration for the rules from where she was standing on the table Patil and Turpin were taking shelter under. Millicent Bulstrode and Morag MacDougal were suspiciously absent.

Professor Sprout gave eight Slytherins and two Ravenclaw detention (despite the entirety of the Slytherin house demanding Cornfoot and Boot be given one too- honestly they were the victims - she’d only given the detention to Li, who had apparently blamed Potter and a joke for this entire fiasco and decided to act accordingly, and MacDougal, who, when found by Bulstrode, had put up a good fight). Slytherin had lost 48 points, and Ravenclaw- 18 points. The school hadn’t been open for a full week yet.

So, safe to say that everyone was supremely pissed off by the time they left for lunch. Well, Cornfoot, Boot, Bulstrode and MacDougal went to the hospital wing, not the Great Hall, but it was now lunchtime. Blaise had to scourgify Harry, he was so filthy. Tracey was glaring viciously at the Ravenclaw table, as was Ron, for the whole meal.

By the time they’d finished eating, Tracey had decided to join Harry and Ron in their visit to Hagrid, while Blaise declined so he could chat with Greengrass and Parkinson. They were laughing about how he’d ditched them for girls as they approached a hut near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. 

“Hagrid lives here?” Tracey questioned, looking dubiously at the shack, “Can he even, like, fit through the door?”

Harry jolted as loud barking came from the hut after they knocked. Instantly, Tracey looped her arm around his as they listened to Hagrid tell something to back off. Ron watched the way Harry tensed yet again, before forcing himself to relax once more. The ginger tried not to frown.

The giant man was holding back a boarhound as he opened the door. “ Back Fang,” he growled at it, before smiling at them and pushing the door wider. “Make yourselves at home.”

They tried to, sitting down on stools clearly meant for someone Hagrid’s size. “This is Ron and Tracey. I hope you don’t mind me bringing them?” Harry said, eyeing Fang as the dog licked Ron’s face. Tracey was grimacing at the trail of drool on the side of his head.

“Cat person,” she mouthed at him in lieu of an explanation, looking at Fang unenthusiastically. Ron quietly snorted.

“Another Weasley, eh?” Ron had to fight the urge to scowl. He’d heard that phrase about 20 times in the past few days. He was getting quite fed up with it. “I spent half my life chasing your twin brothers away from the forest.”

That did sound about right.

Tracey said a quiet “Ouch!” as she bit into a rock cake that looked like actual rock, so Ron avoided them and engaged in the chatter about how they were all settling into school instead.

“Snape really didn't seem to like me,” Harry was saying.

“Rubbish! Why shouldn’t he?” Hagrid spoke determinedly, but all three of them could see he wasn’t meeting Harry’s eye as he said it.

“Are you sure, Mr. Hagrid? We all saw him glaring at Harry at the Sorting, and he tried to catch you out in potions earlier, remember?” said Tracey, Harry and Ron nodding as she did so.

“How’s yer brother Charlie?” Hagrid looked at Ron as he made the most appalling and unsmooth switch in topic Ron had seen in his life. And he’d seen Percy attempt to lie before. “I liked him a lot- great with animals.”

“Er, he’s alright? Studying dragons in Romania, wants to work with them,” Ron supplied cautiously as he watched Harry’s eyes widen at the newspaper on the table. He actively ignored it in favour of distracting Hagrid as his friend then tried to sneakily slide it into his bag. He wouldn’t have painted the Boy-Who-Lived as a kleptomaniac himself, but oh well. He wouldn’t have painted himself as a Slytherin either, so that goes to show how much Ron really knew. “He quite liked you, actually, said you were a great chat.”

Hagrid lit up. “Did he? Bless him, great kid, great at quidditch too. Hope Wood manages to find an alrigh’ replacement. Are any of yeh planning to join? I think there’s a space on the Slytherin team.”

Tracey looked uncertain. “Is it safe? Are there, like, magical seatbelts on them that are just invisible?”

Harry successfully managed to stuff the newspaper in his bag as Hagrid turned to look at Tracey in bewilderment. “What’s a seatbelt?”

“They’re in cars. Like a sash that stops you flying out the window if you crash.” 

“Cars? They’re muggle carriages, right? How d’you know ‘bout them?”

“She’s muggleborn,” Ron supplied, patting Fang’s head from where it rested on his legs. Ron himself knew what a car was from the dubious work his dad was doing on one… Hagrid probably didn’t have to know about that, though.

“Are ya? Why, y’must be the first muggleborn in Slytherin since-”

“1866.” Harry rejoined the conversation, taking a sip of his tea. The teacups Hagrid had given them were actually the size of soup bowls, so he had to use both hands to hold it as he drank. “Not that it matters.”

“It does matter,” Tracey argued, “It shouldn’t, but it does.”

Harry shrugged.

“Tha’s huge!” Hagrid said, looking strangely proud. Ron was quite confused about this reaction considering he had seen the man look downright queasy at the sight of their ties not half an hour earlier. Now he was happy that one of them was in Slytherin? Bloody hell, pick a side. “Must be quite cunning to manage that one, lass!”

“Cunning people don’t call themselves cunning, Mr. Hagrid,” Tracey said charmingly, a teasing grin on her lips. “Can’t give away the game like that.”

Hagrid blinked, before chuckling and taking a hearty swig of his tea. “No, I s’pose not.”

“Anyways, Hagrid, I thought you had to be a second-year to be able to join a quidditch team?” asked Ron.

“Ah, well, back when I was a tike like you lot, it were fine,” he said, shrugging his great, big shoulders. “Times change, s’pose.”

“What are the open positions?” asked Harry, looking curiously up at Hagrid.

The giant man ran a hand through his thick beard absently as he recalled, “On each team? Slytherin ‘n’ Gryffindor are both looking fer seekers, I think, though Gryffindor also needs a couple of chasers on board too. Hufflepuff needs a new chaser ’n’ beater, and Ravenclaw needs a new keeper.”

“How d’you know so much about quidditch, Mr. Hagrid?”Tracey asked, leaning forward.

“Well, I’m the gamekeeper.” Hagrid reasoned. “‘Course I know me quidditch.”

“Ohh,” said Tracey, still looking confused. “Um, no offence, sir, but I thought you were, like, the janitor, or something. Or a bodyguard.”

“Yeah, no, Trace.” Ron laughed. “The janitor would be Filch.”

“The gamekeeper is the fella who looks after the grounds, lass,” explained Hagrid.

“Like the gardener?” asked Harry.

“Um, well I do a bit o’ gardening here and there, but I mostly just make sure everythin’s in order.”

“He has a lot of tasks, too,” added Ron. “He defrosts the school broomsticks in winter, looks after the Forbidden Forest…lots of stuff.”

“You’re a busy man, Hagrid.” Harry exclaimed. “Do you really do all that alone?”

Hagrid shrugged again, “Someone has to do it.”

“I think it should be ‘several people have to do it’ not just ‘some one ’,” protested Tracey. “That’s just too much work for one guy!”

Hagrid chuckled, “M’fine. It’s just how it is here, and y’know, I’d rather be kept busy.” He looked at a clock on the wall. “Speaking of, I’ve got some nifflers to sort out. Buggers keep on escaping their crate, crafty little things.” He sounded more fond than anything, however. “You lot should get going; dinner’s in twenty.”

Harry looked at the clock too, “But it’s only four!”

“Oh, that clock’s two hours ahead.” He raised his arms up in protest as the three of them looked at him in bewilderment. “What? I can’t be bothered to change it every daylight savin’ time!”

“Doesn’t the time only change by an hour, though?” Tracey muttered as Hagrid ushered them out of his hut.

The three were halfway back to the castle before Ron rounded on Harry. “Why’d you swipe the newspaper?”

Obligingly, Harry pulled out a copy of The Daily Prophet entitled ‘ GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST’ .

“Gringotts is the bank, right? Like… wizard Lloyds, or Barclays” Tracey inquired.

“Yeah,” Ron looked at Harry in confusion, “Didn’t I mention the break-in on the train, though? Why-?”

“You didn’t tell me the date, though.” Harry tapped the ‘31 July’ on the print. “That’s my birthday. Hagrid and I visited Gringotts then, and he withdrew a package from a vault. I reckon that was what the robbers missed.”

“I would’ve nicked some other stuff from the vault if it were me. Make the trip worth it and all that,” Ron said.

“The package was the only thing in there.”

Ron gaped at him, “That’s a bloody waste of a vault, that is. Those things are huge. A whole vault for one thing? Might as well as kept it locked in the cupboard at home, whatever it was.”

Harry nodded slowly, “Looked small enough to fit in one, that’s for sure. It was tiny in Hagrid’s hand-”

“That’s not saying much,” said Ron.

“Probably would’ve been about the size of a big acorn, or a small apple…”

“Which one was it then?” Ron raised his eyebrows cheekily. “Big acorn or small apple? How big or small, exactly?”

Harry scowled at him, but it was playful, and he laughed a second later.

“31st of July…You’re a Leo? Are you sure you’re in the right house?” Tracey screeched as Harry prodded her side, “Uah- I’m just saying!”

“You would’ve made a good Gryff,” Ron told him with a shrug. Harry shot him a look that told him he’d known Ron meant it as a compliment, but he himself didn’t really think it as one. Which, considering their recent interactions with Gryffinors, was probably fair enough.

“Ugh, but then he’d have to share a room with Finnigan. ” Tracey shivered and gagged. “And if it were me , trapped in a room with Roper and Brown.. . I’d rather be with Bulstrode.”

“I’d take Finnigan over Crabbe and Goyle,” Ron said with a grimace. His dad revving the Ford Anglia was quieter than their snores.

“Not Malfoy?”

Harry snorted, “He’s been slimy, but not to our faces yet- I think he knows that if he were Ron would hex him while he’s showering- Ron, I see your face, you can’t. ”

“Let me imagine, Harry, let me envision it in peace.” He said dreamily, “I can see it…screaming like a banshee, slipping and landing on his arse on the floor…”

“Ron I think you may make a name for yourself as the evil Weasley if you keep this up.” Tracey grinned, “Don’t let that hold you back though, you’re welcome to jinx Malfoy until he’s bawling his eyes out.”

“I’m already the evil Weasley, Trace” Ron said wryly, “Snake house, remember?”

“You sure make it difficult to.” She giggled. It would’ve been cute if there wasn’t an undercurrent of teasing mirth in the corners of her smile, “The way you spoke to Snape today, and fighting with Cornfoot…you’ve got Gryffindor in your genes, that’s for sure.”

…

Astronomy was their last lesson very, very late in the day. The Slytherins had the class with the Ravenclaws, meaning that it was probably going to go about as well for Ron as Herbology had.

Just like Herbology had been, Granger, who was partnered with Lisa Turpin- MacDougal was staying far away from them and from Bulstrode (in fact, the only Ravenclaws anywhere near the Slytherins were Granger, Turpin, Corner and Patil)- was at the telescope beside his and Tracey’s.

“You’ve labelled Betelgeuse as Mintaka.” The girl leant over his shoulder to prod at his paper. Ron was absolutely fuming, half of the parchment was made up of aggressive squiggles, crossing out a myriad of mistakes. Ron and Harry were going to work together for this lesson, but they were doing so poorly that Professor Sinistra made them split up and start again with different partners. Apparently, she thought they were ‘distracting each other’, and separated them. Ron had been lucky, getting Tracey as his new partner- Harry was now stuck with Anthony Goldstein.

“Has he?” Tracey asked, leaning across his other shoulder, “Oh, Ron, that’s…”

He groaned as he scribbled ‘mintaka’ out so harshly that the paper tore. “I don’t know how you can look at a bunch of dots in the sky and know which one is which.”

“I wanted to be an astronaut when I was younger- people that work in space-” She explained to Ron, who went from confused to bewildered.

“Space? No one’s been to space.” Turpin frowned. “How would you even get up there? Faulty levitation charm?”

“Muggles have. The moon landing was in the 60s.” Granger added a note to her sheet, not looking up to see Ron and Turpin’s gobsmacked expressions. “Davis, isn’t it? I’m Hermione Granger.”

“Yes, I know,” Tracey said wryly, leaning against the bannister.

Granger’s head shot up, looking at Tracey funnily, “You ‘know’?”

“Not exactly quiet, are you?” Granger blushed at that. “Yelling at Ron and Harry the way you did doesn’t keep you under any radars, that’s for sure.”

“No, I suppose not. Oh, Weasley, you’ve mislabeled another thing-”

Ron scowled, throwing his hands into the air, “I give up! This is stupid, why do we even have to ‘study the stars’ anyway?”

“People used to use the stars for directions, I think,” Turpin supplied, looking wistfully up at the sky, “And centaurs can divinate with them…”

“It’s a lot less like the astronomy I knew before.” Tracey sighed, “Could tell you anything to do with it.”

Granger looked interested at that, “Really? Like what?”

“Well, for example, if you told me your birthday-”

“Oh, astrology ” She huffed, her interest apparently depleted. “That’s just a load of rubbish”

 “You would say that,” Tracey said, unbothered, “Virgos are always critical.”

“How did-”

“Always picking at the small details, like I get it, you lot are analysts-”

“Awful lot of chatter coming from there,” Professor Sinistra said sternly from where she stood at the back, observing their efforts. “Keep it down before I begin to dock points for causing distractions, you lot.”

“Sorry, professor,” The girls said, the Ravenclaws simpering as they did. Ron felt slightly disgusted at the sight.

“Weasley,” Granger whispered not a moment later, her voice barely audible. “You’ve written Aquila as Aquarius-”

Ron scrunched up his paper and threw it off of the tower. Granger gaped as they watched it tumble down, landing in a drain.

“ Mr. Weasley! What are you doing?!” Sinistra’s outraged cry could surely be heard from Hagrid’s hut, it was so deafening. 

“Sorry, professor, it must’ve been the wind.” Ron tried to look appropriately heartbroken. Tracey’s snort alerted him that he wasn’t doing a good job at it. “May I have another sheet?”

“Five points from Slytherin for lying to a teacher’s face, Mr. Weasley.” She gingerly gave him another paper from her pile, looking at Ron with a strange mix of amusement and rage.

He ignored the glares he received from Parkinson and Bulstrode for losing Slytherin even more points today, sauntering back to his spot with a new worksheet. He glared at Granger, “Keep on yabbering in my ear, and you’re going to follow that old paper.”

Granger looked downright murderous. “ Excuse me ?”

“That or I’m going to throw myself off of this tower. Your call, Granger, but one of us is going to have to go.”

She looked flabbergasted, but begrudgingly kept her piping up to a minimum for the rest of the class.

By the time they’d returned to their common room, ready to sleep the eventful day off, every Slytherin first-year received an extremely harsh beration from the sixth-year prefects, Vaisey and Higgs, for what happened in Herbology. Then they had all been sent to bed, marching off in two lines with glum expressions on their faces.

The next morning was a tense affair. There were hateful scowls exchanged between the first-years of Slytherin and Ravenclaw from across the Great Hall (the Hufflepuffs on the table between them were looking quite worried). Ron joined in with the rest of his house in jeering at Cornfoot as the boy walked in- the boy flushed red, making his bruised skin even more starkly mottled, and hurried to his own table. 

Ron felt himself smirk at the sight of his handiwork- well, his and Crabbe and Goyle’s. When he’d woken up that morning, he was a little worried that teaching Cornfoot a lesson would be classified as some sort of deranged bonding moment, and he’d have to play nice with Malfoy’s goons…thank Merlin the blond berk and his thugs had been just as bitchy as usual, he really wouldn’t be able to handle anything else from them.

They had begun to tuck into breakfast when the post started arriving. Tracey audibly gasped at the sight of a hundred odd owls pouring into the room, flying to individual people at all five tables of the Great Hall.

Ron stiffened as their family owl, Errol, landed in front of him. A terrifying looking bird landed in front of Blaise too, and the boy started crooning at it in Italian, stroking its feathers as he detached a letter from its outstretched claw. Errol was making the same gesture to Ron, though a little more unsteadily. Clumsy bugger.

Hesitantly, he took the letter, worried about what its contents could be.

“You alright?” asked Tracey, noticing the way he was just looking at the envelope and making no effort to open it.

“He’s worried his family has disowned him for being Slytherin,” said Blaise, taking a bite out of his croissant. 

“ What ?” exclaimed Harry.

“They haven’t done that!” said Ron, though the panic in his voice was heard by all four of them. “They wouldn’t!”

“So what are you so worried about?” asked Blaise, lifting up his letter. “Look, my mother’s sent me a letter about it, and she’s fine with it.”

They all looked at the letter, frowning when they found it was indiscernible, written in looping Italian calligraphy. 

“Your mother was a Slytherin, for Merlin’s sake,” protested Ron. “It’d be a bit stupid if she was pressed that you were one too!”

“Hypocritical, you mean,” Blaise said airily. What a bloody smartass.

“Is there something wrong with being Slytherin?” asked Tracey.

Ron looked at her like she had grown a second head. “Just on the way here someone called you an evil mugglette!”

“Mugglette is definitely a new one,” Blaise said absently.

“Trace, when I say no Weasley has ever been in Slytherin, I mean no Weasley!”

“What, none ?” Tracey frowned. “You’ve all been like…”

She nodded her head towards the other side of the hall, where Finnigan had just caused his first explosion of the day and Fred and George had Lee pinned to the table, trying to force feed him something suspect-looking. Uproarious laughter broke out from the Gryffindor sixth-years as someone turned their eyebrows blue. Brown and Patil screamed as the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly-Headless Nick, made his head flop to the side, hanging onto him by mere threads of transparent skin. The entire table was decidedly far too lively for 7:30 in the morning.

Ron raised an eyebrow, “You can say it, you know.”

“Oh, fine, if you insist. Have you all been Gryff- bleugh ” she gagged. Ron rolled his eyes. “Gryffin- ugh, I may vomit-”

“Quite right, Miss Davis,” said Snape, who was passing their table. “Five points to Slytherin.”

“Thank you, professor!” she called after him as he made his way to the staff table. Blaise and Harry laughed. Even Ron managed to chuckle.

Feeling a little better, Ron opened his letter, gulping as he began to read. He was genetically Gryffindor, after all, he could handle surely whatever it said.

Thankfully, the letter started with: ‘Dear Ron, your father and I have always been proud of you…’

He breathed in an audible sigh of relief, and laughed quietly with only a slight hint of hysteria when Blaise patted him on the back.

‘Dear Ron,

Your father and I have always been proud of you. We know that you must be worried, but your being in Slytherin hasn’t changed this fact at all. You will always be our son, and we will always love you, whatever house you’re in and whatever person you are and grow to be.

I will admit I was surprised when we got the news, dear, though I am thankful I didn’t end up buying that red and gold pencil case for you when we went to Diagon!

Your father has convinced me you won’t be surrounded by enemies in your own house by pointing out the number of perfectly pleasant ex-Slytherins he happens to work with. I will be honest, dear, if he mentions Jody Jacknife or Osbert Farley and their great bouts of kindness one more time to me, I may lose my mind.’ -

Ron was in the middle of reading his letter when the screech of an enraged woman’s voice rang out in the Hall, interrupting him and stopping everyone in their tracks.

“DAPHNE GREENGRASS!”

“Oohh, a howler!” said a nearby third-year. “Never seen someone get one so early in the year, I wonder what’s up?”

“Is…is that letter screaming at her?” asked Tracey, she and Harry looking at the howler with eyes almost as wide as the ones of Greengrass herself.

“HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH OUR GOOD NAME BY BEHAVING IN SUCH AN UNCOUTH MANNER!”

“Mother…” Greengrass murmured. “I’m sor-”

“‘GOT INTO A PHYSICAL ALTERATION’ THIS LETTER FROM THE SCHOOL SAYS! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS? ‘PHYSICAL ALTERATION’? WHAT ARE YOU, DAPHNE, A MUGGLE BRUTE?”

“GGRREGORYYYYY!” Another screech rang around the Great Hall, a man’s voice this time. Goyle looked stunned as he received his own howler, overlapping with Greengrass’ to the point neither were discernible, merging into impalpable noise.

“-HOW DARE YOU-”

“-OVER A RAVENCLAW-”

“-UNLADYLIKE-”

“-SHAME TO THE HOUSE OF GOYLE-”

“Relaxing morning, this,” said Harry. “I’m really enjoying the peacefulness of it all.”

“This is really not fitting with the vibe of my letter,” Ron frowned. “I’m supposed to be getting a general feeling of reassurance and stuff, but all that bloody yelling is getting in the way.”

“It is good news, then?” asked Blaise, patting his back again when Ron nodded. “There you go, just like you said. All good that finishes good, or whatever the saying is.”

“Not one of the ones they taught you in English school?” Tracey said with a teasing lilt inher voice before it turned genuine. “It’s very good, by the way, your english.”

“Thank you.” Blaise did seem honestly pleased by that. The Italian’s voice was slightly accented, but it wasn’t overly strong, and he had a wide range of vocabulary and spoke like a native. He definitely didn’t learn his English through a textbook alone, that’s for certain. “I’ve been taught it since I was young, since my mother knew she wanted me to go to Hogwarts like she had.”

“Say something in Italian,” Tracey urged him, eyes gleaming. “A sentence.”

“Hmm… Gelato, scuolabus, tasse, palissandro, basilico, cravatta, cucchiaio .”

“What does that mean?”

Blaise leant his head against the palm of his hand. “I said that you look stunning today.”

Tracey grinned, “Really?”

“I thought that sounded more like a list, though,” said Harry, looking at Blaise suspiciously.

“Isn’t ‘ bella’ pretty in Italian?” Ron added, “I definitely didn’t hear the word bella. ”

“No, I think I did hear a word that sounded like that…”

“I think you’re thinking of, um, what was it… basilico. ”

“That’s close enough, I reckon.”

“Yeah, sure. Hey girl, you’re looking real basilico tonight.”

Blaise snorted rather loudly at that, though no one else but the four of them heard it over the racket Greengrass and Goyle’s howlers were creating.

“Was that not right, mate?” asked Ron, looking at him closely.

Blaise chuckled to himself quietly. “No, no, you’ve got it…”

“-AT THIS RATE YOU’LL BE THE SHAME OF THE FAMILY-”

“-SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING TAKING YOU OUT OF HOGWARTS, YOUNG MAN. THEY DON’T LET THIS KIND OF THING SLIDE IN DURMSTRANG, YOU KNOW-”

“What’ve we got today?” asked Tracey.

“Hmm…” Blaise pulled out his timetable from his bag, opening the neatly folded paper. Ron was fairly certain his own timetable had turned into mush somewhere in the bottom of his rucksack. “What day is it?”

Harry snorted, “Saturday.”

“Oh,” said Tracey and Blaise, both looking a bit put out at having not noticed.

“What do people at Hogwarts do on the weekend?” Ron scratched the side of his nose in thought. “Percy is probably going to study, Fred and George are probably going to torment someone…”

“Are there clubs we can join?” Tracey asked.

“I think there’s a choir…”

“Ugh, like, no , a choir ?” She shivered. “I was in my primary school one, you know. He’s got the whole world in his hands, he’s got the whole world in his hands, he’s got the whole- ”

“Yes, thanks for the presentation, Tracey,” said Blaise, his lips curling upward with humour. “Definitely no choir for us.”

“What, did my lovely singing not sway you into joining one?”

“I think there’s a gobstones club…” Ron said, wracking his brains for anything his brothers may have mentioned. “I think most of them are just homework clubs, though. Bloody hell, we’ve got nothing to do. ”

“Why don’t we ask someone?” suggested Harry, before abruptly turning to the third-year who had spoken earlier. “Heya, mate, do you know if there’s anything we can do? We’re all dead bored.”

The boy looked down at him critically. “Are you a first year-?” His eyes suddenly widened, and he jumped back a little in surprise. “Oh, bloody hell, you’re Harry Potter!”

Blaise’s expression was a little too pleased, Ron thought.

Harry blinked, “Yeup.”

The boy thrust his hand forward in offering, saying, “Faheem Shafiq, third in line to the Shafiq lordship. Well met, Heir Potter.”

Harry, somewhat hesitantly, shook it. “Well met.”

“Potter, did you say, Faheem?” Said a girl who was beside the third-year. She grinned at the sight of Harry, winking at him. “Ahh, good to see you again, Potter.”

Oh, bloody hell, it was the girl from the train.

Her smile, worryingly catty, only widened at the sight of Ron. “Weasley! A delight to have you in our honourable house, no?”

Ron quietly groaned. “Thornton. Yeah, I’m well chuffed. Blaise, Tracey,” He gestured her to them. “-this is Vivienne Thornton. Me and Harry met her on the train. Thornton, this is Blaise Zabini and Tracey Davis.”

“Well met, Heir Zabini, Davis.” She smiled at them charmingly. She actually strongly resembled Tracey telling Hagrid that cunning people didn’t call themselves cunning.

“Miss Thornton,” Blaise said cordially, echoed by Tracey.

Shafiq cleared his throat, “What did you need, Potter?”

“Oh, well,” said Harry, frowning. “Like I said, we’re all dead bored. Is there anything we can do?”

Shafiq and Thornton looked at each other. “Er,” Shafiq scratched the back of his head. “Astronomy club?”

Ron had to hold back a gag at the reminder of ‘ you’ve written down Aquila as Aquarius, Weasley ’. “Um, no thanks, mate.”

“You could watch the Ravenclaw quidditch trials with us, if you want,” offered Thornton. “The Slytherin team is watching so we can figure out our odds this year.”

Ron was nodding his head along, figuring that was a pretty good move strategically, before freezing, “Isn’t that cheating?”

Thornton raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.

He snorted and shook his head. “Yeah, fine, that’s sound. What do you guys think?”

Harry and Tracey were nodding enthusiastically while Blaise shrugged at him. It was something to do, Ron supposed. They might as well go. And Harry and Tracey would get to see what flying looked like too.

…

“Bloody hell, you didn’t say it was only a keeper trial,” Ron groaned as he saw the line-up of athletically built Ravenclaws. Ron was surprised there were any athletically built people in Ravenclaw at all, before remembering what it had been like to try and get out of Granger’s grasp in Herbology yesterday. Maybe Ron should start, oh, he doesn’t know, doing squats while holding his school books, or something. “I’m even more bored now.”

“It’s not about entertainment, Weasley,” said Peregrine Derrick, one of the Slytherin beaters. “It’s about getting an idea of the stakes.”

“Sure, and what have you gotten from this that tells you about the stakes, Derrick?” Ron rolled his eyes. “The beater and the keeper don’t exactly interact with each other a lot.”

“Oh, I’m not here for deducing stakes and all that,” Derrick shrugged. “Just had nothing to do in the castle.”

Merlin, they all had nothing better to do.

“Darling, didn’t you have a transfiguration essay to do?” asked Derrick’s girlfriend, Aurora Sommertime, the younger sister to the seventh-year prefect who terrified everyone.

“Ehhh.”

“Who do you reckon they’ll pick?” Ron asked Shafiq and Thornton, because Derrick and Sommertime the younger were now getting into a fight over work ethic. Ron didn’t really listen to the lectures he got himself over that particular topic, he wasn’t exactly keen to hear someone else get grilled over it. “Turner is looking promising, I’d say.”

“Marcus T.? Nahhh, Eddie Carmichael’s got it in the bag,” said Shafiq.

Ron eyed him. “Would you bet on it?”

“Hm?” Shafiq looked down at him. Well, not really, actually. Ron was almost his height.

“Would you bet on it?” Ron was 100% confident Marcus Turner would become the keeper. He knew his quidditch, knew what qualities the captain, Roger Davies, would be looking for. Marcus Turner had them. Eddie Carmichael? Sure, he was the beefiest of the lot, making it hard to get a shot past him, but when it came down to actual skill… Turner was going to get the position, no problem. Davies, while not the brightest, was still a Ravenclaw at the end of the day. He would go for Turner’s skill over Carmichael’s build, Ron was sure of it.

But if Shafiq was so certain… surely, he wouldn’t mind placing a bet on it.

Shafiq’s eyes had narrowed into suspicious slits, “How much are we talking?”

“A galleon,” said Ron. He reckoned that seemed like a reasonable amount of money for most people. It was bordering on a bit much on Ron’s end, but he was confident enough in Turner that he wasn’t worried about having to actually pay that price himself.

“Five galleons, Carmichael becomes keeper,” said Shafiq, because he came from a mega rich family that had thousands falling out of their pockets on the regular. “Five galleons to you if Turner does instead.”

Ron resisted the urge to deviously rub his hands together like some sort of imp, and instead settled on shaking Shafiq’s as they agreed on the price.

Shafiq seemed like a bit of a moron. A moron with a lot of money. Ron was sure to be making more bets with him in the future.

“How much is a galleon in pounds?” asked Tracey, looking between Ron and Shafiq with wide eyes.

“About a fiver, I think,” said Harry, also looking between them. “So they’re betting about twenty-five quid.”

Safe to say, Ron was grinning no small amount when Shafiq let out an agitated huff and handed him the big gold coins, the sound of Marcus Turner whooping in the background really setting the scene for Ron.

The anticipation of waiting for Davies to announce the new keeper to his team (and the crowd of conniving Slytherin players) had lessened Ron’s boredom by a fair amount too.

Unfortunately though, the general sense of joy he’d gotten from that well spent opportunity was ruined rather quickly. Clearly, fate had wanted him lulled into a false sense of security before being a total slag to him.

"Hey, Ron, isn't that your owl?" said Blaise.

Ron looked up.

“Merlin, no, ” Ron groaned. They had been walking back from the quidditch pitch, the six of them striding peacefully through Hogwarts’ courtyard before bloody Errol suddenly appeared from the skies and crashed into a nearby bird bath. Though the bird bath was obviously made for sparrows and the like and not ruddy great grey owls of Errol’s stature, so it wasn’t a painless landing at all. It was probably a bit like cannonballing into ankle-height water for the poor thing.

“RONALD WEASLEY!”

Mum’s howler apparently didn’t take well to being half soaked through, and began screaming even before Ron had touched the letter.

“This is just inhumane,” Ron said, valiantly trying to ignore his mother’s screams. The howler had flown right up to his face, but ignore it he still tried.

“Do you think ‘shame’ is the word of the week, or something?” Tracey asked conversationally. “I’ve been hearing that word a lot today.”

“-WHAT ON EARTH DID THAT POOR RAVENCLAW SAY TO MAKE YOU-”

Ah, well, at least Mum knew he’d been provoked, and wasn’t just punting Ravenclaws about the place for funsies.

“Your mother’s got quite the vocal range,” commented Blaise.

“Ah, the sweet sound of an furious Weasley,” Thornton said mock dreamily. “Being in the same year as your twin brothers, Faheem and I have heard it loads, haven’t we?”

Shafiq nodded, smirking at Ron, who Shafiq probably thought was going through a reasonable reckoning for having humiliated him earlier by winning that bet. The shame of the loss was possibly deepened by the fact that Ron was 11 and Shafiq was two years his senior. “Tell your mother we’re fans. Would love to hear her voice in real life some time.”

Ron bristled, before snarking, “I’ll pass the message on,” and stomping off. Shafiq and Thornton called out their goodbyes as Ron’s friends followed him, laughing merrily as they did. Fortunately, the howler had sizzled up into ash just as they left.

Mum must’ve found out about the herbology incident after writing her first letter, which Ron was grateful for. He wasn’t sure how the news of his apparent Slytheriness would’ve gone down if she also knew he’d decked some specky Ravenclaw prat within the first 48 hours. Might’ve ended up being the straw that broke the camel's back, that one. Probably would’ve ended up with a much less warmhearted read than the one he got.

“There is seriously nothing to do?” Tracey groaned as they marched through the castle.

“I think we’re supposed to spend the weekends resting or studying,” Blaise said with a sigh.

“Or go to Hogsmeade,” added Ron glumly, “No wonder Fred and George were so excited about it.”

Harry made a questioning noise, “Hogsmeade?”

“Wizard village nearby- you have to be a third-year and get your parents to sign a permission slip to go, though.”

Harry looked very disheartened by this news.

“I’ve heard good things about Hogsmeade,” said Blaise. “But now I wonder whether the novelty of it is grown by the absolute boredom of staying in the castle all weekend.”

They found themselves going back to the Great Hall in the end. Most people that weren’t the first and second-years were absent, so it was considerably less crowded than it was at breakfast. The Ravenclaw table was the emptiest, but Ron assumed that that was because most of them had gone to the library instead of actually finding anything fun to do.

“Chess?” offered Ron as they sat down in their usual spot at the furthest end of the table, closest to the exit.

“THREE DAYS, MILLICENT! YOU’VE BEEN AT HOGWARTS FOR THREE DAYS AND YOU’VE GOTTEN INTO A FIGHT? I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO HUMILIATED BY MEINE BRUT BEFORE! DU VERDAMMTER BENGE! SCHEIẞE-!”

“Jesus Christ, another one?” exclaimed Tracey, looking at Bulstrode’s howler. “This is getting old real quick, y’know.”

“Sure, I’ll play you,” said Harry, sitting across from Ron, who tried not to look too pleased. Harry was about to get destroyed .

“I didn’t know Bulstrode was German,” said Tracey, sliding next to Harry. 

“Hm?” Blaise sat next to Ron, pulling out some parchment. “Oh, but of course. Her mother’s quite well known on account of- erm…”

He looked a little hesitant, even as Tracey motioned for him to go on. Harry recoiled in surprise as Ron’s bishop demolished his rook.

“Well, because she’s a foreign half-blood,” he said slowly. “Most purebloods would say to, well, pick a struggle, really. Lord Bulstrode didn’t find any pureblood suiting his tastes here on British soil, so his parents sent him off to find someone suitable from mainland Europe to marry instead, but he came back with some half-blood- a well-off one, mind, Bulstrode’s mother had some very rich muggle grandparents somewhere in Germany, and her muggleborn father transferred that money to galleons- anyway, it was a real scandal. People were saying that if Lord Bulstrode had to end up with a half-blood, then why couldn’t he have found one in the UK, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Christ,” said Tracey. “Is everyone up in everyone else’s business here?”

“Oh-”

“Good, I like gossip.” Tracey eyed Blaise’s parchment. “What you writing?”

“Checkmate,” said Ron, watching Harry’s king clutch its head in dismay.

Harry blinked, “What-”

Blaise sighed, “I’m sending a letter to my mother. I’m going to ask her to send me a list of magazines and things like that that I can subscribe to.”

“PANSY PETRONILLA PARKINSON!”

“Wow, Parkinson got one too,” Ron craned his neck to get a look at the girl in question. “So that’s…me, Greengrass, Parkinson, and Goyle, isn’t it? Do you think anyone else got any?”

“I bet none of the Ravenclaws did,” said Blaise. “Nott and Crabbe were also involved, but I think their parents don’t care about them enough to send one.”

Ron looked at him.

“Bloody hell. Talk about airing someone else’s dirty laundry, mate.”

Blaise shrugged.

“No, no, tell me more,” Tracey leant forward eagerly, cupping her ear.

“‘Petronilla’?” said Harry, still looking at Parkinson. “Proper fancy, that is.”

“That’s not one of the worst names by far ,” Blaise said with a snicker. “Did you know Nott’s full name is-”

“MORAG MACDOUGAL!”

Ron’s neck audibly cracked as he snapped it in the direction of the Ravenclaw table.

The beautiful, angelic sound of an extremely pissed off Scotsman filled the hall, easily overlapping Parkinson’s howler.

“Nott’s full name’s Morag MacDougal?” said Harry. “That’s an interesting choice.”

Somewhere down the table, Theo Nott had begun choking on his hot chocolate.

Ron couldn’t hold back his gales of laughter as MacDougal flushed bright pink, tears in her eyes as she fled the Great Hall, her howler following her like a cursed bludger. Several other Slytherins joined in, and Ron found he was a lot less worried about how he was going to get on in Slytherin and a lot more worried about what that said about him as a person.

Chapter Text

Monday 8th of September 1991 - Hogwarts Castle, Highlands, Scotland

Ron was knackered.

He’d reached an epiphany- a solution to his problem of not having anything to do on the weekends.

As it was, Hogwarts was more than just some classrooms; it was a place people lived in for most of the year. He’d heard snippets from Fred and George of something glorious called ‘the kitchens’, and knew in his gut that he had to unearth them. All he knew was that they were in the basement, near the Hufflepuff common room, and that he was a truly determined individual who was willing to fight tooth and nail to discover them.

His friends had gotten bored of trying to find it a few hours into Sunday and had wandered off to do other things (like play a millionth round of chess (Harry had yet to win any)). Ron, however, refused to give up on these kitchens. He was single-mindedly obsessed with his search, and when Sunday came drawing to a close, he despaired at his failure to locate them.

Honestly, Ron wasn’t sure why he was so desperate to find them. Perhaps it was the thrill of discovery. Or maybe he just couldn’t bear the thought of there being food he didn’t have access to.

That’s why, when he and his friends walked into their first History of Magic classroom on the Monday morning and found that they were to be seated in rows of three, he didn’t despair as he normally would and instead calmly ushered for them to sit together without him. He, on the other hand, was going to tactically sit by two Hufflepuff girls, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones.

The room was largely split into two halves already: the Hufflepuff side and the Slytherin side. The only outliers to this pattern were Ron and Theo Nott, who’d sat with some Oliver Rivers in the back of the classroom. In front of Ron were Zacharias Smith, Ernie Macmillan, and Justin Finch-Fletchley. Behind him were Lilian Moon and Megan Jones. On the table beside him were Malfoy and his bodyguards. So, he wasn’t exactly surrounded by many familiar or friendly faces at the moment, but he soldiered on regardless.

“Do you mind?” he asked Bones, motioning towards the chair beside her.

She looked at him in surprise, but cleared some of her things away from where they had spread to the second table anyway. “Go ahead.”

He sat down, dumping his bag at his feet. “I’m Ron, by the way.”

“Susan, and this is Hannah. Nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand, and he shook it, smiling warmly at Abbott as well. Ron was stupefied by how she blushed as she grinned back at him. “Do we have any lessons with your lot, actually?”

It appeared that Abbott and Bones, despite being prominent heiresses, didn’t really bother with traditional introductions and the like. Ron respected that.

“Uhh, defence, I think?”

“Ahh, yeah.” Bones took out her quill from her pencil case. Both things were an alarming shade of mustard yellow. “Shame how boring that one has turned out, huh? I was expecting, you know, duelling and stuff.”

“I think most first-year classes are quite tame,” said Abbott, also pulling out her quill. Hers was a respectable tawny-patterned one. “I’m sure we’ll get around to more practical stuff later on.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have high hopes for this class anyway.” Ron scrunched his nose. “Never been one for history, me.”

“It depends on what we’re learning about, to be honest,” said Bones. “If it’s something cool like fighting and that, then I don’t mind. It’s when it gets complicated that I get a bit lost.”

“Yeah, I get you; I’m the same.” Ron stretched, cracking his back in several places. “I’ve heard bad things about our teacher from my brothers.”

“Really?” Abbott looked worried. “All I know is that he’s a ghost.”

“Apparently he’s dead boring, which, y’know, fits the bill, I guess.”

Bones huffed out a laugh. “Can’t be worse than charms…”

Ron was surprised by that, though perhaps Bones’ Charms lessons didn’t have Finnigan consistently blowing something up within the hour. “You're with the Ravenclaws for that, aren’t you? I can see why it’d be boring.”

“ Seriously , like I’ve never been more bored than when we’re with them.” Bones rolled her eyes. “Though Padma Patil’s alright enough, I suppose. Flitwick forced us to partner up with a person from the other house; I landed with her. She’s funny enough.”

“Really? He didn’t do that with us.” Ron thought about it for a second. “Probably for safety reasons, actually.”

Bones and Abbott both laughed at that. Ron hadn’t been joking, but he smirked to himself as if he had.

On a serious note though, Ron probably would’ve ended up strangling any one of them that weren’t Dean Thomas (pretty cool guy) or Parvati Patil (peng)*.

*Lavender Brown and Emma Vane were also very pretty girls, but Parvati was on a completely different level to them. And Vane was also a bitch, so.

Anyway, Abbott had been right, their teacher, Professor Binns, was a ghost. Not that Ron hadn’t known that already from his brothers, but Tracey and Harry, and also Finch-Fletchley, had exclaimed a little in surprise when the teacher floated through the door and hovered by the front desk. 

“Welcome to History of Magic,” The ghost said dully, without introducing himself, or greeting the students. “Today, we’re going to start our topic on the events leading up to the duel between Emeric the Evil and Egbert the Egregious in the early Middle Ages…”

Binns’ monotone voice droned on and on without pause and without any sign that the teacher found his own subject any kind of interesting.

Good god, this teacher was bloody awful. And if Ron’s thinking that, and it’s actually based off of a teacher’s teaching methods, then you’re BAD. Binns was so shite at involving his class in whatever he was going on about- which probably could have actually been interesting to his students since duels and the like were supposed to be really cool- he inflicted anti -involvement. Several people were asleep, for fuck’s sake!

Ron glanced behind him, wondering how his friends were doing.

…all three of them had their heads on the desk, snoring softly.

He risked a look at the girls beside him. They were barely doing better than his friends were; Bones’ had her head resting on her arms on the table, and Abbott was blinking very slowly as she slowly leaned forwards, head down dipping miniscule-y as it grew heavy with tiredness.

Ron patted Bones’ shoulder before whispering, “I’m stunned Binns doesn’t send himself to sleep from his own boring-ass voice.”

Bones broke into a surprised chuckle, which woke Abbott up enough for her to ask what was funny. She then giggled, trying to do so quietly, after Bones repeated to her what Ron had said. A swell of pride filled his chest at the sight, and he tried not to look too chuffed with himself.

That’s how the rest of the lesson was spent, with Ron whispering jokes at Binns’ expense to the Hufflepuff girls and trying to stifle a self-satisfied smirk whenever they found him funny enough to laugh aloud. Binns himself either hadn’t noticed this happening, or didn’t care.

Overall, though, Ron had learnt a grand total of nilch within the entire hour. He absently wondered what Granger thought of the teacher. She was probably outraged at the piss-poor teaching methods he had (not engaging with the students AT ALL) but had a respect for teachers too ingrained in her to say anything about it. What a suck-up. He felt a scowl begin to form on his face and forcibly stopped thinking about her, turning his attention back to the Hufflepuffs.

Bones was ginger like he was, though her hair was almost dark enough to be considered auburn instead, and it was cut to a slightly bushy bob. She was tall like him too, though less lanky, and hadn’t any freckles. Still though, people could probably confuse them for related, since most of the wizarding world equated gingerness with the Weasleys.

Abbott was straw-blonde, a bit like Longbottom’s hair but lighter, and was considerably shorter and slightly rounder than Bones. Her eyes were cornflower blue, less bright and less pale than Ron’s own electric, sea blue ones. She had a generally soft aura surrounding her, nothing about her particularly sharp or unfriendly. Ron felt that probably made her a bit boring, but she complimented Bones’ personality well (which could be described as sharp and occasionally a bit unfriendly), so maybe Abbott was like that in order to maintain a balancing act between the girls’ characters.

Blaise had given him a sly look when Ron had told his friends that he was going to go chat to the two after class, so Ron was pretty sure Blaise didn’t know he’d been trying to butter them up to tell him how to reach the school kitchens for a cheeky nibble.

“Cor, I am starving, ” he told them, trying not to sound too pointed.

Bones snorted, “Dinner is in five hours, I’m afraid.” 

Ron gave the girls a look, “You know, I heard that there’s a way you can get food whenever you want..or, I’d better say, a place… ”

Bones raised an eyebrow, face painstakingly neutral, revealing very little, “Really?”

“Do you mean the kitchens?” piped in Abbott.

Bones snapped her fingers, a mocking look of recognition drawn across her features. “ Oh, the kitchens,” She smirked, “Yeah, they’re pretty cool, huh?”

Ron did a ‘go on’ gesture. Bones did not go on.

He sighed, “Can you tell me where they are?”

Abbott opened her mouth. “No,” said Bones. Abbott shut her mouth with a clack. “Not for free, anyways.”

He gaped at her. Where was the ginger fellowship? Was his buttering not buttery enough? What type of evil badger was this?

“You’re joking,” said Ron, “What kind of Hufflepuff are you? Where’s the loyalty? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I’m a perfectly loyal person” said Bones, “But Hufflepuff also values fairness. It’s only fair if we get something out of showing you where they are, no?”

“I’d expect this from Tracey, not from you two,” he groaned. “What are your demands, then?”

“Hmm, what do you want out of this, Hannah?” Bones asked Abbott, who looked thoughtful.

“I need some help with my Defense homework,” she said, slowly. Ron stiffened and paled. “Why do you look like that? Ernie told me you’re decent at it.”

Ron said, “I’m alright with the practical stuff, but I’m pants at essays! And what do you mean, ‘Ernie’? That’s Macmillan, right? What’s he doing, talking about me?”

“It’s not an essay! There’s just loads of short questions I don’t really know how to answer” protested Abbott. “Ernie just pointed out that you and Potter were at the top of the class, and I agree. He wasn’t saying anything bad.”

“There must be loads of people way better at Defence than I am-”

“Oh, there are, don’t kid yourself, Weasley,” interrupted Bones. She turned to Abbott, elbowing her side. “Show him the list, Hannah.”

Abbott hesitated, before turning and reaching into her bag, digging around until she pulled out a heavily annotated piece of paper. She gingerly offered it to him.

‘Candidates for dada help- TOP 10 ppl

malfoy- NO

granger - idk her, v smart, lowk 2 strict, probs gets annyd ez

potter - idk him, shit at help

goldstein - 2 bizy

padma patil - idk her, doesnt like mm sl + sc

weasley -  idk him, friends w hp bz td

parvati patil -  idk her, friends w LB (LB -> sf mf 2 nl)

parkinson - NO

ernie - wants 2 tutor in grps

zabini - NO??’

He tried to make sense of what he was reading, scratching the back of his head. He turned the paper sideways to see a couple of the notes written in the margin.

“What’s wrong with Blaise and Harry?” he asked as he handed the paper back to Abbott.

“I’ve asked Potter for help in Defence before. I think he just assumes that people get it as much as he does, because he was rubbish at helping me with anything.” Abbott anxiously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry, I know he’s your friend, and all.”

Ron shrugged, “I mean, if you have a legit reason for it, it’s fine, I guess. What about Blaise, though?”

Abbott cringed. Ron narrowed his eyes at the sight.

“There’s nothing wrong with Zabini,” interjected Bones hastily. “She just doesn’t know him very well, is all.”

“Well, if that’s an issue, then why not go with Macmillan?”

Abbott tapped the note beside Macmillan’s name.

Ron frowned, slightly bewildered. “He wants to tutor people in groups, so what?”

“I’m not great with learning, or studying in them, is the problem,” Abbott looked a little sheepish at the admission. “It’s too general for me, if you get what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

Abbott opened her mouth, but Ron quickly stopped her with a sigh.

“I don’t really care about the details either, no offence.”

She blinked in surprise a little. Ron supposed that may have been a little blunt. The expression on Bones’ face certainly told him so. Merlin, the wrath of a Hufflepuff looked terrifying in this moment.

Ron thought about Abbott’s request. Ron wasn’t certain that he wouldn’t be as shit of a tutor/teacher/homework-doer as Harry was, if he was honest. He didn’t think Abbott was going to appreciate the quality of service he could provide. He couldn’t really accept helping her out with a good conscience.

He mentally smacked himself in the face. What about his precious kitchens? For fucks sake, Ron was a Slytherin, who gives one about being honest about his actual skillset and a good bloody conscience! He was a snake, so he needed to get his head out of his bloody arse and deceive like one!

“Ugh, fine, I’ll do it. Now, ladies,” he ushered them with his hands, making Bones grumble, “Lead the way, if you will.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Bones said markedly. “Help Hannah first, then we’ll show you.”

“What? Why can’t you both show me and then I help you?” Ron protested.

“Because, Weasley, I don’t trust you not to bail out of it after you get your end of the bargain,” It was a reasonable concern, he supposed. Strategically smart. But Ron still had some sense of obligation to pay people back, Slytherin or not. “Your house isn’t the one known for fairness, after all.”

“That seems a bit unfair, but alright.” Ron responded a little stiffly. “Alright, then, off to the Great Hall. We’ll get that essay-”

“ -not an essay-! ” exclaimed Abbott.

“-out of the way first then. But you two better keep your end of the bargain too, y’know.”

Bones rolled her eyes, “Of course we will, Weasley, now get on with it. I’m going off to hang out with Lily and Megan for now.”

“Aw, why don’t you join us?” Ron asked, playfully. “Imagine all the fun you’ll miss out on.”

Bones grinned, already turning away. “I’m sure I’ll recover.”

“Why the Great Hall?” Abbott asked him as they started walking. “Why not the library?”

“I heard you can’t talk in there,” Ron replied with a shrug. “Doesn’t sound like a good place to do it.”

“I think libraries are usually considered good places for- what do you mean, ‘heard’?” Abbott interrupted herself, looking at Ron incredulously. “You’ve not been in the library yet?”

“I’m not planning on it.” Ron raised his eyebrows at her. He actually avoided the library because of a certain mouthy Ravenclaw that practically lived inside it, but Abbott didn’t need to know that. “Not my type of scene.”

Abbott laughed, “The library is a scene?”

Ron grinned, “Not a very good one.”

So, Ron did his part, helping Abbott fill in the blanks of her homework, until he realised that he too hadn’t done it yet, so they started doing it together. Ron tried to be as helpful as possible, but most of the answers he gave her were made up on the spot and not very thought-out. She had been true to her word about it not being an essay, though. It was just a questionnaire that needed written answers.

After seemingly holding up his end of the deal, Hannah and Bones showed him the way.

It turned out you had to tickle the pear of a painting of a bowl of fruit in a hallway leading towards the basement. The entire corridor was filled with food-centred paintings, so Ron was practically famished by the time he requested a sundae from the castle house-elves.

Unfortunately, Bones had to smack him on the side of the head a few days later, when Hannah burst into tears after seeing her mark for the homework. It wasn’t one of those soft admonishing ones that Tracey would throw either- Bones cursed him out, and probably would’ve made him a sworn enemy or something if not for the way Hannah forgave him with a watery laugh.

He promised Hannah a favour, a real one, to cash in at any time to make up for his fraudulent tutoring and in return for actually showing him the kitchens, so Bones begrudgingly left it alone.

—

On a bitter Wednesday morning, Blaise woke up to the sound of Malfoy chattering away about flying lessons. This was no surprise, as the entirety of the first-year body was delighted to be given a chance to show off their skills on a broom. Blaise was actually getting a little sick of it. No one in the school supported his team, the Florentine Firedrakes, and he was slightly jealous at the sight of people bonding over shared support over certain ones, like Susan Bones and Lisa Turpin joyously chanting the ‘Holyhead Harpies victory cry’ (terrible name) together not three days ago. His only respite was how no one seemed to support Ron’s team, the Chudley Cannons, any more than they did his.

In fact, the only people who weren’t excited for this afternoon’s lesson were some muggleborns- Ron had struck up an argument on their way to the pitch with the muggleborn Blaise had spoken with at the sorting, Dean Thomas, about whether or not ‘football’ was a better sport than quidditch- and Neville Longbottom.

The Longbottom heir, as far as Blaise could see, had perfectly good reason to be dreading today’s lesson. There was not a chance that he wasn’t going to get laughed at when he no doubt did something stupid (always by accident, it seemed) and ended up at the hospital wing. Again. Never before had Blaise met a more accident-prone person. Finnigan seemed to be the runner-up, however, as he frequently managed to set something on fire at least once every two days.

Out of the kindness of his heart, he ignored the way Tracey’s hands tightened around his arm as they approached the stadium, walking out onto the quidditch pitch. Apparently the prospect of flying was almost completely nil for most muggles, though there were things called ‘planes’.

Eighteen rather battered-looking broomsticks were lined up on the ground, making two rows that had Madam Hooch at the end between them, creating the slight appearance of a runway. Almost everyone was there by the time they’d arrived, and Finnigan, Brown, and Roper came along within the minute, glaring at Blaise and his group like they were all cockroaches that refused to yield and die on the spot. Thomas swept the Slytherins an apologetic look, bumping his shoulder against Ron’s before he joined Finnigan. The eight of them poured into the rest of the class.

Madam Hooch ran a hand through her eternally windswept hair, looking at each one of them with- Blaise almost reeled back in surprise, because that was not what you saw every day- yellow, hawk-like eyes. “Well, what are you waiting for?” She barked, which was not what Blaise was expecting; perhaps a squawk would’ve suited her more. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up!”

They all rushed to find one with fewer twigs sticking out, trying to stand by their friends. Blaise ended up at the end closest to where Madam Hooch stood, facing Thomas opposite him. Ron, who was beside him, was exchanging glares with Finnigan, who was next to Thomas, as always. Further up, Pansy and Malfoy were eyeing up Longbottom and what appeared to be his remembrall with interest from where they stood, beside and opposite him, respectively. Blaise had a gut feeling it wouldn’t be Longbottom’s for long.

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch from beside him, addressing everyone, “and say, ‘Up’!”

“UP!” everyone shouted.  

In an instant, Harry and Malfoy’s brooms flew into their hands. Blaise could see Harry’s look of delight at his feat, and then how it turned to confusion as he looked around to see most people weren’t as successful. Blaise wasn’t, but his had flown half-way there, which was more than he could say for Tracey and Thomas’. The pitch was filled with the sound of eleven-year-olds yelling the word ‘up’ with increasing desperation until everyone other than a crestfallen Longbottom had managed to get a broom into their hands.

The lesson moved on; Malfoy was humiliated as Hooch told him his stance on a broom had been wrong for years; Finnigan almost javelinned his broom through Ron’s head at one point; Tracey was speaking some nonsense about getting a little black cat; and overall, nothing dreadful had happened.

Yet.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle- three- two- '' Longbottom, the inane idiot that he was, pushed off, hard, before the whistle had even touched Madam Hooch’s lips.

“Come back, boy!” The teacher shouted after him as he flew higher and higher into the sky, looking more and more scared as the seconds went by.

Longbottom spent a few torturous moments in the air before suddenly sailing downward onto the ground with a crack, his broom flying off into the distance.

The class was deathly silent as Hooch swore and jogged towards the Gryffindor. In fact, Blaise was opting to look at the broom in the sky instead of whatever mess of bloody limbs Longbottom was now. Ron, however, didn’t seem to have such qualms about witnessing a gory scene and was actively craning his neck to get a better look at Longbottom and Hooch.

Blaise was relieved to hear Madam Hooch mutter ‘broken wrist’, instead of ‘cracked skull, brains all over the floor’, before she whisked away with him off to the hospital wing with threats of expulsion if any other students went on their brooms.

Malfoy burst out laughing as soon as she was gone, saying, “Did you see his face, the great lump?”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Patil snapped at him, though Blaise could see Roper and Vane were struggling not to join in with Malfoy’s laughter.

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” Pansy said, her mean grin on. “Never thought you’d like fat little crybabies, Parvati.”

“Look!” Malfoy darted forward and grabbed the remembrall Longbottom had had earlier, which now layed discarded on the ground. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.”

Blaise internally did agree that it was a bit lame to have to have a remembrall at the ripe old age of eleven- things made for the elderly- because you were so forgetful, but didn’t say as much because Harry and Ron looked seconds away from smacking their brooms against Malfoy’s head.

“Put it back, Malfoy,” Harry said quietly, looking at Malfoy as though he were a piece of meat, and he was a dog- diligently trained but thoroughly tested by the temptation to just rip into what he saw.

Malfoy’s face faltered for a second at the sight, but he masked it away quickly under a nasty smile. “‘I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect- how about up a tree?”

“Malfoy!” Harry hissed at him as he swung onto his broom and flew up five metres into the air, remembrall clutched in his hand as he tempted Harry to follow. This must be their first direct clash since the train , Blaise noted as he watched Harry grit his teeth and mount his own broom.

“ No, you idiot, you’ll get all of us into trouble over bloody Longbottom and Malfoy. ” Tracey grabbed hold of one of his arms.

“Remember rule one!” Blaise told him in a hushed tone, avoiding the gazes of the Gryffindors.

“Nevermind rule one; remember rule four!” Tracey added, giving Harry a stern look. ‘ Don’t sully the Slytherin name by making a fool of yourself ’. Blaise was fairly certain Snape had set that one himself. He would be horrified to witness this, Blaise reckoned.

“Sorry guys, I only remember rule five, don’t get caught !” -and with that Harry kicked off into the air, making Tracey grab onto Blaise’s robes as she almost toppled over by the force of being tugged off of the other boy so suddenly. 

“You need that remembrall for yourself, you absolute clothead! ” Blaise yelled at the ascending figure of Harry, who laughed in response.

Ron whooped as Harry shot towards Malfoy. “Damn, he’s good!”

“He’s a clown on a stick, is what he is,” Tracey said, though it came out a bit too fondly to count as criticism. 

The three chortled as Harry called out to Malfoy, “No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck!” Several Gryffindors were clapping, Thomas the most enthusiastically. 

“He’s on a warpath,” Blaise exclaimed, observing how his friend was chasing after the boy with vicious focus. “I knew he was building too much energy, spends all his time being friendly with everyone. It’s all come crashing down now, look. You can’t tell me he’s not been itching for a fight.”

“I’m surprised you're not after Malfoy with him, Ron.” Tracey glanced at the ginger, “You’re just as pent up. Honestly, boys. ”

“Now, now, don’t clump all of us together,” Blaise admonished her with a wink, “We’re not all bad.”

“ You are pent up in a completely different way.”

Blaise was startled into laughter by that, almost missing the way Harry caught the remembrall that had been sailing through the air just a foot from the ground before toppling safely onto the grass.

He sobered quickly as a “HARRY POTTER!” cut through the air.

“Oh god,” Tracey muttered as they watched McGonagall herself stride across the grounds, fury drawn across her face.

“ Never in all my time at Hogwarts- how dare you! Might have broken your neck-”

“Professor, please, he was just-”

“Be quiet, Miss Davis-”

“But Malfoy-”

“That’s enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, with me, now. ”

And with that she strode off with a trembling Harry, remembrall still in hand.

“Well,” said Blaise, looking at the departing figures. “That was our run with Harry Potter, amici miei . Been a good one, yes?”

“She should’ve taken Malfoy too,” Ron scowled. With that, the ginger turned around and jumped at Malfoy, who squawked at the sudden assault.

“ What the fuck? ” Blaise muttered in Italian. He couldn’t even find himself to enjoy the sight of a fight, he was so lost after everything that just happened, despite having been yearning to witness one for the past month and a half.

“Si,” Tracey replied, looking at Ron and Malfoy thrashing on the ground with tired apathy. She undoubtedly had no idea what Blaise had said, but it fit well enough that he snorted gracelessly.

“I can’t believe Harry’s going to get expelled,” Blaise sighed, rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand. “There’s no way he’s getting out of this one.”

“Fucking idiot definitely did not remember rule five.”

Malfoy let out a wail of pain as Ron uppercutted at his jaw.

Blaise was going to have to scout out a replacement. It was going to be difficult to find one to fill the space of Harry Potter but under no circumstances was he going to be stuck in a trio.

…

“You’re joking ” Ron was astonished as Harry told them the news at dinner- not expelled, and grinning from cheek to cheek. “ Seeker ? But first-years never- you must be the youngest player in about-”

“-a century,” Blaise said, trying to hide how impressed he was as he did. “And here we were, trying to think of the best way to send you off-”

“-figured you’d need a funeral since McGonagall killed you. Or so we thought,” Tracey bit into her steak, not nearly as amazed as Ron and Blaise were. She didn’t understand the weight of this feat of Harry’s, clearly.

Harry laughed, before saying in a hushed voice, “Be quiet about it though, Flint will kill me if this gets leaked before the first match. Snape wasn’t happy about it either, kept on going on about my dad- don’t reckon those two were friends by the sound of it- I start training this week.”

As he said it, two boys sat beside them, one of them Warrington from the first-day duels, and the other saying, “Potter, Flint told me you’re our new seeker, yes?”

“So much for keeping it secret,” Blaise drawled.

“It is secret, so none of you neeks go yabbering off about it” The boy said sternly. “I’m-”

“You’re Bletchley, our keeper, but he, ” Ron pointed at Warrington with his fork, “-isn’t on the team. So, not that good of a secret.”

Warrington smiled wryly at that, “I was going to tryout, but Flint was so blown away with you Potter, that he’d cancelled tryouts instantly. You better be as good as he says you are.” Warrington and Bletchley wore identical looks of ‘don’t cross us’.

“We haven’t lost the Quidditch Cup since 1988. We’re not starting now.” Bletchley stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. Not that anyone was going to argue against that, mind, but that was the general aura he was giving off.

“We only lost in 1988 because of someone ’s brother,” Warrington looked pointedly at Ron, who paled a little.

“Ah, well, can’t blame Charlie for being good- but we can’t afford to lose like that again, obviously,'' Ron said hurriedly as he received twin scowls from the quidditch enthusiasts. Blaise was impressed at how threatening they were, he was taking notes in his head. Ron levelled Harry a serious look, “Crush ‘em, Harry.”

“That’s the spirit!” Bletchley smacked both Ron and Harry on the back, making them jolt. “Anyways, got to go. Heard Jordan tell the Weasley twins about some secret passageway, might check it out ourselves…”

And with that, they left, only to be replaced by a sneering Malfoy, predictably, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. “Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the muggles?”

Blaise brushed his leg against Harry’s as the boy’s shoulders hunched up a little. He blinked in alarm as the other boy’s leg spasmed at the contact jerkily. Harry glanced at him from the corner of his eye and moved subtly away from the touch. At that moment, Blaise accidentally caught Ron’s eye, concerned gaze searching for the ginger. Ron subtly, slowly, shook his head at him, and Blaise decided that he wasn’t going to take Harry’s behaviour to heart.

“You’re a lot braver now you’re back on the ground and you’ve got your little friends with you,” the new seeker sneered back at Malfoy.

“‘Little’?” Ron mouthed at Blaise, who had to stifle a snort.

“I’d take you on any time on my own,” said Malfoy coolly. “Tonight, if you want. Wizard’s duel. Wands only- no contact.” He added the last part with a glance sent- no doubt subconsciously- Ron’s way. The ginger smiled with all his teeth at the sight. Malfoy’s eyes quickly flicked back to Harry.

“Like the one after the Sorting? Sure, I’ll be Warrington and you’ll be Pucey” Harry retorted sharply.

“‘If he wants’? How considerate of you, Malfoy.” Tracey added snidely.

“Isn’t it awfully?” Blaise joined in, looking at Malfoy with a face of disgust that had sent girls running away crying before.

“I’m his second, whose yours?” Ron asserted, just as sharply as Harry, looking as though he’d rather get on with it and hex him right there in the Great Hall.

“Crabbe,” Malfoy said, face sliding behind a cold mask. “Midnight all right? We’ll meet you in the trophy room, that’s always unlocked.”

He and his bodyguards quickly hurried off after that, undoubtedly feeling the burn of four scornful gazes at their backs.

“What does a second do, exactly?” Harry asked as he turned back to his meal, “Replace the challenger when he’s out of commission?”

“Replace the challenger after he dies,” Ron said casually, biting into one of the last meat pies. 

Blaise sighed at the look on Harry’s face. “That’s in proper duels. Neither of you will die, neither of you know enough magic to do damage. Well, maybe Malfoy’s been taught a thing or two…” he paused to think about how strong Malfoy could be. He was decent at charms and defence, that much was true, and there was the possibility Lord Malfoy had shown his son a few tricks, or even his mother, who, often undermined, Blaise’s own mother had mentioned was best not to cross. His mother. No doubt anything Lady Malfoy could throw would be nothing compared to Contessa Zabini, but like recognises like and-

“Both of you suck” Tracey said bluntly, making Ron choke on his pie and Blaise blink in surprise, abruptly torn away from his thoughts. “Harry, Malfoy will probably be awful. Look at the way he’s ran off just now, he was not expecting you to say yes and now he’s gotten his timbers all shivered over it”

“I thought he was scared of Ron,” Blaise said, looking back at where Malfoy had disappeared.

Ron was incredulous. “ Me ?” 

“Not this again,” Blaise rolled his eyes as he was reminded of their first conversation, having to tell Ron how people talk about him as much as they did Harry. He’d been right, but he wasn’t convinced Ron noticed the stares sometimes. He and Harry were oblivious like that. “Ron, you literally clobbered his arse like three hours ago.”

“ What? ” Harry said as Tracey nodded emphatically.

“Oh, I suppose I did…” Ron said, slowly looking quite pleased. 

“Mix of both- fear of Ron and no skill- I bet,” Tracey said, idly twirling a spoon around her fingers. “I hope he’s crying about it right now. Like, he’s just genuinely terrified. Sweating buckets, stuttering…”

“What if I wave my wand and nothing happens?” Harry said anxiously.

Ron resumed his pie, suggesting: “Throw it away and punch him on the nose.”

“Lovely,” Blaise said, looking between Tracey and Ron. He didn’t doubt either of them didn’t mean what they were saying.

“Excuse me,” said a voice from behind Blaise and Harry. They turned to see none other than Hermione Granger, who must’ve walked over from the Ravenclaw table. Behind her- Amanda Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin, the latter of whom Blaise winked at over Granger’s shoulder. He delighted internally at the way Turpin turned pink. Good to know that his charms worked on British girls too.

Well, actually, he already knew that. He recalled fondly the way Padma giggled coyly at him in Herbology lessons, and the way Megan Jones twirled a strand of her hair around her finger whenever he was nearby, and-

“Can’t a person eat in peace in this place?” said Ron, glowering at Granger.

“I couldn’t help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying-” Granger ignored them all, looking at Harry head-on and solely.

“Bet you could,” Ron muttered, making Tracey and Blaise snicker. Brocklehurst glared at all three of them, crossing her arms in a way Blaise was sure was supposed to be threatening. Warrington and Bletchley would scoff at the sight. Blaise did so in their place, much to her chagrin.

“-and you mustn’t go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you’ll lose Slytherin. It’s really very selfish of you.”

“And it’s really none of your business,” said Harry.

“What do you care if Slytherin loses points?” Blaise said, eyeing her up. However, in his mind, the cogs were turning. Why would Malfoy risk points being taken off of him if they were found? He would have no qualms about Harry and Ron losing them points, no doubt would encourage it so he’d have something to jeer at them about, but why risk that fate for himself?

“Goodbye,” Ron said cheerfully, as the three girls gave them dirty looks (Turpin’s was only half-hearted) and went back to their own table. Blaise made his mind up.

“Don’t actually go to the trophy room,” Blaise said to Harry and Ron in a hushed voice.

The two looked as outraged as he knew they’d be. “We can’t bail!” Ron protested.

“You won’t be bailing because Malfoy clearly isn’t planning to go!” Blaise hissed. They stared at him blankly.

“He’s not doing it?” Tracey said, her face dark, “That bloody coward. He’s got an awful lot of nerve trying to con us after the pummeling Ron gave him in Flying.”

“Honestly guys, think about it,” He sighed. “Why would he tell you to go out after curfew when we’ve got a perfectly good common room we can duel in?”

Ron recovered next, eyebrows furrowed, “That’s right. He just wants Filch to catch us!”

“What do we do, then?” Harry asked, looking disappointed, “I was kind of looking forward to hexing him…”

“Challenge him in the common room” Tracey suggested, smiling evilly, “He’ll wet himself.”

Malfoy didn’t wet himself, but he looked like near it. Blaise and Ron had taught Harry every curse, jinx and hex they knew, Harry trying them out on unsuspecting Gryffindors when he could, and the boy looked ready to go. Malfoy was very clearly caught off guard from where he was sat, lounging with Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode and clearly done with the day. Pansy and Greengrass had been talking nearby, the latter now raising a razor sharp eyebrow up as Harry challenged Malfoy whereas Pansy looked downright gleeful. Ah, Pansy. She caught Blaise’s eye, both of them smirking. They loved to see a good fight, the two of them. And Blaise was going to enjoy this one, too.

“I-I accept, obviously,” Malfoy shook himself out of his momentary stupor, standing up. Everyone in the common room looked overjoyed, ready to see the Boy-Who-Lived go against the infamous Malfoy heir. “You’re going to regret this, Potter.”

“Am I?” Harry said, looking far more level-headed after an evening spent trying out spells, “I don’t think I will, ‘Pucey’.”

Somewhere in the room, Adrian Pucey spluttered as chuckles broke out around them.

Malfoy flushed, whether out of embarrassment or anger, Blaise wasn’t sure, and whipped out his wand, casting without further warning, “ Brachiabindo !”

Harry barely dodged the jinx, looking caught off guard but recovering quickly, “ Flipendo !”

(That one had been one of Blaise’s, and the boy smirked as Harry casted it perfectly. Jinxing unsuspecting Gryffindors truly was a good way to learn.)

Malfoy wasn’t quick enough and was knocked back into the wall of the room, letting out an “oof!” of pain, before rushing for his wand that he’d dropped, “ Melofors !”

Harry stumbled as he suddenly found his head trapped inside a pumpkin. However this only acted to enrage him into casting spells blind . “ Furnunculus! Ebublio! Titillando! Calvorio! ”

Blaise lept behind an armchair as spells shot through the air, only half of what Harry casted even going anywhere near Malfoy. A bolt of yellow struck the ground exactly where he had previously stood, and several sparks were hitting furniture and bouncing off of walls. Tracey and Ron yelped at the rapid spellfire, scrambling to take cover at the back of a sofa near Blaise. Several people were yelling ‘ Protego! ’ as others moved to either hide behind something or vacate the room entirely.

Malfoy found himself trapped floating inside a bubble, bald, wand on the floor and thoroughly humiliated, while someone else had been hit by a stray spell and was howling with laughter from the tickling hex (one of Ron’s teachings) while Bulstrode wailed as she found her skin erupt into boils from a stray ‘furnunculus’ (that one Harry had learnt from Blaise). Harry himself had stopped casting, wand also on the floor as he struggled to get his head out of the pumpkin. One of the second-years moved to help him out of it, muttering an exasperated, “ Boys, ”.

The Italian couldn’t hold back a snort, and soon enough Ron, Blaise and Tracey were roaring with laughter at the state of the room by the time Snape swept in, his cloak billowing as he did so.

“What, by Merlin and Morgana both, is going on here?” He hissed, eyeing the room critically. Several items in the common room were rather singed, the second-year was still struggling to get Harry out of the pumpkin, Malfoy was as red as a tomato in his bubble, while the cries of Bulstrode and the boy who’d gotten the tickling hex filled the otherwise silenced room. Everyone looked at Snape tensely. “Who, pray tell, is in that pumpkin, Jiménez?”

And as the second-year girl said “Harry Potter, sir” Snape did not look at all surprised, only disdainful. 

“Of course. Who else could be so careless of others in a communal area other than a Potter?” He drawled, vanishing the pumpkin and sneering: “Detention tomorrow, Mr. Potter, for completely disrupting the common room and harming several other people in what I assume must’ve been a duel between you and Mr. Malfoy. Miss Bulstrode, go to the hospital wing, you’ll be sorted out there.”

Bulstrode wept as she ran out the room. Neither Harry nor Snape looked sympathetic for her, and Blaise truly doubted anyone else did either. In fact, when he looked over, Tracey and Ron were looking gleefully between where Bulstrode had sprinted off and where Malfoy still floated.

“Yes, sir. I assume I’ve won?” Harry looked at Malfoy as if he were a cockroach. “Unless Crabbe will stand up as the second?”

Crabbe shook his head violently. He’d probably made himself dizzy with it.

One of the sixth-year prefects, Vaisey, cleared her throat, “Malfoy and Crabbe have stood down, Potter wins this duel”

Cautious clapping came from the Slytherins who weren’t Blaise and his friends, who applauded loudly and with mirth. Harry shot them all a grateful look.

“Yes, yes, congratulations, Potter,” Snape said as he released Malfoy and gave him a potion- probably one that would help him get his hair back- “A success with only minimal collateral damage, what a feat. Why on earth was there no duelling circle?”

Vaisey flushed, as it was a responsibility of a prefect to referee a duel, “I’m sorry professor, but they began before we could draw one.”

“Did they now. Getting rather foolhardy, aren’t we, Potter?”

“I’m not defending Potter against such accusations, sir, but it was Malfoy who cast the first spell” Vaisey looked at the two first-years hatefully as she spoke.

Snape’s brows rose minutely as he addressed Malfoy, “In this case, you may join Potter tomorrow evening. If that is all?”

“No, sir,” said Bletchley from where he’d tried to hide behind Warrington- an interesting thing to attempt as the man was quite bulky and Warrington quite slim. “Faheem’s still laughing.”

“Ah, Mr. Shafiq, apologies,” Snape didn’t look sorry as he freed the poor man from the tickling hex at last, who just slumped to the ground in exhaustion. Bletchley and Warrington snickered as they patted his shoulder in consolidarity.

Snape left the room with a malicious glint in his eyes as Sommertime prowled in, features drawn into venomous fury. “I need to speak with Malfoy, Potter and Weasley,” she spat. “ Now ”

Ron paled from where he’d moved to stand beside Blaise. Tracey made a soft ‘ah’ sound.

“What?” Ron hissed at her, looking at Sommertime with open fear.

“You’ve all broken rule one rather publicly today” Tracey explained.

“Ahh,” Blaise nodded in agreement, much to Ron’s apparent displeasure and concern, “You more than Harry, I reckon. Decking Malfoy versus chasing him, I think you’ve done worse for Slytherin’s image…”

“I wonder what she’ll do to you?” Tracey put a hand on her chin in thought.

“Hex your balls off?” Blaise suggested with a smirk.

“Dump you into the Forbidden Forest?” Tracey hummed thoughtfully.

“Send a strongly worded letter to your mother?” Blaise mimicked Tracey’s stance, stroking a non-existent goatee. 

“Shut it!” Ron snapped, turning pale and looking between the two in horror before forcing himself to move away with Malfoy and Harry and towards the deadly figure of Slytherin’s seventh-year prefect.

“Good luck!” Blaise and Tracey sang after their departing friends, who were both glowering at Malfoy.

…

That night, the only person Argus Filch caught out after curfew was Neville Longbottom, who’d forgotten the password to the Gryffindor tower.

Chapter Text

Thursday 30th of October 1991 - Hogwarts Castle, Highlands, Scotland

Ron, Harry, and Malfoy were utterly traumatised by the time they came back to their dorm room that night and had refused to respond to Blaise’s pestering about what had happened to them after they’d left the Slytherin common room with Sommertime. Ron felt like he could sleep for a million years and also never sleep again.

At breakfast the next day, Harry was rather glum about his upcoming detention, while Ron, Tracey, and Blaise reopened the discussion on whatever Hagrid took out from Gringotts could be.

“It’s either really valuable or really dangerous,” Ron said into his glass of orange juice. They had to clear the vicinity of pumpkin juice because Harry apparently couldn’t bear the smell of anything to do with them anymore. The boy was really going to struggle with Halloween tomorrow, he reckoned.

(Ron did not yet know that Harry would struggle with every Halloween, for the rest of his life. For now, though, neither of them were aware of the undercurrent of grief the holiday would bring Harry, and haunt him with for the rest of his days)

“Or both.” Harry’s voice was muffled as his face was pressed against the wood of the table. Ron patted his back in consolidarity. Finally, after almost two months of knowing one another, Harry no longer flinched at the touch. Pride filled Ron’s chest every time he tossed an arm over the shorter boy’s shoulder now without eliciting any negative reaction from him. It was probably a breath of fresh air for the both of them. Ron knew that Harry hadn’t liked being perceived as weak for his intolerance of contact, even if the avoidance of it hadn’t really been known by anyone other than Ron, Blaise, and Tracey.

Ron had come from a family of nine, all members of which communicated affection primarily through physical touch. He was shit at most of the other forms of ‘love languages’, as Tracey had described them. Acts of service? Yeah, he would do near anything for Harry, and Blaise and Tracey, but he would also do near anything for anyone he owed something to. Doing something for someone doesn’t exactly equate to having affection for them, in Ron’s eyes. 

Then there were words of affirmation, which Ron indulged in only on a surface level. He’d compliment people’s achievements, exclaim that something was cool, that was all easy. It’s when the words go below the skins of Ron’s personality and emotions, when they hint at a deeper meaning wherein Ron cares- and perhaps this was because he was a boy, and struggled to engage in things that would show he has feelings, or whatever it was that Ginny had mentioned about the patriarchy- that he cannot bring himself to say them.

He was too poor to show affection through meaningful gift-giving, and he doubted he was smart enough to figure out how to show his care for someone through it even if he weren’t.

Meaning that, he really showed his affection for someone best with physical contact, which Ron had to carefully monitor when with Harry until now.

“I still seriously don’t get why we’re making such a big deal out of it,” said Tracey, bringing Ron’s attention back to the discussion. “It could literally be nothing that important.”

“Tracey,” Ron put his hands together and pressed them against his face. “Why would someone put some junk into a vault ?”

“Look, I don’t know what rich people do with their shit,” Tracey raised her hands up defensively. “And how do we know that the vault wasn’t just Mr. Hagrid’s again?”

“Oh. My. Days ,” Ron was close to banging his head against the table.

“Well, hang on, considering what she knows about the wizarding world, it’s not that unreasonable to think,” protested Blaise, though it was evident in his voice that he was only saying it to agitate Ron even further.

“Er, no, because she knows that Hagrid lives in a hut on the school grounds he works on,” said Ron. “He obviously doesn’t have vaults.”

“Don’t you have them, though?” asked Harry.

Ron felt himself turn pink as Blaise made a quiet but scandalised noise. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

Harry’s eyes widened, “Oh, er, sorry, I just meant…”

He began anxiously wringing his fingers at Ron’s glare, which made him feel a bit bad, but he was still quite annoyed that this topic had been brought up at all. As if he wasn’t reminded of his family's damned financial situation every day already.

“We have vaults because we used to be rich-arse purebloods like the Greengrasses or the Parkinsons,” Ron said with a sigh, feeling deeply embarrassed by his response to Harry’s question and deciding just to answer it with honesty. “That’s why we were considered a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight when that stupid bloody thing was thought of, to be honest. If you were dirt poor but still pureblood I doubt they would’ve included you back then.”

“I think that’s what happened to the Sayres and the Diggorys, actually,” Blaise added as an afterthought to Ron’s words.

“But wasn’t that written in like the 1920s?” Harry frowned, before sheepishly eyeing Ron. “How did..?”

“-we lose all the money?” Ron finished for him, and he honestly couldn’t help feeling as bitter as he was. “Not a clue, though Fred and George reckon it isn’t because we’re a big family or whatever.”

“It isn’t? But Malfoy…”

“Yes?” Ron’s voice could freeze the Great Lake over.

“Santa Maria, Weasley,” Blaise rolled his eyes, making the other two boys snap their gazes back to him. “He was only asking. A bit of curiosity is healthy in a growing boy.”

“Eh?” said Harry, frowning.

“Oh, right,” Ron managed to crack a slow grin. “Of course.”

“...growing boy?”

“Well, you are a bit of a midget, mate,” said Ron. “Maybe all this nosiness- sorry, curiosity - OUCH! My bloody shin! No need to cripple me, Potter!”

“Everyone’s a midget around you two because you’re the size of pissing skyscrapers!” hissed Harry, apparently very unimpressed with their new topic of conversation. Ron much preferred this over the one on the legacy of the Weasley wealth, actually, so he still had a pained grin on his face.

“It’s okay Harry, just always remember to always eat your greens and- AHIA ! Fucking hell, that kick was brutal!” Blaise swore, face twitching violently. His grip on his goblet was very tight.

“God, are they trying to melt us with the power of their eyes alone?” Tracey suddenly said, looking down at the table. The three boys turned their heads just in time to catch the hateful gazes of Malfoy, Bulstrode, and Malfoy’s bodyguards. Ron realised that they were probably being quite loud, disturbing the others around them and that. But come on, the looks they were getting from that crowd made it seem like Ron’s lot had murdered someone, for Merlin’s sake!

“See something you like?” Blaise drawled, leaning forward to apparently give the spiteful group a full view. Crabbe and Goyle reeled back, but Bulstrode flushed a little, making Ron sneer in disgust. As if that ogre of a woman had a chance .

“Hair looks nice today, Malfoy,” Ron couldn’t resist the dig. Malfoy had managed to regrow his hair in the bathroom after they returned from the verbal violation that was Sommertime’s speech towards them last night, but it was noticeably shorter. And slightly patchy.

“You are hardly one to talk, weasel. The only thing you and your hair have to look forward to is going grey,” Malfoy snapped back, making Ron gape at him. Then he started gaping at the air instead, because the owl post was arriving and something that looked suspiciously like a wrapped broom was being carried by six struggling birds in their direction.

“Merlin’s beard,” He heard Malfoy say as everyone looked up. The owls descended in more of a controlled crash than a landing, before flying off disgruntledly.

Obviously, it was addressed to Harry. It was the first post he’d ever seen the boy receive, and it made a huge entrance as it came. Of course it was Harry’s.

Harry ripped open the letter first, reading it before passing it to Ron. It read:

‘DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE. It contains your new Nimbus 2000, but I don’t want everybody knowing you’ve got a broomstick or the Gryffindor team will riot. Marcus Flint will meet you tonight on the Quidditch pitch at seven o’clock for your first training session. Consider this gift appeasement to the memory of your father, who would’ve given you one of these the moment they’d been released -Professor M. McGonagall’

“Don’t reckon you should start expecting her to treat you like this all the time, mate,” Ron passed the note to Tracey. “She’ll jump off the stands before Slytherin beat Gryffindor at quidditch, whatever broom you’ve got.”

“I think she’s been this nice to me because of my dad, if I’m honest,” Harry shrugged, “Better enjoy it while it lasts, anyway.”

“Ah well, who cares, you’ve got a Nimbus Two Thousand!” He was almost moaning with envy, “I’ve never even touched one!”

Blaise snorted as he finished up with the note, returning it to Harry, “She must’ve really liked your dad to give the opposition such an advantage.”

Harry scratched the side of his head absently, “She said he cut twenty years off of her lifespan.”

Malfoy followed them as the group eventually made their way out of the Great Hall, goading, “You’ll be for it this time, Potter, first-years aren’t allowed broomsticks.”

“Thanks for the friendly warning, Malfoy , but he’s perfectly allowed to have one,” Ron sneered, teeth grating against the urge to just hex him on the spot. Or batter him. Either would do, quite frankly.

“What would you know, Weasley , since you can’t even affo-”

“Not arguing, I hope, boys?” Professor Flitwick suddenly appeared at Malfoy’s elbow before Malfoy could finish what was likely another jab at Ron’s wealth, or lack thereof.

Ron paled at the memory of Sommertime’s ‘talk’, and he could see Malfoy doing the same. “Nothing like that, sir,” he rushed to say, words practically tripping over themselves.

“Nothing of the sort, professor, I was just informing Potter that broomsticks weren’t allowed.”

“Hmm,” Flitwick looked between the two of them before smiling at Harry, “Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Mr. Potter. And what model is it?”

“A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir,” Ron had to cover up a bark of laughter as a cough at the horrified look on Malfoy’s face. “And it’s really thanks to Malfoy here that I’ve got it. I suppose I must thank you.”

Tracey giggled as Ron had to hide his face in the crook of his elbow, though he was certain both the professor and Malfoy, who let out a strained “You’re welcome,” could see the way his shoulders shook as he tried to not audibly cackle.

Flitwick gave them all a confused look before departing, Malfoy moving to slink off the second his back was turned. Blaise snorting was what set everyone off, and soon all of them were howling as Malfoy stomped off with more animated passion.

Harry wiped away a tear from his eye, “It’s true though, if he hadn’t stolen Neville’s Remembrall I wouldn’t be in the team...speaking of, I need to return it to him.”

“We have charms with the Gryffindors first, give it to him then,” Blaise said, looking at his timetable.

“So I suppose you think that’s a reward for breaking rules?” came an angry voice from just behind them. Granger stood there, looking absolutely fuming as though she couldn’t bear the thought of someone getting away with something.

“Merlin, is this another thing you ‘couldn’t help overhearing’?” Ron said, looking at the harpy crossing her arms exactly like his mother did when she was about to go on a two hour rant about something or other.

“One might start to think you’re just rather nosy, Granger,” said Blaise, looking her up and down critically.

She stormed off with her self-righteous nose in the air.

“That girl is the bane of my existence,” Ron ran a hand through his hair. Tracey snickered, looping an arm through his.

“She does always seem to go after you and Harry,” Blaise observed.

Ron scoffed, “‘Does a niffler like shiny things’? She’s borderline stalking us.” 

“I reckon she’s just lonely,” said Harry, in his usual sympathetic way. Ron could never be, and frankly didn’t want to be, as nice as Harry was. Maybe he might’ve once, but being in Slytherin had probably changed him beyond that point.

His family had been…surprised at the news, but his parents had sent him that letter saying that they were perfectly fine with it soon enough, so much of the worry Ron had for their reactions had been sated to a level that, unless he thought about it, he didn’t care about the issue. Frankly, he was enjoying the independence from his brothers in Gryffindor and being able to form bonds with his fellow Slytherins. Mind, most of them looked down on him rather harshly, particularly purebloods whose names had been denied a place in the Sacred 28. Quite a bitter lot, those ones. 

Still, he was friendly with a lot of them. He’d actually had pretty decent chats with Nott and Greengrass, which had surprised him as they were perceived as the most unapproachable of the Slytherin first-years, maybe even the entirety of the first-years. The girl from the train, Vivienne Thornton, after practically laughing in his face about the circumstances of his housing, was actually pretty fun to talk to too- she usually had something exciting going on and she and him would casually exchange stories of the day. He’d been nervous of speaking to one second-year Jude Sallow, who’d come from a rather long line of dark art practitioners and was clearly one himself, but was drawn in by the man’s appealing self-confidence and friendly banter so they were friendly as well.

Outside of his own house, he got on with Dean Thomas, Susan Bones (who’d gotten over the homework incident by now), and, surprisingly, Padma and Parvati Patil, who he, Blaise, and Tracey often chatted to. Harry and Blaise liked Dean as much as he did (which was a surprising amount considering they despised the rest of Gryffindor, barring Longbottom for Harry and Parvati for Blaise), and Harry and Tracey also found Susan hilarious*. She was snarky, almost Slytherin about it, but anyone could see how fierce her loyalty was- no one could get a word that wasn’t unmistakably positive about Hannah Abbott or Lilian Moon without getting gunned down by her verbal attacks. Ron admired it, honestly.

* She regularly took the absolute piss out of Ron, which had them crying with laughter.

Who he didn’t like, and therefore did not care for at all, was Hermione bloody Granger. Admittedly alongside many others- but she was who Ron and his friend group were talking about right now.

“Boo-hoo. She acts the way she does and then is surprised when she gets no friends?” Ron had no sympathy for her.

“She was hanging about with Turpin and Brock-whatever, like, yesterday, why aren’t they with her now?” Tracey peered around where they stood at the bottom of the Grand Staircase, apparently looking around for them.

“Probably got sick of her,” Blaise rolled his eyes. Ron immediately offered him a fistbump. The Italian looked far too pleased as he returned it.

“Well, good for them in seeing some sense. Let’s go see Finnigan’s ugly mug in Charms,” Ron said with a sigh.

“You just want to get back to gloating at Malfoy,” Harry knew him so well, even if they’d met only two months ago.

The ginger grinned, “No harm, no foul,” It wasn’t even Ron’s to gloat, but if Harry wasn’t going to do it…

Tracey smirked, “How I look forward to another lesson with Parvati trying to stop Finnigan from setting himself on fire.”

“A thankless job,” Blaise expressed his sympathy for the girl with a theatrical tear-wipe, and then they all began to walk to the first lesson of the day.

Charms was an interesting class, usually one wherein one house would sit on one side of the room and the other house on the other. Occasionally Harry would sit by Longbottom, or one of the quartet would sit with Parvati or Dean. They were rare occurrences though, as it usually resulted in a lot of eyes being drawn towards the inter-house pair. This wasn’t what was interesting about Charms, however, since most Gryffindor-Slytherin classes went by that example. What was intriguing was that the sides of the classroom faced one another, meaning one could look Seamus Finnigan in the eye before he turned something into a pile of ash. Professor McGonagall said that the boy had ‘an affinity towards pyrokinetics’, but Ron reckoned Finnigan was just an arsonist in the making.

“Hey, Nev!” Harry called out to the blond, who was talking to Dean by the Gryffindor end of the room. Longbottom turned around, revealing his pet toad that he’d lost on the train. Unfortunately, he showed the fact his hands were occupied a little too late, and Harry had already thrown the remembrall at him. It hit Longbottom squarely in the face, causing him to drop his toad and curl forward to grab at his face. Harry looked aghast, exclaiming, “Oh, shit!”

Ron snorted as Tracey screamed as the toad hopped onto her skirt, while Harry rushed forward to assess the damage he’d done to Longbottom. “Get this fucking thing off of me! Ron! Blaise!”

They quickly moved out of her vicinity as she started to flail in an attempt to get the toad off of her. 

“Oh my god, your nose!” Harry was saying with no little amount of dispair. Dean and Parvati had joined him in helping Longbottom out, though they seemed more there for moral support than anything else, standing around uncertainly.

Tracey was spinning around like a hurricane now, screeching her head off. Ron, feeling a little bad at this point, tried to help her, but she wouldn’t stop jumping about trying to shake the animal off.

Parkinson and Malfoy in particular were really enjoying the show, if the way they were laughing loudly and pointing at her from across the room was any indicator. 

“Trace, just stand still, yeah, I can’t grab it if you keep moving about!” he told her.

“IT’S SLIMY, RON.” There was a wild sort of look in her eye.

“Yeah, I know!”

“GET IT OFF!”

“I’m trying!”

“TRY HARDER!” she screamed. At this moment, she finally managed to grab hold of the toad successfully and sent it shooting across the room, hitting Malfoy right in the face. She blinked before pumping her fist into the air. “HAH, BULLSEYE!”

Malfoy squawked in shock, trying to get a grip on the thing, while Parkinson rushed away from him with a sneer of disgust.

“It’s 9am,” Blaise murmured from where he stood beside Ron. The ginger glanced over at him and found that the Italian was practically swaying on his feet in exhaustion. “Way too early for all this…hmm….”

“Excitement?” Ron finished for him, chuckling and throwing an arm across his shoulder. “Yeah, I get you, probably would be in the same state-”

Blaise looked offended, “-well, hang on, ‘ state ’-”

“-as you too if it weren’t for Harry’s new broom.” Ron was sure his eyes were sparkling. “It’s well wicked, you know. Bloody good thing he got one too, the school ones are rubbish-”

Suddenly, the doors banged open and Professor Flitwick walked into the room,  making it instantly fall into a hush. The only sound that could be heard was a faint croaking from Longbottom’s toad, which seemed to be fighting for its life between Crabbe’s meaty hands.

Ron respected that even despite being shorter than all of the first-years, Flitwick still managed to garner a significant amount of respect from them all. Perhaps it was the ease that he carried himself with, or some subconscious knowledge deep inside the eleven-year-olds’ brains that told them that their teacher was a powerful being. Either way, everyone quickly moved to their seats.

About half-way through the lesson, where they were practising reparo on their torn Charms textbooks, Ron heard Harry mutter a quiet “bollocks” from beside him.

“What?” He whispered, not taking his eyes off of Flitwick’s demonstration lest he glanced their way. Harry and Ron had been moved apart in almost all of their lessons by now, except for Charms, and Ron wasn’t risking it.

“Do you think either Snape or Flint will reschedule? My detention’s at the same time as my training session.” Harry told him miserably.

Ron grimaced, patting Harry on the back again, “Bad luck mate. What’s that phrase I heard Susan say? ‘Unstoppable force meets immovable object’? This is that.”

Harry groaned just as Finnigan set Roper’s pencil case ablaze.

In the end, Snape had won, judging from the way Ron saw Flint angrily shovel his food into his mouth at dinner, very much not out on the quidditch pitch training Harry. Parris Parkinson and Graham Montague were giving him weary looks from where they flanked him. He was visibly homicidal.

Ron and his two remaining friends decided they should avoid any form of confrontation with Flint, lest they get blamed for Harry’s faults somehow. They moved to the Hufflepuff table to sit with Susan, who was with Lilian Moon and Padma, who was also not sitting with her house for some reason.

“Call me Lily,” Moon demanded after introductions. She had cringed violently when Susan had called her Lilian.

Sensing a kindred spirit, he nodded, saying, “Call me Ron.”

They grinned at each other. Lily had a bit of an airy aura about her, and she was definitely part-something or other. Ron felt that she and Ginny’s friend Luna would get on. Luna would probably chatter to her about wrackspurts and Lily would be indoctrinated immediately. He was convinced that Luna was a budding cult leader, if he was honest.

“Why’ve you moved here, then?” Padma asked, a teasing lilt creeping into her voice, “Malfoy finally banned you from eating near him, Slytherin prince that he is?”

Padma and Parvati Patil were a visual representation of ‘the brains and the brawn’, though both shared the similar trait of being drop-dead gorgeous. That being said, it didn’t stop them from knowing how best to irritate someone.

Ron and Tracey scoffed as Blaise responded, “Staying away from Flint- he’s feeling a bit, ah, wrathful at the moment.”

The girls turned to look at him, slowly humming in agreement as they all had a glimpse at the quidditch captain’s face.

“What about you then, what’s separated you from your fellow ravens?” Tracey asked as the Slytherins moved to add food onto their plates. Justin Finch-Fletchley and Zacharias Smith looked at them cautiously from not too far up the table.

“For your information, I’ve been eating with Suzie and Lils since the end of September. My ‘fellow ravens’ are accustomed to me not sitting with them,” Padma said with a minor huff, then explained, more quietly, “Some of them are insufferable. ”

Ron snickered at the thought of a particular insufferable Ravenclaw.

Padma eyed him from the side, but he could see the upwards twitch in her lips, “Not just Hermione, honestly Ron what did the girl do to you?”

“They’re all so dead, ” Susan bemoaned, “Merlin, even Hannah finds the lot of them torture, apart from Cornfoot and MacDougal, but they’re her friends-”

Yikes, Ron thought. Poor Hannah was way too nice to people if she willingly hung around with Cornfoot and MacDougal out of anyone.

“Excuse me? Not all of us are ‘dead’-”

“Yes, yes, you’re special, Padma, I’ll get you a medal, an Order of Merlin, first class-”

“Who in Ravenclaw isn’t awful, then?” Blaise asked, leaning his head against his hand. Ron reckoned he looked bored.

Padma paused, then looked thoughtful, “Terry, Michael and Lisa, I’d say.”

“A shame about the company Turpin keeps,” Blaise said, staring at the Ravenclaw table.

“Watch it,” Susan said sharply, because her roommate Megan Jones was rapidly becoming one of the members of Granger and Turpin’s group. Blaise’s mouth clicked shut.

“You’ll be good when you take your place in the Wizengamot,” Lily said, taking a bite from the steaming chicken soup she had. Ron assessed the soup’s appearance and Lily’s own face before grabbing a bowl for himself. “Very commandeering.”

“Thanks, Lils.”

“Where is your other friend, Abbott, tonight then?” Tracey asked in what she dubbed her ‘showbiz’ voice. Everyone gave her a funny look, apart from Lily who was rapidly gulping down water after presumably burning her tongue quite badly. Ron observed this action with a detached and mild interest, as a person who never waited for his food to cool down himself.

Susan sighed before pointing with her thumb, not even turning around, back towards the Ravenclaw table. Hannah was sat with Morag MacDougal (bleugh), Stephen Cornfoot (ugh), Oliver Rivers and, last if not least, Longbottom. The conversation over there was looking a little dry, in Ron’s opinion. He wasn't sure how Hannah could stand it.

Lily moved further up the table, her hand to her mouth conspiratorially, “Did you hear what happened to Longbottom, by the way?”

They all turned to look at her, all also leaning forward so the six of them had their heads huddled together.

“Do go on, Miss Moon,” said Blaise, almost impassively.

“A lot happens to the man, you’ll have to be specific,” said Tracey. She was looking quite excited, though.

Ron just raised an eyebrow at Lily.

“Right, listen, yeah? I heard that yesterday Longbottom got trapped outside his common room because he forgot the password-”

“He was never going to end up with your lot, eh?” Susan elbowed Padma, who snorted. “Sorry, go on Lils.”

Lily smiled, “So, since he couldn’t get in, Peeves caught him out after curfew and the poor sod had to sprint for his life to dodge Filch, you follow?” They all nodded reverently.

“Longbottom somehow managed to end up on the third floor, yeah, hiding inside what he thought was a broom cupboard.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lily’s eyes sparkled, “Our school has a cerberus in it.”

They looked at her blankly.

“Nuh uh,” said Padma, instantly.

“Um, what? Are you sure? How do you know Longbottom didn’t just imagine it, or something?” Ron was a little doubtful of the legitimacy of this story he was hearing.

Susan shook her head, “I know he was under a bit of duress, but I don’t think that makes someone hallucinate a giant three-headed dog.”

“A what?” Tracey looked both appalled and intrigued. She evidently had not known what was meant by ‘cerberus’, which Ron supposed was fair enough.

“Rubbish,” Padma said, thoroughly unconvinced. Ron himself was uncertain on whether or not Longbottom had just made it up, in spite of how out of character it may be.

“I don’t think you can fit a cerberus inside a broom cupboard,” commented Blaise, looking at his cuticles critically.

“Well, we could always check to see if he got it right or not,” Lily said, unperturbed by their adamant disbelief in her story.

“Um, no thanks? If there’s actually one I don’t want to be eaten by three different sets of teeth,” Ron declined the offer, panicking slightly as Lily’s gaze grew determined. 

“What, think Longbottom had higher chances than you will?” She smiled a smile he’d seen on Tracey’s face countless times before and had never learnt his lesson from. “ Scared , Weasley?”

Well, Ron couldn’t take that, could he?

“Oh, you’re on, Moon,” he growled, grinning viciously at the challenge even as Blaise and Tracey groaned.

“Lovely!” She leant away from their huddle, prompting everyone else to do the same. The rest of the Hufflepuff table appeared to be eyeing them wearily. “Who else is coming? Padma?”

The Patil twin tossed her sleek hair back, “If only to laugh in your face when you find out your information is faulty, Miss Moon.”

Lily narrowed her eyes at that. Ron suddenly got a vision of Pansy Parkinson in Hufflepuff uniform. Promptly, Ron wondered if the ‘air-headedness’ he’d been told about was actually just a means to listen in on things, appearing as though you weren’t even aware a conversation was happening around you…

“Sue?”

“I’ll only go if you or Padma could be in any danger,” Susan crossed her arms, “Otherwise, I’m not risking getting caught. I’m not a Gryffindor.”

“Aw, what about me? What if I’m in danger?” Ron pouted dramatically, laughing when she smacked his arm.

“I’ll just get Megan to help with my history essay while I wait for you.”

“Fair enough, what about our other Slytherins?” Lily looked inquiringly at Tracey and Blaise.

“I want to see what this dog looks like,” Tracey said resolutely.

Blaise sighed, rubbing a hand on his forehead, “I don’t want to deal with Harry’s rant about missing his quidd- out on this later. I’ll come with.”

Susan looked at them all, “Well, now I feel like a right bloody coward.”

“We’re not Gryffindors,” Ron said with a shrug. “If you don’t want to go, there’s no shame in it. We won’t judge.”

They met at 8:30pm at the grand staircase, the hallways mostly empty as there wasn’t usually a lot of incentive for people to stay up later than necessary on a Thursday evening. 

“Filch probably half lives in the third floor corridor,” Tracey addressed their first problem rather quickly.

“Can we create a diversion to get him out of the way?” asked Padma.

Blaise turned to Ron, giving him a pointed look, making him understand immediately what the Italian was suggesting. “You’re joking. I’ll owe them!”

He rolled his eyes, “They’re your brothers.”

“And you’re an only child,” Blaise muttered a ‘touché’. “You don’t want to owe them anything. Especially those two.”

Lily sighed, putting her hands on Ron’s shoulders, “Ron. I will do whatever they ask of you with you.”

“Who are we talking about?” said Tracey.

Ron shook his head. “Not good enough”

Lily’s face turned a little pleading. “So will Padma?” she suggested.

Padma cringed, “Sorry Ron, Lils, but I might pass up on that one. I’ve heard some things from Parvati about the Weasley twins…”

Tracey smacked the side of her head, exclaiming, “ Ohhh .”

Blaise snorted, “Merlin, Trace, please see a mind healer, there must be something wrong- ow!”

The boy rubbed the arm she’d slapped gingerly. Tracey snapped, “How was I supposed to know that? I’m not a bloody mind-reader!”

“How about this?” Lily proposed, “If you owe them, I’ll owe you .”

Ron’s eyes lit up. He liked the sound of that . Never know when you need an extra person for something or other. Or someone to do your dirty work. “Conditions?”

“No murder,” Well, if he ever needed help with teaching Malfoy a lesson or something, Lily could help clear the body instead of joining in with Ron’s beating of the man bloody. That sounded fair enough, he reckoned.

“Reasonable, it’s a deal,” They shook on it. “Crikey, speak and it’ll come true- OI! GRED!”

His twin brothers, who had been passing by with Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson, looked at Ron and his motley crew in surprise.

“Ronniekins!” said Fred. Ron scowled in response to the snicker Blaise let out.

“What are you doing out and about, ickle brother?” asked George.

“Interesting group of people you’ve got there Ron,” commented Angelina, looking at them with mild curiosity.

“We’re scheming,” Lily supplied cheerfully. Padma rubbed her face in exasperation.

Angelina snorted as Lee grinned at that, “Of course. Lee, are you still coming to the dorm? I’ve got quidditch practice tomorrow, so I’m not staying up for whatever this is.”

Lee put a hand to his chest, “Someone has to escort her ladyship back to the safety of Gryffindor Tower, of course. Who better than a brave knight-”

“Nevermind,” Angelina was already walking away, sweeping up the stairs.

Lee scrambled after her, whining, “Give me a chance, mi amore! Hey- wait up for your knight in shining- Angie come backkkk! ”

Fred and George looked completely unbothered by the scene, smiling up at Ron and his group from the bottom of the staircase. “Scheming, did you say? Are we robbing Filch?” said George.

“I do love nicking stuff from the man,” said Fred, a fond look on his face.

“No,” Tracey added in a hushed voice, “We’re going to check out the third floor corridor.”

The twins’ raised their eyebrows. “Really?” Fred looked at them all, slightly sceptically, “Have fun with that, me and George have already looked about-”

“-really don’t know what the fuss is about-”

“-found nothing interesting there-”

“-honestly disappointing.” George stared up at the ceiling as though he could see the right wing of the third floor through it, expression downtrodden.

“Maybe we’ll be luckier,” Blaise said with a shrug.

“A strong maybe, that” Padma muttered.

“Um, excuse me?” said Lily, side-eyeing Padma with an affronted expression. “I’ll have you know that my source was a very good one-”

“Oh, really?”

“If you must know, I got it off of Megan, who got it off of Ernie, who got it off of Dean Thomas, who got it off of Parvati, who was told directly by Longbottom,” Lily said in one breath. 

Padma looked at her disbelievingly, “Oh, yes, that sounds as though Longbottom might as well have been the one who told you himself. So sorry for doubting you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what I thought.”

Ignoring this conversation, Ron steeled himself for what he was about to ask. “We need to distract Filch-” his brothers’ eyes widened in excitement, dastardly grins growing already, “We want you to help with that.”

“For how long?” George asked, immediately.

“We’ll scram the second we’re finished,” Fred warned. Lily and Padma looked a little irked at having been told that they were going to be ditched to their faces, but Tracey and Blaise were nodding. They’d probably do the same, Ron realised. Bastards , he thought fondly.

Ron looked at Lily, raising an inquisitive brow. She giggled at the sight before saying, “Twenty minutes should be long enough.”

Fred and George looked at Ron, who resigned himself to his fate. He miserably mumbled, “I’ll owe you, I guess.”

“That you willll!” The twins sang.

“When-”

“-and where-”’

“-should we, ahem , divert-”

“-dearest Filch’s attention?”

“Now. Fifth floor or higher,” Lily told them, with Ron nodding along. The Hufflepuff and Slytherin dorms were low down. He didn’t know where the Ravenclaws resided, but Padma didn’t look bothered so he assumed that this arrangement was fine for her as well. They all needed to have the time to make a quick escape if they had to, after all.

“Yes ma’am!” The twins barked out, saluting her and Ron before scaling the stairs.

“How will we know you’ve caused the distraction?” Padma yelled after them.

They laughed, and said, not looking back, “The same way Filch will!”

“...ominous” Blaise commented as they all watched Ron’s brothers run off.

They moved to the second floor, looking up at the rotating stairs in preparation for the moment they saw Filch leaving the third. Hiding behind a corner, they prepared themselves for a bit of a wait.

…not thirty seconds later a huge boom shook the castle from above. Tracey grabbed hold of Ron for dear life in her panic, making him let out a startled laugh. She looked at him like he’d grown a second head. 

His neck snapped up to catch a peek of Filch sprinting out of the third floor and onto the staircase, the caretaker screaming his head off as he bolted to the higher levels.

“Go!” whispered Ron, already running towards the staircase. There was a brief pause before he heard the scuffle of everyone following behind him. He couldn’t be bothered to hide his thrilled grin as the adrenaline from purposefully breaking the rules kicked into him. At this moment, he understood Fred and George perfectly, and Percy not at all.

“Weasley, Yule hasn’t come early, you can stop smiling like that,” Blaise said from where he was jogging beside him. Ron shoved him at the shoulder, grin not falling one bit.

Lily led them down to the very end of the charms corridor on the right-hand side of the castle, rather alarmingly headed for the forbidden one, all moving in a speed-walk as to be quick but also not to be loud enough to draw back the attention of Filch. The caretaker had looked angry enough to kill a man earlier.

As they turned to the hall that led directly towards the forbidden one, Ron faltered at what they saw at the end of it, horrified. “No way. ”

Hermione fucking Granger swirled around, looking at first caught, and then angry, glowering at Ron, “ You? ”

“ You?! ” Ron almost bellowed back.

Tracey, who was behind Ron, peaked around him. “That’s not a three-headed dog,” she said with disappointment. 

“Hermione?” Padma looked bewildered. “I didn’t see you at dinner- what have you been doing?”

Granger looked at them all suspiciously, “I heard about what Neville saw- that’s what you’re all here for too, isn’t it?” Lily nodded in affirmation, “I thought so, that’s why I’m here too. I’ve been researching all I can about cerberi, just to be prepared in case things go, well, rather pear-shaped, when I checked it out. That’s why I wasn’t at dinner.”

 “ Have you checked it out?” asked Blaise, looking at the door to the forbidden corridor.

She shook her head, “I was just about to, had to unlock it with alohomora . I’d been hiding from Filch for ages until that boom happened- Peeves ratted me out, you see- was that you lot, by the way?”

“Yeah,” Ron bristled at the way Granger’s head snapped towards him as he spoke, “Bloody hell, what’s with that look?”

She flushed, “Well forgive me if I’m surprised you have the foresight to distract him, Weasley.”

“What, like the way you don’t?” He jibed, internally delighted at the way she scowled back at him.

“At least I prepared myself to see the cerberus,” Granger hissed back at him, “Which I can be certain you didn’t. What would’ve you done if it attacked you, hm?”

“Oh sorry, what are you going to do to it, then? Bore it to death by telling it the difference between Aquila and Aquarius?” snapped Ron.

“The thing could probably do better than you can in astronomy, that’s how completely inept you are-”

“Merlin, they’re just going after each other” Lily breathed, “Is it always like this? I’ve heard it was bad, but I’ve never actually listened to them talk to each other before.”

“Why, by Morgana, are they talking about astronomy ?” said Padma, bewildered.

“Yes it is,” Tracey responded to Lily with resignation. “Every time they’re in the same room.”

 “No it isn’t. We’re perfectly capable of being civil,” Granger said sharply, as Ron grunted: “You try talking to her when she lives off of driving you up the wall.”

They glared at each other, Ron’s distaste mirrored in Granger’s expression.

“Why have you gone to look at a cerberus by yourself?” asked Blaise, putting a hand on Ron’s shoulder. He squeezed it briefly, probably as a warning to back off.

Granger’s scowl managed to deepen, “Mandy and Lisa didn’t want to go with me. They said they wanted to ‘have their heads safely attached to their necks’, whatever that means. And Megan had history homework.”

Who, who, and who?, thought Ron. 

Just as he was about to retort ‘ maybe they just don’t like you enough to come with ’, Lily checked her watch and made an urgent ushering motion towards the door. “As pleasant as catching up with you has been, Granger, we did only buy ourselves twenty minutes, so let’s get on with it, yeah?”

Ron kind of wanted to continue arguing with Granger, but Padma stalked over to it, grabbing onto the handle. “Prepared to be proven wrong, Lils” she declared smugly.

 Padma tore the door open in one swift movement.

She, Ron, Granger, and Tracey, who had gleefully bounded forward to get a peek, saw it at full force. Three snarling heads, three pairs of yellow eyes, saliva dripping from three curled lips onto the stone floor. All four of them screamed, triggering the other two to take a glimpse and join in.

Padma pushed the door shut with a bellowing slam, but one of the cerberus’ heads just pushed it back open again. She was saved from its snapping jaws by mere inches as Ron harshly pulled her out the way.

Grabbing Padma’s hand, Ron ran for both their lives, followed quickly by the rest of the group, all screaming bloody murder. It was at this moment Peeves appeared, bellowing, “STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE THIRD-FLOOR CORRIDOR!”

“SHUT UP!” Ron and Granger shouted back, united in their panic.

Lily rushed ahead of Ron and Padma, which was fortunate considering Ron had completely forgotten the route out of the third floor. It really wasn’t used much.

“OH MY GOD, HOW ARE YOU RUNNING SO QUICKLY?” Granger yelled from where she was slowly trailing behind him.

“OH, SORRY, AM I GOING TOO FAST FOR YOU, STUMPY?”

“ STUMPY? ”

Beside him, Padma made a horrified squeaking noise.

“Slightly uncalled for, Ron,” commented Tracey from where she was also slowly falling behind.

Ron tried for a shrug (while he was still sprinting), but it just ended up looking like a random shoulder spasm instead.

The staircase was in sight now, though the one that connected them to the lower levels had begun shifting away.

Knowing that they probably didn’t have much time, not with Peeves’ interference (what a dickhead), Ron hurriedly told Padma, “On the count of three, jump.”

She responded with a bewildered, “What?”

“One, two, THREE!” He lept into the air, dragging Padma, who had almost not jumped with him on time, along as he gripped onto the side of the staircase.

Padma let out a terrified scream as she looked down (something Ron determinedly avoided doing) before scrambling onto the stairs properly. Ron followed suit.

“Ron!” He turned back to the third floor landing they had just left, and saw Blaise and Lily waving at them frantically.

“You alright?” he asked them.

“No, you wanker, you’re gonna leave us behind!” Blaise bellowed back at him.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Ron said with a shrug. “D’you wanna jump onto it too?”

The staircase was moving a bit slowly, after all.

Blaise eyed the growing gap between them wearily. “Catch us?” he suggested.

“Sure.” Ron readily replied, positioning himself.

“Um,” Blaise nervously looked down- rooky mistake, honestly. He visibly paled and asked Lily. “You sure we wanna risk it?”

Lily looked at him questioningly, “Why is it a ‘we’? Are you not gonna do it if I’m not?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, I’ve got bad news for you, Mr. Zabini,” she grinned cattily. There was an excited sparkle in her eye. “I come from a long line of adventurers. I was born for risk-taking.”

With no further warning, she bolted forward and sprung off the landing. Ron hurriedly moved to catch her in his arms with a strong ‘ oof! ’.

“You, Miss Moon,” Padma’s voice was tight. “Are an absolute maniac. I despise you with every inch in my body.”

Climbing out of Ron’s arms, Lily merrily replied, “Well, considering how short you are…”

Ron wondered how those two had become friends.

He turned his attention back towards his friend, who was looking at the Hufflepuff with blatant horror written across his face. “Your turn, Count Dracula.”

Blaise hissed in annoyance, “I’ve told you, not every count is a bloody vampire, and I don’t care for your idiotic references to muggle literature-”

“Come on over!” interrupted Ron, making grabby-hands at him. Blaise watched him do this with obvious disdain. “I promise I’ll catch you, honest.”

Blaise looked him in the eye, “You better, Weasley, because if I fall three stories and snap my neck you best bloody believe I will haunt your entire bloodline for the rest of time.”

“I believe you,” Ron indulged him impatiently. “But the gap between us is growing bigger the more you stand around over there.”

Ron could see the moment Blaise steeled himself to do it. His shoulders straightened, expressions cleared, and with a sharp intake of breath he muttered, “ Cazzo .”

He ran quickly, and put in as much power as possible when jumping right at the edge. There was a momentary struggle, as Ron did catch him, but Blaise was still at the side of the staircase instead of on it because he was considerably bigger than Lily and he had also stalled for some time, meaning that the gap had been larger. Regardless, Ron managed to haul him up, and the four of them watched as Tracey and Granger finally caught up with the group.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Tracey exclaimed as she caught sight of them.

“I’m not risking that,” said Granger.

“Too right, you aren’t,” said Tracey. “I’m not either, because that would be barmy.”

Ron made an offended sound.

From above, Filch’s screaming was becoming louder, signalling his rapid approach towards them. “STUDENT’S OUT OF BED? STUDENT'S OUT OF BED?!”

Tracey and Granger looked petrified, though Ron wasn’t going to stick about saying his condolences. He sprinted down the staircase, which had reached its destination on the ground floor, and raced away from the stairwell without looking back.

The other Slytherin and Ravenclaw didn’t hesitate at all, following Ron unquestioningly, but Lily was guiltily glancing back at where they left the other two, probably incensed by the sound of Filch’s furious yelling, “YOU! ARE YOU THE ONES WHO FLOODED THE FIFTH FLOOR CORRIDOR? YOU’RE ABOUT TO BE GETTING DETENTIONS FOR THE REST OF THE YEAR! SEE IF I DON’T HAVE YOU WRETCHES BOTH EXPELLED!”

“Don’t worry about it, Lily, they knew the stakes,” Ron said through gasps for air, letting go of Padma to pat the other girl on the back. “Well, Tracey did, anyway.”

Blaise let out a huff of air- an approximation of laughter. “Merlin, we all know Granger getting caught is a dream come true for you, mate.”

Ron grinned. He was fairly sure Blaise was far too sophisticated for the word ‘mate’ before he knew him. Also Blaise was right, of course. Granger getting into trouble? Now that was an early Christmas. It could even qualify as a second birthday.

They’d stopped running by now, trying to catch their breath.

“So,” said Padma. “Muggle literature, Ron?”

“Oh, I only know that one book,” Ron replied. “An uncle of mine married a muggle, she read it to me once while they were staying over for the summer. I was traumatised. Terrifying woman.”

Blaise looked sceptical, “What, the muggle?”

“Some of them have wicked imaginations,” Ron told him. “Also, they apparently don’t even believe in vampires anymore, so the concept of them is like Father Christmas to them.”

“Santa Maria.”

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

Padma left them for her common room rather quickly, probably wanting to put several walls between herself and any reminder of what they’d seen. Lily waved cheerfully at them before returning to her own quarters, leaving Ron and Blaise to swing an arm around each other’s shoulder and walk down the dungeons, chatting casually even while their hearts were still beating rapidly.

“Semper primus,” Ron said to the wall, still a bit breathless. They hurried in as the entrance to the common room opened, rather done with the events of the evening. “Bloody hell, we’ve still got school tomorrow. After all that, we still have to be up by 7:30.”

Blaise groaned softly, “I could sleep for a month straight.”

“What do they think they’re doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?” said Ron as they made their way to their dorm room. “If any dog needs exercise, that one does.”

“It needs to be put down, not go on a walk, Merlin, Ron,” Blaise laughed raggedly, opening the door to their room.

…only to be met with Harry’s accusatory face and finger.

“Where’ve you been?” He said, looking between the two with a twitch in his eye, like he was really holding back on yelling at them. He wasn't quite as scary as the cerberus, but Ron felt cowed anyway.

“Mate,” Ron put his hands on Harry’s shoulders. The Boy-Who-Lived looked back at him critically. “Did you know that there’s a cerberus in the forbidden corridor?”

“ What ?” squawked Malfoy from his bed.

Chapter Text

Friday 31st of October 1991 - Hogwarts Castle, Highlands, Scotland

“How was your detention with Mr. Potter, Severus?” Minerva asked him, voice suspiciously inconspicuous, as he poured himself his morning coffee.

“Insufferable,” responded Severus, who knew why the deputy-head was asking him this. She’d sent the little bastard a broomstick and was sorely unhappy that the James Potter-incarnate had been unable to try it out that evening. As it was, Marcus Flint had been equally unhappy about the matter, if his yelling at him for a large part of the previous afternoon was anything to go by. “Draco and Potter couldn’t go a minute without arguing with each other– it was like watching a bloody soap-opera.”

“Hmm, now correct me if I’m wrong, Severus,” she took a hearty swig of her tea, apparently ignoring its heat. Severus eyed the cup with wariness. “But surely that could’ve been prevented if you’d allowed Potter’s detention to be rescheduled, no?”

Severus sighed, “It’s the principle, Minerva.”

“Of course,” She said, clearly quite cross, as both of them looked towards the Slytherin table. Potter, as he typically did, was sitting with Zabini, Weasley, and Davis. Weasley was talking animatedly about something, waving his fork about and almost stabbing several people in the vicinity. The third-years Bianca Montague and Aurora Sommertime gave him a particularly dirty look as he did so from where they sat closeby. A foolish seating decision, frankly, they could only blame themselves.

Severus had absolutely no idea how either Potter or Weasley had ended up in Slytherin. The only possible argument he could conjure up was that they were a bit mean-spirited, which, if Severus recalled his school days correctly, was not exactly a Slytherin-only trait. They were both picture-perfect Gryffindors, brash, self-righteous, and attention-seeking, and would undoubtedly bring about the reckoning of everything that Severus’ house stood for. He predicted this future with certain dread.

Davis and Potter were nodding along with Weasley, enraptured, while Zabini leant against his hand, looking bored. Severus recalled a similar expression on Contessa Zabini’s face fifteen odd years ago, and suppressed a shiver. Terrifying woman. Davis and Potter were stealing each other’s food and pretending not to notice the other doing it.

“They do remind me of them, you know,” Minerva said, softly. She looked quite wistful, actually.

Severus snorted, knowing who she was referring to. The Head of Gryffindor discreetly elbowed him. “All right,” he said. Halloween had always made him susceptible to nostalgia. “I’ll bite. Who’s who?”

“Well, Mr. Potter is obviously his father,” she said instantly.

He nodded, “Obviously. Not only in looks.”

She laughed fondly while Severus sneered, “Potter the younger seems to preen a little less than James did, in his defence. Though he does slip up.”

Severus could give her that, he supposed. Potter definitely enjoyed a certain amount of attention, which had been evident in his smugness post his duel with Draco and his delight at the certain amount of respect he had gained in Slytherin as a consequence, but he had yet to hear of any occasions of Potter intentionally seeking out ways to act maliciously. 

The same could not be said about Potter’s friends, however- they instigated a lot of taunting and general hostility from many different people. Perhaps it was less so from Zabini and Davis, but Weasley was as fiery as his hair, and had had many scuffles with fellow students. Severus would probably have to address that at some point, but he found it funny that this skinny, ginger lamppost of a boy was decking everyone left, right, and centre, so he would leave it alone for the time being.

“I’d say Mr. Weasley is, well, Black, before he… before everything. Standing beside Potter through thick and thin,” Minerva said with a quiet sigh. “Here’s to hoping he doesn’t end up like him, hm?”

They clinked their cups together grimly.

“Those are fairly certain, but what of the other two?” he asked, now somewhat invested.

Minerva, of course, had already thought of this. 

Honestly , Severus thought, I think she misses all the trouble the ‘marauders’ caused her. She’ll be lost when the Weasley twins leave her, that’s for sure , 

“Zabini is Lupin.”

“Nonsense,” Severus immediately objected. “You’ve seen Zabini, surely? The closest thing Lupin ever flirted with was his books.”

The crone had a mirthful glint in her eye, “Oh, Severus, Lupin was the heartbreaker of Gryffindor, did you not know? I think people found him mysterious.”

Severus gaped, then quickly stopped himself before someone spotted him. “What? Are you sure you're not getting mixed up with Black ? Was there a second Remus Lupin no one told me about?” He hadn't known about this at all- he’d have to completely reconstruct the way he remembered Lupin now. Severus was thoroughly flabbergasted.

“I think, at the end of the day, you simply didn’t know them that well.” Severus scowled at that. He’d known them well enough.

“That leaves Davis as Pettigrew.” he said, snidely.

Minerva rightfully looked hesitant, “I wasn’t too sure about that one, if I’m honest. For example, Pettigrew always seemed fine to be teased by his friends, but Davis…”

“She doesn’t stand for it,” Severus nodded. “She’s a lot fiercer than Pettigrew, wet blanket he was. Equally as dim, though.”

“Don’t speak ill of the dead,” Minerva berated him, then looked surprised. “Really? She’s rather good at Transfiguration.”

“She’s well on her way to getting a ‘Troll’ in her OWLs with me,” Severus said, dispirited one of his own was so obviously going to do appallingly at his subject. “Ask her any theory question, Minerva, and you’ll see.”

“I’m not sure I can link her and Pettigrew on the grounds of intelligence alone.” She took another swig of her tea, making Severus all but certain that she had slipped herself something. Probably brandy. Maybe it was entirely brandy, and it had been charmed into emitting steam to be as inconspicuous as possible.

No one could really blame her, he supposed, not with having to take charge of the Weasley twins and the like on the regular. And besides, it wasn’t as if Minerva was anywhere near as bad as one Sybill Trelawney, who spent the majority of her day thoroughly plastered. Severus couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen the woman sober.

“You’re linking Lupin and Zabini together through, horrifically, their romancing, ” He spat out the last word with disgust.

“Well, he also seems calmer, quieter than the rest of them- like Lupin was,” she defended herself.

“Scheming. He’s probably scheming.”

Minerva laughed, “So was Remus.”

Severus felt his face darken, “I knew Black and Potter were much too witless to conjure up the plans for half of those godforsaken pranks. ”

The Gryffindor Head elected to ignore his bitter tone, “I’d say that Harry Potter and his friends are far less trouble-maker-y than his father was, though.”

“Mm,” There certainly hadn’t been any attempted murders yet, at least. Though Severus was concerned either Weasley or Potter would one day be pushed to the edge by Draco.

From beside Minerva, Professor Sprout choked around her tea.

“Everything alright, Pomona?” She asked her, concern lacing her voice.

“ Not trouble-maker-y, Minerva, Severus?”

How Hufflepuff of the Herbology professor to not even attempt to pretend she wasn’t listening in. Severus certainly wished Quirrell had the same blunt honesty, that was for certain…

“That’s what we said, yes?” Minerva was looking at the usually merry woman with concern. “Why? Do you have reason to disagree?”

“The lot of them,” Pomona said, her face severe, “Are utterly abhorrent children.”

Severus blinked. Minerva made a confused ‘hm -?’ sound.

“Almost gave me a concussion during my very first lesson with them,” she continued, a dark gleam in her eye as she stared hatefully at the four first-years.

“Ah, yes, the incident with MacDougal,” Severus recalled. A stray plant pot had almost hit Pomona, if he remembered correctly. Not a fantastic start, to say the least. He was certainly grateful for the fact that no such thing had occurred in his Potions classroom yet, but he had an ominous feeling that the fragile aura of scholarly environment was being loomed over by the ticking time bomb that was the Weasley vs Malfoy blood feud. Or the Slytherin vs Gryffindor feud as well, but Severus felt that Weasley and Draco hated each other more than they hated the Gryffindors.

“Incident? Incident ?”

Severus felt cowed by her glare, so rarely administered by the usually jovial woman.

Pomona turned her face back towards the Slytherin table, eyes narrowed into slits. She was chewing her oatmeal very aggressively now. “I despise the lot of them. The lot of them .”

Severus glanced at Minerva, finding that she was already side-eyeing him, and silently agreed to not bring up the mini-Marauders with Pomona around again, for their own sake.

—-

“I genuinely can’t figure out what a cerberus is doing in a school” Blaise watched Ron’s hands cautiously as he completely disregarded everyone else in the area, flinging his arms around with passion. “I mean, seriously! A cerberus!”

He didn’t bother being quiet. Malfoy had told anyone who would listen about the cerberus already because the boy could not keep his mouth shut for the life of him. How Pansy stood for such indiscretion constantly, Blaise would never know.

“You know, I asked Granger the same question,” Tracey said, swiping some bacon off of Harry’s plate, while the boy was busy glowering at the pumpkin decorations around them.  “After Filch threatened us with a life sentence, obviously. She said to me ‘did you see what it was standing on?’, and I said ‘the floor?’ and she looked all cross and told me there’d been, like, a trap door, or whatever, and that it was obviously guarding something.”

Harry had begun to look quite thoughtful, Blaise noted with mild terror. He’d never seen that expression on his face and had it be followed with a suggestion for a picnic or something nice like that. It was always ‘how quick do you think Finnigan would blow up his quill if we laced it with gunpowder?’ or ‘should I throw my glasses into the crowd during the quidditch match like how footballers throw their shirts when they score? I could probably fly back down blind, so it would be fine, right?’ or a variety of other horrors. Harry had downright impish ideas casually thrumming in his head that Blaise himself could never even dare to entertain. He was certain that if Harry put in the right amount of effort he could be on par with the Weasley twins.

“Reckon it’s what Hagrid brought out of Gringotts?” Harry asked, instead of suggesting they charm Dumbledore’s beard off.

Blaise paused, “It might well be, actually.”

“Hm,” was all he got in response. Blaise eyed him wearily, but didn’t press. He probably would prefer not knowing, actually. Hold onto the little peace he had, at whatnot.

“But my question is, who encounters a three-headed dog and thinks ‘wonder what it’s standing on’?” Tracey said, as if neither Harry nor Blaise had spoken.

“She’s mental,” Ron said agreeably, devouring his sausages in his usual disgusting manner. “Completely bonkers.”

“Who is?” A boy beside Harry- Jude Sallow, Blaise’s brain supplied for him- asked. “We heard what you and Zabini saw yesterday, by the way, is there really a cerberus in the castle?”

Sallow gestured to the girl sitting opposite from him, who Blaise also knew of because, like Sallow, she was the product of very fine, and very infamous, pureblooded breeding. They were both second-years, and both terrifying people, and Blaise felt his hands dampening in sweat at their mere presence beside them.

However, another side of his brain was flaring into life, the word ‘ connections ’ flooding his head as he considered the second-years. These two knew other important, influential people within Slytherin and the British pureblood society both. Blaise definitely wasn’t one to turn down a chance to establish himself further in these communities, no matter how little he belonged in the latter. Sallow would be useful in terms of gaining reputation points within his house, and the girl, Macaria Rosier, was a member of a family renowned within the Sacred Twenty-Eight who probably had connections on a scale Blaise wasn’t ready to even comprehend.

Connections, connections, connections.

“Oh, hey there, Jude,” said Ron, blinking in surprise. “Didn’t see you there.”

Blaise was certain that his face had just spasmed with the force he’d had to use to try to keep the shock off of his face.

“You know each other?” he asked, a little tersely.

“Sure,” Ron shrugged. “Jude’s a good chat, aren’t you, mate?”

Sallow chuckled. “You definitely always have something to say, alright.”

He was horrified. How- and this was meant in the nicest way possible, the boy was his friend, after all- had Ron Weasley beaten him to the chase? Blaise was certain he had never seen Sallow and Ron speak to each other, though the two were making it out to say that their chats were at least a semi-common occurrence. He was actually feeling a bit mortified that he’d never even noticed this development.

Good lord, he thought, Ron’s a bit of a dark horse, isn’t he?

“Huh,” he said, instead of expressing this. “Well, anyway, to answer you, Sallow, there definitely is one. It’s in the Forbidden corridor.”

“Of course it is,” said Rosier, sounding as though she would be rolling her eyes if it weren’t unsophisticated of her. “How typical of Dumbledore.”

She was regarding them with a vaguely deprecatory look, as if Blaise and his friends were annoying little fruit flies or something buzzing around and mildly inconveniencing her.

While they hadn’t met much public opposition from within their own house, Blaise certainly couldn’t deny the way that the heads turning their way was only 50% of the time impassive- Slytherin seemed content to either ignore them or despise them, it seemed. Thankfully, Harry’s duel against Malfoy seemed to have successfully subdued the loudest of that bunch, which was a much appreciated, though unforeseen, side effect of an overall hilarious night.

It was time they established themselves a little better, as in Blaise’s most humble opinion, they were hardly your common eleven-year-olds. Blaise’s well-crafted group deserved more respect than what they were earning. He was confident of this fact, though did allow himself to concede that the young had to earn more grandeur with age and experience as well.

“We think it’s hiding something,” said Tracey.

“Hiding something? How does a three-headed dog hide something?” Sallow said, his voice just a touch away from condescending. “Hasn’t exactly got pockets.”

“Guarding something, is what she meant,” Blaise corrected her quickly. He felt a nervous need to impress these people. After all, first impressions were pivotal, especially in Slytherin, where having the right intuition and making a swift judgement on someone may either be your making or your doom.

“Erm, right. Anyway, we were talking about Granger- Hermione Granger,” Ron told Sallow, probably to convince him to leap onto the ‘I hate Granger’ train with him.

“Uh huh,” said Sallow. “I’m not sure who that is.”

They couldn’t have known each other that well then, Blaise thought, if Sallow didn’t know who Granger was. It was rare a day went by wherein Ron didn’t complain about the girl, really.

“Muggleborn. Ravenclaw. Known know-it-all.” Rosier told him. Blaise blinked. What a…straight-to-the-point person, and in such few words as well. “First-year.”

“She’s probably the smartest witch in our year,” Blaise said, before reaching over to pat Ron on the shoulder, “Ronald here hates her guts.”

“Call me ‘Ronald’ again, Zabini, and see what happens to that hand,” the ginger looked at the one on his shoulder pointedly.

He rolled his eyes, which earned a humoured chuckle from Sallow. He seemed to be the less frighteningly serious of the duo.

“Not unlike Melinda Bobbin, wouldn’t you say?” Rosier said to Sallow in what could very well be a separate conversation.

Sallow wrinkled his nose with distaste. “Ah. Well, at least she isn’t comparable to Edgecombe.”

Rosier, stone cold as she’d been this entire time, responded with, “Not if she’s the ‘smartest witch’ in their year. Edgecombe brings shame to everything Rowena Ravenclaw stood for.”

Ah. Shame . British wizards threw that word around a lot. Blaise understood pride, but there was a certain point where being proud turned into being haughty and conceited. “You seem to be quite passionate about that,” he prodded verbally.

“Of course,” said Rosier, dark, glacial eyes slowly dragging to meet Blaise’s. “Too many people seem to be without the values of the very houses they represent.”

Ah, if that wasn’t a dig, then nothing was. Blaise glanced quickly at his friends, trying to see if they’d registered it. Harry was frowning a bit, which meant he’d figured it out for what it was but wasn’t really sure how to address it, whereas Ron and Tracey were as oblivious as ever. When Blaise looked back at Rosier, she was already staring at him, one perfect eyebrow raised slightly, a tiny ripple in her completely neutral expression.

Merlin, how should he go about this? Defend their lack of Slytherin-ness or claim that their Slytherin-ness was just subtle? Of course, Blaise could always just tell Rosier to fuck off, but he felt that this was quite an important moment. That her consideration was important for their futures here in this house.

Defending their lack of Slytherin-ness would probably just make Rosier respect them even less, with the addition of now disrespecting Blaise too, so pointing out the subtle traits was likely the way to go about things. Well then.

Best start with the easiest of the bunch. He smiled charmingly at her, noting the way she didn’t react at all to it. Yikes. “I agree, of course. Just the other day, Tracey and I witnessed an appalling display from Longbottom, who can barely count as a respectable member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, nevermind a Gryffindor, he was practically quivering at the sight of Snape. She and I wouldn’t be caught dead in such a state, some may say we’re prideful , but, well, I see no issue being as such.”

None of his friends were speaking, thankfully. They all seemed to have picked up on Blaise trying to push a certain image forward, and that their interference probably wouldn’t be helpful. Sallow was nodding slowly along to what he was saying, which was something. Rosier’s eyes, undoubtedly intentionally, flickered to Ron and Harry, as if to say ‘and them?’

“Certainly, Heir Longbottom is undeserving of wearing Gryffindor’s colours, as many of them are these days,” is what she actually said.

“Similar things are happening in all the houses, unfortunately. Ron and I had the misfortune of encountering the least gifted Ravenclaw in existence, some Amanda something or other, what was her name?” He turned to Ron, practically begging with his eyeballs for him to go along with him. Neither of them had ever really spoken to Amanda Brocklehurst before, they just thought she looked stupid, but that was hopeful enough for Ron to speak utter shit on. “Sounded rather like ‘broccoli’?”

“Ah, that would be Brocklehurst,” Ron said, smiling at the other group and rolling his eyes, “Girl was so dim I really started to wonder if the Sorting Hat needs replacing.”

Blaise could kiss the ginger right there. It was risky, involving unknown variables like Ron*, who could either smooth out the situation or completely cock it up on a coin toss, but alas, he had delivered. “Horrifically so. She has no sights towards her future, No goals set and no motivation to achieve them. Ron and I couldn’t stand her, because, well, we hardly find that state of mind relatable.”

* It would’ve been slightly demeaning if Blaise had had to talk about them like some sort of spokesperson.

Ron huffed a laugh, “Definitely not. You don’t have five older brothers like I have, who all’ve got their sights up high, and not have them up there yourself,” Ron said mock-conspiratorially to Sallow, probably because speaking to Rosier was like chatting to a wall for him. “I reckon, out of all of them, I’m the most ambitious, just because they’ve done alright and I- well, I’ve got to outdo them, obviously.”

Pride and ambition, check. Blaise filed them away, feeling quite chuffed.

Sallow laughed, “I get you, man.”

“Intriguing,” Rosier commented.

Sallow looked at Ron with curiosity. “Out of all the Ravenclaws to shit on, I’d have thought it’d be Granger, not this Brocklyhurt. Since, as Zabini said, you ‘hate her guts’.”

Ron scowled darkly, “I would in every other argument that isn’t one about who deserves to be a Ravenclaw. D’you know she was going to check out the cerberus alone yesterday?” The second-years looked at him blankly. “That’s a Ravenclaw’s thirst for knowledge winning over a girl's sense of self-preservation. It’s like I said, she’s mad.”

If Malfoy was Harry’s nemesis, then Granger was Ron’s. And Harry and Ron both backed each other’s insanity for the sake of preserving insanity- Ron would deck Malfoy and Harry would verbally drag Granger to the point the two were in tears. They were as bad as each other.

“Do you know,” said Sallow, “I actually think I heard Petropoulos say his uncle had a cerberus he didn’t particularly want.”

Blaise and Harry, who had yet to speak or be spoken for, shared a look. When Blaise looked over at Rosier as Harry innocently asked, “who’s Petropoulos?”, he saw that she herself had drawn the conclusion on whether or not Harry belonged in Slytherin. 

Sometimes, Harry displayed remarkable cunning, utilised so well it goes completely unnoticed the majority of the time. This wasn’t one of his most subtle attempts, but no one was expecting perfection from the man.

“Greek, Gryffindor, third-year,” she supplied, looking thoroughly uninterested in the conversation. She was who Blaise aspired to be, honestly. So cool and unbothered.

“Fred and George will know him,” Ron said. Blaise was delighted at an easy way to access or at least ask about the man.

“Let’s go ask now, why don’t we?” Blaise stood up, prompting the rest of his group to follow his lead. He nodded his head towards the still-sitting second-years, “Heiress Rosier, Sallow.”

Sallow smirked and nodded back to him, as Rosier said, voice monotone, “Heir Zabini, Heir Potter, Davis, Weasley.” She nodded to each one of them individually. Blaise watched her nonchalantly sweep a few braids over her shoulder as she turned away from them all, and swiftly moved onto a discussion about Charms homework with Sallow in such a sophisticated and smooth manner that Blaise was taken aback. In the face of a person like her, it was difficult to remember Rosier was only a year older than him.

“Blaise, mate, you’ve managed to look bloody scared and impressed” Ron hissed into his ear as they made their way towards the Gryffindor table, prowling onward as casually as possible despite the rising amount of staring they were receiving the closer they got.

“I am scared and impressed,” Blaise hissed back. “She’s terrifying.”

Her cold shield against the world made him exhilarated . It was impossible for Blaise not to be blown away by her cool grace, just as it was equally impossible not to feel slightly threatened by it.

“He’s impressed by their scariness,” Harry said with a laugh.

“I saw the way you were looking at Rosier,” Tracey said with her teasing lilt in her voice, “Do you want to kiss her or be her?”

“Both,” Blaise replied, surprising them all into laughter, “What a woman…”

“Keep it in your pants, Zabini,” said Tracey, making Ron and Harry snort.

The Gryffindors around them were looking affronted at their mere presence, and Blaise fought a smirk under their stares. The Weasley twins were finishing off their breakfast with several members of the Gryffindor quidditch team, and Lee Jordan, who Blaise believed to be the commentator. Unfortunately, Brown and co. were sat beside them, all the girls glaring daggers at them apart from Parvati, who was just looking at them in curiosity instead. Still brashly looking, but hey, can’t bring the Gryffindor out of the girl, especially at her own breakfast table. He winked at her before turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

“Alright there, Ronniekins, Harry? Others?” Now it was Blaise’s turn to feel affronted, and judging by Tracey’s insulted scoff she felt a similar sentiment. Others ?

“Blaise Zabini, actually,” he said pleasantly, grinding his molars. “A pleasure.”

“I’m Tracey,” said Tracey, scowling.

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, uh- Harry wanted to know who Polo- something was, ask him a few questions-” Ron was interrupted by Harry.

“No Ron, his name was, er, Petrol? Petrolpol? There were a lot of Ps. And Os,'' he faltered, making Blaise sigh.

“Petropoulos. We’re looking for a Petropoulos,” he said, audibly annoyed about being addressed as an ‘other’.

“Why?” Brown butted in. “What do you want with him?”

She was abruptly met with all four of their scrutinies, with Tracey crossing her arms, “Sorry, is your name ‘Fred and George Weasley’? No?” she said as Brown opened her mouth to protest. “Didn’t think so. Mind your business, Brown.”

“Merlin, how Slytherins have the energy to argue at nine in the morning, I’ll never know,” said Angelina Johnson, who was rubbing the corner of her eye sleepily.

“Try living with one,” Bruce Thornton, a few seats down and brother to Vivienne Thornton, put a hand onto his forehead, as if the Slytherins’ presence alone was causing him a headache. 

“You’re looking for Asterios? He’s on the other end of the table, mate,” One of the twins said to Harry. “You passed him on the way here.”

Oh. That was embarrassing.

“Right at the end, now,” The other called out as they all spun on their heels, marching away from them, annoyed at having missed the Greek and making a scene.

Asterios Petropoulos was, in fact, finishing up his own breakfast as he was approached rather rapidly by four Slytherin first-years, half of which were rather stony faced. He and his friends choked on their food as they stopped to stand in front of him, Harry bloody Potter saying, “So, Petrol, you’ve got an uncle with a three-headed dog?”

“What the fuck?” He said as he coughed around his baked beans, clearly horrified to be choking to death in front of the celebrity.

“Listen, mate, with your ears,” Ron very rudely prodded one of Petropoulos’ ears as if to showcase what they were. The Gryffindor glared at him as one of his friends smacked thumped back. “Have you got an uncle with a cerberus?”

“Is this because of what that brat Malfoy has been saying about the forbidden corridor?” Petropoulos’ eyes flickered nervously onto each of their faces. Blaise made an effort to be blankly neutral, thinking of Rosier’s expression of eternal boredom.

“Answer the question,” Tracey snapped- the ‘other’ comment had gotten to her too. It was rare either she or Blaise encountered someone who didn’t already know them, if not through association with Harry and Ron alone. And besides, it had also just been plain rude to be addressed that way.

“What-”

“ Now ,” Wow. Blaise blinked. He had no idea Tracey could be that imposing. Both her hands had slammed onto the table as she demanded Petropoulos to speak, making all the Gryffindors flinch back in surprise.

“Yes! Yes, my Uncle Ioannis has a cerberus,” He said in a harsh whisper, looking down the table to see if anyone else had heard. Petropoulos’ friends were looking at him with wide eyes. “Listen- I was going to write to him today, to ask if he’d actually sold it.”

“When you do, tell us” Blaise said as an understanding dawned on him. He looked Petropoulos in the eye as he added, “Or we might let it slip that some Ioannis Petropoulos was in possession of a dangerous beast without a licence not too long ago.” 

Petropoulos paled to a ghostly shade, “...are you threatening me?” he said, quietly.

Blaise suddenly felt a little out of his depth. Petropoulos was two years older than him, taller than him, if he lived in Greece he’d completely lost his accent in English when Blaise hadn’t, not fully- what if he was making a diplomatic enemy? Oh, good lord, let there not be some Greek ambassador who was about to publicly oppose the Zabini family because Blaise decided to threaten their son on a whim-

Wait a minute. No Greek ambassadors were scared of getting in trouble with the law over something as miniscule as illegal possession of a dangerous beast , what was Blaise thinking? If they were people of relevance, they’d shrug, pay the right people, and no one would blink an eye. So, politically, Petropoulos had little to no power over him, surely. Besides, if he really was someone of importance, he would’ve already known who he was. “Yes. Let us know by Sunday, thanks.”

Shockingly, Petropoulos snapped his head to glare at him, face red with rage, spitting, “What, you think you can just talk to me like that, you privileged little runt? How dare you! How dare you, you son of a whore ! You think you , a bastard , get to talk-”

Blaise’s mind went eerily blank. He almost didn’t register punching Petropoulos in the right-hand side of his jaw. “ Pardon? ” he said venomously as the Greek grunted in pain and in shock.

“Jesus Christ!” Tracey cried out, jumping out of the way.

Ron was rolling up his sleeves as Harry sharply told Petropoulos’ friends to sit back down- oh, Blaise hadn’t even noticed them beginning to stand, either to alleviate the situation or to deck him.

“ Gamo! Bastarde! ” Petropoulos hissed, presumably in Greek, and started to stand up as well. Blaise got the gist of what he was saying, funnily enough, and punched him on the other side of his jaw, sending the boy tumbling back down to his seat. “AGHH! YOU CUNT!”

That brought the attention of the entire Great Hall.

“Mr. Petropoulos! Mr. Zabini !” Professor McGonagall called out from the staff table. “What, by Morgana-”

Blaise grabbed Petropoulos’ hair, forcing him to look up at him. He was pleased to note that his mouth looked rather bloody, “Listen, segaiolo . You ever say anything about me or my mother like that again- you lose your fucking tongue. Write to that god awful uncle of yours and be thanking Santa Maria if I don’t say a word about him and that pissing dog.” He yanked Petropoulos’ head back aggressively, the boy grunting in pain again, before addressing McGonagall and his rather large audience. The Weasley twins in particular were gaping, clearly not having expected their directions would result in this. “Yes, professor?”

Snape ran a hand down his face as McGonagall spluttered, “You just assaulted a student in the middle of this very room!”

Blaise blinked innocently at her, “Assault? I don’t recall assaulting anyone, do you, Petrol?”

Petropoulos’ voice was slightly gurgled as he responded with, “It’s all good, ma’am.”

“There you are then!” He said cheerfully, slapping an arm onto Petropoulos’ shoulder. The boy flinched.

Blaise rather quickly got a detention for Saturday. He spent the rest of the day in a bit of a daze, but no one bothered him about the scene- mostly because his friends were guarding him behind a wall of snarling Slytherins, snapping at anyone you came by to chat for too long. It was actually quite heart-warming to witness their loyalty first-hand, even if he was in no mood to be expressing his gratitude to them at that moment. He’d actually just stopped talking to anyone at all, stony-faced and silent as the hours went by.

Thankfully, the only people who heard the ‘bastard’ comment were his friends and Petropoulos’- Clementine Mobbs and Edwin Dawlish, who kept quiet, likely for the sake of not revealing to people that their mate’s uncle was rather dodgy and their friend sort of lost it at an eleven year old when he found out and threatened him about it. Probably a bit of a humiliating situation for Petropoulos overall, actually.

“Piss off, Granger, no one can stand you,” Ron harshly told Granger when she came over and hung about too long to correct his mistakes in Herbology. Instead of snapping back like she usually did, tears filled her eyes and she fled the greenhouse just as Sprout conveniently announced the end of the lesson. “Oh, er…”

“I think that one might’ve got to her, mate,” said Harry, looking as caught off guard as Ron did.

“So?” said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. “She must’ve noticed she’s got no friends.”

Tracey hummed, “Who does she normally hang out with? Brocklehurst, Turpin and Jones, right? I think she’s gotten sick of them and they’ve gotten sick of her, if I’m honest. Always did seem like a weird dynamic to me.”

Ron gave her a funny look. “What, a merry band of swots? You’d think they’d get on well together, no?”

Tracey shook her head. “Nah, you need to have a dim person to act as a buffer in every friendship group.” She patted Blaise on the shoulder. “Or a token neek for a merry band of idiots like us.”

Blaise wasn’t too pleased with being the ‘neek’ of the group, or with the way that Harry and Ron readily agreed with her on the three of them being stupid. Sure, they weren’t exactly academics, but they all were good at some things . They would only hold themselves back if they thought so little of themselves.

Susan would later tell them that Granger hadn’t turned up for Charms, and that she’d heard from MacDougal that Granger had spent the afternoon crying in one of the girl’s toilets. This was the only thing that had managed to elicit any reaction from Blaise all day, which was a humourless snort at the news.

Dinner, much like how their lunch had gone, actually, included a conversation between the friends with very little input from Blaise as he chewed dispassionately on his chicken. It was bland and unseasoned, which he supposed wasn’t the most shocking thing in the world considering he was in Britain, but he reckoned his melancholy (or perhaps was it bitterness? Tetchiness?) was making the food even more tasteless.

He was pondering over whether or not he should ask Ron to ask the elves to spice-up his meal for him when when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the Hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table and gasped, “Troll- in the dungeons- thought you ought to know.” then promptly fainted on the spot.

Absolute chaos erupted- it took several purple sparks from Dumbledore’s wand to silence them all, commanding, “Prefects, lead your houses back to your dormitories immediately!”

The rest of the houses jumped to obey, but Slytherin uproared once again. Blaise heard Malfoy wailing, “But the Slytherin dorm is in the dungeons!”. Their six prefects looked completely lost, especially Farley and Flint. He allowed himself a moment to feel a little bad for them- they’d only been prefects for two months in total, and now they had to deal with this? Yikes.

The ¾ of the school that weren’t Slytherin had already left by the time Dumbledore boomed, “Professor Snape will assist you on the way there! I must see to this threat immediately,” and hurriedly left them all to it, ditching Snape to handle them in their panic.

“Crockett, Sommertime, you will assist me with guiding the fifth to seventh-years, Higgs, Vaisey- the third and fourth-years, Farley and Flint- the second and first. Move, now!” the Potions Master snarled at them.

Everyone, finally under clear instruction, snapped into place, hurrying towards their assigned prefects. Eleven first-years and six second-years, which, wow, really brought Farley’s comment at the beginning of the year about them being their biggest bunch into perspective, huddled behind Farley and Flint as they marched back towards their common room.

“Fancy seeing you here, Zabini,” To his despair, Jude bloody Sallow had popped up beside him from where he was trailing slightly behind the other first-years. Blaise really was having a foul today, and frankly, Sallow was one of the last people he wanted to talk to. If he hadn’t had them already, Blaise would’ve broken out with goosebumps at the sudden attention he had from the man.

“Shocking to encounter you here, Sallow,” He gave him a weary glance. The guy just rubbed him up the wrong way, for some reason. Blaise didn’t really want to dwell on it, to be honest. It was probably because of something stupid, like Sallow’s reputation for practising the Dark Arts.

Sallow grinned nonchalantly, though his dark eyes darted around the castle walls, just as aware as everyone else was that they were making their way towards the invading beast, not evacuating away from it. “Please, call me Jude. That’s what Ron knows me as.”

He tried for a smirk, though he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. “Ron is more easy-going than the rest of us, though, isn’t he?”

Sallow gave him a calculating look, before shaking his head with a small grin, as though Blaise had told him something funny. “Ha! That he is, Zabini, that he is.”

Blaise tried not to look as uneased as he felt.

“How’d a troll get in though?” Harry asked Ron ahead of them.

“Don’t ask me, they’re supposed to be really stupid,” said Ron, scratching his head. “Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke.”

“Yeah, getting half of Slytherin bludgeoned to death, real cracker,” Tracey snorted humorlessly. “Well, I hope Granger knows how to fight one, in any case.”

Ron and Harry stopped, making Blaise and Sallow walk into them. “Watch it!” said the second-year, annoyed. They ignored him.

“She doesn’t know about the troll,” Harry said, looking pale.

“Well, obviously, she’s been crying in the toilets since lunch,” Tracey looked considerably less bothered by this than Harry did. She was probably more concerned for their own safety at the moment, which Blaise could understand well enough.

“Is she still there? Has she been crying for eight hours ?” Blaise would almost be impressed, if that wasn’t a bit pathetic. “Merlin, Ron, you’ve made a girl cry for eight hours.”

Ron looked very uncomfortable. “It’s not like I thought she’d do this when I said– er, whatever it was in Herbology.”

The boy didn’t even remember what he’d said to her, Merlin save them all. 

“We’ve got to go get her,” Harry said resolutely.

“You’re joking,” Blaise said, but Ron was biting his lip. “Ron, be serious with yourself, you hate the girl. She’ll be fine.”

That actually made Ron look even more uncertain, and Blaise saw the boy’s resolve instantly crumble as soon as Harry firmly said, “Mate.”

“Fine! But if we get caught I’m saying you forced me to!” Ron threw his hands in the air.

Blaise sighed, turning to Sallow, “Cover for us, will you?”

“No.” Bloody bastard.

“Tracey, cover for us.”

“Ehh…”

“No loyalty around here- lads, go now-” The group were passing a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, and Blaise shoved Ron and Harry into them before following himself. “What the fuck are you two doing?”

“How do Hufflepuffs stand?” Ron was switching between slouching and standing rigid-straight rapidly, looking like he was performing some sort of twitchy dance. Harry was trying to whistle, but could only seem to make a whooshing noise.

“What are they doing?” one Hufflepuff said to another.

“Don’t stare,” the other replied, staring.

“You’re humiliations to be around, for fucks sake, let’s go to these stupid toilets,” Blaise grabbed them both by their collars as soon as the chain of Slytherins had passed, walking them in the direction of the the ground floor toilets and already thoroughly regretting joining them on this stupid rescue mission.

“Oh shit, it’s Flint!” hissed Ron, pulling them behind a stone gryphon. Blaise looked at Ron and wondered whether the boy needed to take an eye test.

“Flint’s going to bawl his eyes out when he finds out you confused him with Snape,” Harry quietly snickered as they watched their head of house crossing into the next corridor. They followed him into it, seeing him make his way to, suspiciously, the Grand Staircase, which was notably not where the troll was supposed to have been.

“Bloody hell, this place is proper pongy,” Ron said, wafting the unpleasant smell that had suddenly appeared away from his nose. “Do you reckon it’s coming from the girls’ toilets? Don’t know how Granger can stand crying in there if- fuck- it’s the troll!”

The three of them pressed themselves against the shadows of the walls, watching the lumbering thing peek its head into the girls’ toilets. Blaise muttered, “God, the thing’s not just a troll- it’s also a great bloody creep.”

“Granger!” Harry and Ron said in unison, running forward as the troll fully entered the toilets. 

“You absolute Gryffindors !” Blaise hissed as he scrambled after them.

He was shown a scene of absolute carnage as he entered the loos- exposed pipes were spraying water into the air as the troll knocked the sinks out of its way as it slowly advanced towards a trembling Granger, who was pressing herself against the far wall.

Blaise froze for a moment, before sharply pivoting on his heel and sprinting down the hall in the direction of the Grand Staircase.

He couldn’t believe how stupid they had acted. Merlin, Ron and Harry could die if he couldn’t get some backup in time! Why had they all just gone to get Granger when they knew the troll was lumbering around in these halls? Blaise berated himself for following his two friends when he knew they were acting on impulse at best. He was doing a right shit job at being the smartest in the group, it seemed.

He was almost crying with joy when he saw Snape’s figure in the distance up above, making his way to what appeared to be the third floor. “SIR! SIR- THE TROLL IS ATTACKING STUDENTS!” he bellowed.

Snape whirled around, eyes wide, and hurried back down towards him, snapping, “Where?”

“The girls’ toilets, sir” he said, jogging back to where he’d left his friends, Snape following closely, “Granger was there at dinner- she didn’t hear Professor Quirrell tell everyone-”

“That infernal girl,” Snape snarled, though his face looked quite gaunt.

“Yeah, I agree, though you can’t blame her for not knowing- she’s had an awful day by the sounds of things as well.”

Snape looked unbothered by his reasoning. “Still, it is incredibly foolish and injurious of her to not at least turn up for a good meal at dinner. It is her own fault for not knowing about the beast.”

Blaise thought that was a little harsh, especially considering that she was in mortal danger and what Snape was choosing to focus on was whether or not she was having a healthy diet. “Well, still, it’s not entirely her fault, since- Merlin, did you kill it?”

They’d already returned to the toilets, with Blaise practically panting for breath, only to find Ron and Harry standing over a wiped out mountain troll and prodding it with the ends of their shoes. Ron looked quite gleeful as he held what appeared to be the troll’s club.

Okay, this is a bit anticlimactic , thought Blaise.

Harry frowned. “I don’t think so? I just wingardium-ed its bat over its head and- well, and let it drop. Ron distracted it by yelling at it and, er, throwing stuff?”

“Bits of the sinks,” Ron leant against the club, looking far too pleased with himself. “Good to see you here, mate, almost thought you’d ditched us. Knew I shouldn’t’ve worried.”

“I can’t believe I missed that,” Blaise mournfully glanced at the troll laying on the tiled floors.

Granger, who had slumped against the wall, let out a watery laugh.

“What could’ve possibly deluded you into thinking that a rag tag group of first-years were the perfect candidates for handling this situation?” hissed Snape, giving Ron and Harry a piercing glare.

“But this is just our usual group, just without Trace,” Ron looked affronted, “Are you saying we’re normally ‘rag tag’?!”

“Define rag tag, Weasley, since you’re so offended by the word,” Granger challenged, still a little shaky. Blaise respected her dedication to annoying Ron, even when she was obviously still quite distressed by what had just happened.

Ron scowled.

“This is not an English lesson, Miss Granger!” The professor snapped, “This is, as it may surprise you, quite a serious matter where you should’ve thought to involve a member of staff instead of yourselves!”

“I did do that, professor,” said Blaise, not wanting any more detentions.

Snape didn’t let that fly, though. “After having left the safeguarding of your prefects- no doubt Flint and Farley are scouring the castle for the three of you right now, as Clearwater and Hilliard likely will be doing for you, Miss Granger- and leaving Weasley and Potter of all people to handle the situation as you left to get me. Mr. Zabini, this was the kindest outcome possible- never assume the best in such scenarios again, the chances that we’d return to three dead eleven year olds were astronomical-”

“-I’m twelve-” Granger quietly protested.

“-and as punishment, five points will be taken from each of you absolute fools of children.”

Blaise thanked the lord for Snape’s leniency towards Slytherins. And visibly traumatised Ravenclaws. He’d expected a hundred points from each of them at least.

Suddenly, a grunting noise escaped the troll, and they all flung their heads around to witness the beast open its eyes, looking directly at Granger, who whimpered in terror. Snape pulled out his wand, but not before Ron grabbed hold of the club, swinging it down to the side of the troll’s head with a sickening crack. He swung two more times, probably for safe-keeping. The rest of the room looked on, aghast, as the troll bled profusely out onto the cold tiles of the bathroom. 

“...well, now I think it’s dead,” said Harry, looking mildly disturbed.

“Nice one, Ron,” said Blaise, impressed. The ginger smiled back at him roguishly.

Granger turned to one of the toilets and vomited.

“...five points for quick thinking, Weasley,” Snape shook himself off, and with a flick of his wand he was levitating the troll’s body. “Kindly return to your dormitories, immediately. If you happen to run into any other dangerous beasts on the way, I would request that you practise some self-preservation and run away this time around.”

The professor didn’t look back at them, leaving them behind with his robes billowing behind him, returning to the Grand Staircase quite quickly. Blaise looked on with an inkling of suspicion. He’d expected Snape to escort them back to their common rooms, but the professor had instead left them in quite a hurry and without fully checking to see if they were doing what he’d said at all. Blaise also suspected that he was making his way back to the third floor. Maybe he was checking up on the cerberus? Still, it was strange.

“We killed a troll!” Ron cheered, high-fiving a reluctant Harry and a still impressed Blaise, who raised his eyebrows.

He turned to Granger, who was wiping her mouth gingerly as she flushed the toilet, “You alright?”

“I- yes, fine, thank you…oh,” He moved to help her up, blocking her view of Harry and Ron, the prior who was looking between the ginger and the Ravenclaw with significance. Blaise knew the moment Ron realised what Harry was trying to hint at, because he let out a quiet sigh of frustration.

“Sorry for- uh, for what I said to you earlier” Ron said, a little stiffly.

“Oh, um, it’s fine, you just saved my life, so I think I forgive you-”

“You think?” Ron interjected, but he was smiling. Blaise reckoned that was the first time Ron had so much as twitched his lips upwards in her direction, if Granger’s surprised jolt was anything to go by.

She had her own small smile before she sighed, “It was sort of true, but it was the first time someone had actually said it to my face. Me and my, well, friend group, we fit together a lot less well than I’d thought…”

“Why don’t you hang out with Padma, you’re friendly with her, aren’t you?” suggested Blaise.

Granger shook her head, “I would, but I don’t know Bones or Moon well enough to join their friend group. No one likes the person who just butts in…”

“Susan isn’t like that. I don’t know about Moon because these two met her while I was in detention-” Harry threw the other boys a dirty look. Blaise saw Ron turn sheepish, though he himself held no remorse. “-but Susan will definitely appreciate you being upfront and asking to be friends instead of, I don’t know, being tactical and sneaking into the group over time.”

“Could- could one of you introduce me? I don’t want to just walk up to them and demand them to be my friends, or something.”

“Why not? That’s what Blaise did,” Ron shot a smirk his way.

Blaise huffed, “Don’t listen to them Granger, I did not demand their friendship , I simply introduced myself and sat down with them, striked up some conversation…”

“You said to my face that you were trying to ride off of the coattails of Harry’s fame. I called you a leech,” said Ron.

“You whispered in my ear to invite Tracey to where we were sat,” added Harry, “Mate, you basically founded our group.”

Blaise had hoped he’d been subtle about that…

“Details, details” he waved them off. “Usually, I’d recommend Ron be the one who introduces you, since he’s closest to all of them, but you two- well. I’d say you’re best off with me or Tracey”

“Hey? What about me?” Harry looked a bit hurt to be left out.

“Sorry mate, but you’ve never spoken to Moon before, you don’t know the group well enough to be suggesting people to them”

“What if they don’t want an extra person?” Granger chewed her lip anxiously.

“They do,” Blaise said, completely confident in the fact that he was right. “No one likes being in a trio.”

“I seriously don’t understand why you hate on them so much,” chuckled Ron.

“I know you don’t,” He said with a sigh, looking at the large puddle of blood on the ground. His murky reflection stared back at him, and Blaise glanced away quickly. Santa Maria, he didn’t think he’d fully processed everything that had just happened yet, the entire situation was just a bit ridiculous. “Why on Earth did you go after her? No offence of course, Granger, but that was absolutely insane.”

“None taken, I guess,” said Granger, “But you also followed them.”

That had been more for them, than her though, Blaise realised as he looked at his two friends. Call him a Hufflepuff, but it was only fair that if they were going to back Blaise up if things had gotten dirty with Petropoulos that morning, and had stopped people from bothering him all day, that he return the favour by making sure they weren’t killed idiotically by a troll that same evening.

As he’d glanced at them, Harry had given him a small smile that made him, mortifyingly, want to squirm a bit, while Ron arrogantly raised his eyebrows at him. Because, despite them being unobservant at the best of days and downright blind to most of the world at most, they knew he wouldn’t have been able to let them go alone. The twats. Blaise didn’t know whose response he hated more.

He just shrugged at Granger nonchalantly, and the three of them escorted her to Ravenclaw Tower.

…

“Hey, fancy seeing you down here.”

Blaise shut his eyes. For fuck’s sake, could he not get a moment to his bloody self?

He had tactically retreated out of his dorm, though he’d had to wait a while to do so because of the excitement of the day. It wasn’t a common occurrence for a troll of all things to manage to make its way into the castle after all, and Malfoy had gone on a long tangent about how quickly he would’ve killed the beast compared to Ron’s ‘long twenty minutes’, which had then caused an argument that was quickly followed by a minor brawl between the inhabitants of the dorm, barring Nott, who was reading a book as per usual and didn’t want to get involved. Blaise could respect the dedication, he supposed.

It appeared as though he wasn’t as unnoticed as he’d thought he was when he’d slinked out of the room, footsteps hidden under the auditory hurricanes which were the snores of Crabbe and Goyle. He knew he should’ve learnt the silencing charm, if for nothing but being sneaky, nevermind it being fifth-year material.

“Um,” said Ron, when Blaise didn’t reply to him. “You alright?”

Blaise opened his eyes to toss the boy a glare from where he was standing at the other end of the room, at the entrance of the dormitories.

“Right,” the ginger said. “I’ll take that as a no , then.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and stared back out of the window, looking into the murky depths of the Great Lake. Tracey had sworn she’d seen the Giant Squid from here once, though Blaise had a difficult time believing it. Still, the watery scenery was nice to look at with or without the presence of gigantic molluscs swimming around. A whole variety of fish lived in the lake, and occasionally a couple of curious mermaids went close enough to the glass to take a look at the Slytherins inside, though they never went right up to it.

“Are you still upset about what Petrolpolsus said?” asked Ron, moving to sit beside Blaise at the window seat. The Italian sighed as he shuffled his feet closer to his body to make enough space for the intruder.

“Petropoulos,” Blaise corrected, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Right, him,” said Ron. “Total dickhead, he is. I can’t believe Fred and George have to put up with him. Oh, I know!”

Blaise raised an eyebrow at him. “You know, what?”

Ron’s eyes twinkled mischievously, though it could’ve been a trick of the dim candle light. “My brothers are kinda well known for their pranks, you see–”

“Ron, I don’t think–”

“What, you don’t think they’d go after one of their own?” Blaise nodded slowly. “Trust me, they don’t give one shite about who they’re going after as soon as the idea’s in their heads. I know from experience.”

Blaise managed to let out a humoured huff. Ron grinned at the sound and went on, “Imagine, yeah, someone just happens to sneak them a Pompion Potion, and tips them off about how Petrol was making fun of their hair…”

It took Blaise a moment to remember that the Pompion Potion temporarily turned a person’s head into a pumpkin– well, more like a jack-o’-lantern, really– and snorted. “And since pumpkins are also orange, he’d be a pseudo-ginger. Clever. Just make sure Harry isn’t around for it. ”

Ron did look quite proud of himself. “Sometimes my genius is almost frightening.”

“How, may I ask, would you get a Pompion Potion in the first place, though?” Blaise almost laughed at the way Ron’s expression fell in an instant. Bless his heart; he hadn’t thought that far ahead, had he?

“Er,” said Ron, looking caught off guard. “I could ask Jude to make it for me?”

Blaise hadn’t felt his face twist into a scowl, though Ron’s surprised expression told him about it quickly enough.

“Oh wow,” he remarked. “Not a fan of his, then?”

“No, we’re the best of friends, didn’t you know that?” Blaise replied, rolling his eyes again. He looked at Ron through the corner of them only a moment later, though. “How do you even know each other, by the way?”

Ron shrugged. “Don’t, really. We just chat sometimes. He’s a laugh.”

“A laugh .”

“Yeah!” said Ron. “There was this one time- er, okay, I get the feeling you don’t want to hear about it, actually.”

“ Really .” said Blaise, voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

“What’s so wrong with him, anyway?” asked Ron, looking more curious than defensive.

Blaise shrugged. “Just gives me a bad vibe. He’s, I don’t know… creepy.”

To his surprise, Ron let out a chortle. “He is, isn’t he? Aye, keeps on trying to get me to join his Dark Arts club.”

Blaise almost snapped his neck with how quickly he turned it to look at him. “ What ?”

“Well, I don’t think he actually has a club-”

“He’s trying to, what, recruit you into becoming some sort of Dark Arts maniac?” Blaise said with audible horror.

Ron’s eyes widened. “Merlin, no! I’m sure he’s just offering so I stop being so ‘muggle-ish’ by beating people up instead of duelling them.” As an afterthought, Ron added with a mumble, “Probably wouldn’t feel as good though.”

Maybe Granger had been right about Ron having violent tendencies.

“Ron, I’m pretty sure everyone in our house dabbles with them every so often, but Sallow is practically an addict-”

“I didn’t agree to it, Merlin!” exclaimed Ron. “And what do you mean, addict? ”

“Well, you know, that’s where he got his reputation from-”

“-I thought people were scared of him because of the creepy thing, not the Dark Arts thing!”

“He’s creepy partially because of the Dark Arts thing!” snapped Blaise, getting annoyed. “The Dark Arts are notoriously difficult , but he can do them like it’s as easy as breathing, and that’s not normal . It means that he’s dangerous, and since he does them so much, it probably also means that the guy’s about as stable as a chair with two legs!”

“I’m sure I could balance on a chair with two legs if I tried hard enough-”

“ Ron! ”

“Alright, fine. Addict is still a strong word, though-”

“The Dark Arts are also notoriously addictive,” Blaise was getting quite exasperated. “ How did you not know that?”

“Well, I-” Ron flushed in embarrassment. “Look, I’ll be honest, anything about the Dark isn’t my area of expertise. My family never had the ‘don’t do Dark shit’ talk with me because it was supposed to be a given.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “And I suppose the Gryffindors don’t encounter the Dark nearly as frequently as we do?”

It made sense, he supposed. Not much reason to lecture someone about something they were probably never going to come into contact with.

Ron grimaced slightly. “Yeah. They didn’t really predict a situation where I would have to avoid them, in any case.”

Blaise shrugged. “Ah, well, we’ve all got our blind spots.”

“What, even you?” Ron asked with a teasing lilt in his voice. “The Great Blaise Zabini?”

“No, I’m the exception, actually-” he broke into laughter as Ron punched his shoulder. “ Yes , Ron, even me.”

“Huh, the more you know, I guess.”

“And your one is apparently not knowing who to avoid,” Blaise gave Ron a levelled look, swiftly sobering the short-lived jovial atmosphere. “Jude Sallow would have everyone hooked up on the Arts if he could.”

“Look, I’m- I’m not advocating for it or anything, but what exactly would be so wrong with that?” Ron asked with apprehension.

Blaise’s expression twisted back into a glare. “Are you fucking serious, Ron? Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said?”

“Oh, woah -”

“It’s addictive . Like a drug .” Blaise said, slowly, as though he was talking to someone lacking in a fair amount of brain cells. “The reason why Sallow is a fucking creepy dickhead? His addiction to the Dark Arts. Do you wanna be like that, Ron? Some freaky cunt? So unstable that no one has any idea whether or not you’ll randomly snap and avada kedavra someone for bumping into you by accident? Because that’s why you don’t see a lot of people around Sallow. I’ll admit, he’s got reputation points for it, but that’s it . A reputation and a crippling addiction. Is that all you want, Ron? Cause if it is, then you’re even fucking dumber than I thought you were.”

They looked at each other, Ron’s face a strange mix of upset and stunned, falling into a shocked silence. Blaise himself was actually quite appalled at the way he’d just spoken. He didn’t think he’d ever lost it like that before, except for earlier that day.

There was only so much he could blame on him being in a bad mood.

“Oh.” He’d never heard Ron’s voice sound that small.

Fuck . “Ron-”

“You seriously hold yourself back when you’re around us, don’t you?” Ron’s expression and tone were indiscernible. 

It was Blaise’s turn to look stunned.

“I mean, wow .” Ron rubbed his eye absently. “That was a fucking explosion, mate.”

“I don’t actually think you’re dumb, Ron,” said Blaise, because it felt very important for him to know that.

Ron scowled. “Look, I know I’m not exactly Granger-”

“Thank god,” said Blaise, which thankfully evoked a small smile from the ginger. “But seriously, you’re not an idiot at all, I’ve seen you in Defence. I just said that because-”

“Because you were aiming to hurt?” Blaise nodded cautiously, feeling ashamed. “Yeah, I figured.”

He sighed. “I am really sorry, Ron.” Ron blinked in surprise at the apology. “I feel like I’m a bigger arse than you probably know.”

He was a bigger arse than Ron knew. Blaise went out of his way to project friendly-Blaise all of the time, in fact. Mean-Blaise– normal-Blaise, really, was for his internal dialogue alone. This slip up was a catastrophic slight against his carefully maintained image of a cool-headed, controlled guy.

“No one’s perfect, I suppose,” said Ron. “Besides, me and Tracey are hardly nice either.”

“You’re nicer than me, though.” protested Blaise. “I’m not nearly as progressive as you either-”

“Progressive?” Ron scratched the side of his head. “You’re alright with Tracey though, aren’t you?”

“I could not give less of a shit about her blood status. I’ve known her and Granger long enough to figure out that magic is magic, simple as.” agreed Blaise. Ron looked quite relieved to hear him say that. “But mate, you have to know that the line is drawn there.”

“Hm? What do you mean?” Ron appeared a little worried again.

“The line splits people with magic and people without,” reiterated Blaise. “We’re on one side… the muggles, and squibs, are on the other.”

“Oh, I see.” Ron looked uncertain, and not at all like he could see what he was getting at. “Um, that’s not great. So, you, what, think that they’re lesser than us or something?”

“I don’t think you want to know what I think of them, if I’m honest, Ron.”

Ron cringed. “You censor yourself when you talk to us about them, don’t you?”

“I don’t understand them enough to contribute anything to a conversation about them at all, to be honest,” Blaise admitted.

“That’s probably the problem, actually,” said Ron, scratching the side of his nose. “Fear of the unknown, and that.”

“ Fear -?”

“Or hatred, whatever,” Ron shrugged. “You probably just need to get to know them, like how you got to know Tracey, and then you’ll be alright with them.”

“I don’t want to get to know them,” Blaise said firmly. “What am I supposed to do, anyway? Be best friends with Filch?”

“Oh, good point,” said Ron. “No wonder you don’t like them, with Filch around, making a bad name for the rest of the squibs.”

Blaise snorted.

“Hey, I’m being serious, though,” said Ron, though he had a slight quirk to his lips, like he was holding back a grin. “Next time you’re back at home, talk to a couple of the muggles in your neighbourhood.”

“I don’t live in a neighbourhood,” said Blaise, at this point for the sake of being difficult. “My mother bought a village just outside of Florence, evicted everyone in it, and turned the land into our forest for hunting.”

“Okay, so you don’t have neighbours- what, all of it?” Ron interrupted himself, actually gaping.

“Well, not all of it. Some of it had to be used as space for our swimming pools, you see.” Blaise told him matter-of-factly. “ Madre says that regular swimming sessions are good at keeping her toned, apparently.”

There was another stunned silence, though Ron was the one to break it again. “Blaise.”

“Yeah?”

“Never talk to me about your ultra-big mansion with your fifty swimming pools ever again, thanks,” he said, looking the most serious Blaise had ever seen him. “Or I will punch you in the face.”

“Been there, done that,” said Blaise, looking down at his still-raw knuckles. He wasn’t going to make a habit of decking people like Ron had, that was for certain. Frankly, if Petropoulos hadn’t been a skinny wimp and was actually competent in any shape or form, Blaise would’ve absolutely have gotten his arse handed to him for trying to fight him. Thankfully, that hadn’t been the case, but Blaise reckoned that was luck more than anything.

“I’ve been a horrible influence on you,” Ron shook his head, chuckling.

“The worst,” agreed Blaise.

“Well, if you’re gonna start decking people like I do, you’re going to have to get a good night’s sleep to keep your energy up,” Ron grabbed his arm and pulled the both of them up and away from the window.

“Hm, well I suppose you would know,” said Blaise, letting Ron lead them back towards the dormitories.

Ron huffed out an approximation of a laugh. “I would.”