Work Text:
Jack Zimmerman was a man of many titles; Slytherin Prefect, Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, and (probably most well-known) son of infamous Quidditch legend Bob “Bad Bob” Zimmerman. Bob Zimmerman who had initially brought the Kenmare Kestrels to victory 6 times in the championship winning the cup, before transferring to the Ballycastle Bats, doing the same there. In short, Jack had a lot to live up to. Sometimes at night, Jack couldn’t get to sleep from fear of never being good enough for his father.
‘And you’d be right,’ the little burble of anxiety told him, ‘you already failed him once because you had to leave Hogwarts because you failed him.’
Jack shook his head as his friend Shitty came and patted his back,
“Jack my man; have I introduced you to my main man Eric? He is a god amongst men, he made me a pie!” Shitty’s yellow and black tie was loose around his neck, and his shirt untouched.
“Shitty, you’re supposed to have your shirt tucked in, and your tie securely knotted,” Jack intoned in a dull voice.
“Jack you seem to have mistaken me for someone who gives a shit,” Shitty informed him cheerfully before looking around, “where’s Lardo?”
“She said something about finishing an art piece, and hasn’t come down yet. And who is Eric?”
“He’s a Gryffindor and a seeker, and also a prefect. I’m surprised you haven’t met yet,” Shitty shrugged and downed the rest of Jack’s pumpkin juice before skipping off to do whatever it was that Shitty does. Jack looked around his Slytherin table, and finding that all was well, he got up to see if he could find this guy that Shitty was talking about. He walked over to the Gryffindor table and found the seventh year Gryffindor prefect.
“Johnson, do you know Eric? He’s the seeker.”
“Of course I do. He’s the main love interest, and was put into Gryffindor to give a sort of narrative Arc for this alternate universe ficlet,” Johnson said playing with a quill. Johnson had a spiral notebook with what looked like a timeline of events.
“Do you know where he is?”
“At the end of the table man. Good luck with your wooing!” Johnson waved him off, yet again marking off something in his notebook. Confused, Jack made his way to the end of the table where a young man with blonde hair was talking to a group of first years.
“Chris, Professor McEnery’s classroom is past the statue of the cross-eyed witch and down the first stairwell that you see and it’s the third door on the left,” the man Jack assumed was Eric said to a younger boy, before looking up, “Oh! You must be Jack! Shitty’s told me about you.”
Eric had a strong accent that wasn’t from the UK. Jack put his hand out, and when Eric shook it, it was a warm and firm grip, and Jack said,
“Well it was nice to meet you Eric.”
Jack turned on his heel and stalked out of the Great Hall. Irritated with Shitty, he went back down to the Slytherin common room and further down into the prefect’s room. And he immediately flopped down onto his bed. His very first thought was that he fucked up that.
‘Oh Jack, did you honestly think that would go well? You can’t even be nice to someone your only friend views as a friend. Can you ever not screw something up?’
Jack put his pillow over his ears, steadfastly ignoring it.
‘You can’t ignore me forever.’
Jack ignored this and opened up his potions textbook to start writing his theoretical paper on the benefits of sweetening agents in potions. Not an hour later, he was walking into his special potions class, only to find out that there was one overly excited Gryffindor baking boy. He was talking, excitedly to the professor, and handing her what looked to be an apple pie. The smell was wafting over everyone’s nose, and several people were looking hungrily over. Including fellow sixth years Ransom and Holster. They were looking at Eric, when he went and sat at the front of the room to sit at an empty tabletop. Ransom and Holster walked up to him, and Jack found himself inching forward to listen to the conversation that they were having.
“Hey Bittle, did you make Prof Anderson a pie to get into this class?” Holster asked impressed and a little bit incredulous.
“That’s swasome! Using your baking powers for evil?”
“It’s not really using baking for evil. I baked the pie as a thank you for letting me into the class; it’s not a bribery pie! I would not taint my pies with that negative energy,” Eric said his accent making the word roll of his tongue. Without even being aware of it, Jack sat down at the empty seat next to him. Eric looked up startled and Jack was reminded heavily of a startled fawn.
“Ransom, Holster, maybe you two should sit back down at your own table before Professor Anderson starts the class,” he said using his captain’s voice. Holster opened his mouth to say something but Ransom put his hand on Holster’s arm. They made brief eye contact looked at Jack, and then both eerily smiled at the same time. They went back to their seats, and Jack pulled his notebook and quill out of his bag. Meanwhile Eric pulled out his own notebook, and one of the strangest quills Jack had ever seen.
“Jack? Is something the matter?”
“What type of quill is that?”
“It’s not a quill, it’s a mechanical pencil. It’s easier to write with than a quill, and I can erase it if I make a mistake,” Eric said with a slight smile on his face, “You don’t know much about Muggle life do you?”
“Are you muggleborn?”
“Yes I am. Best part about this whole wizardry thing is that I don’t have to play football with my dad.”
“Football?”
“It’s a contact sport that Americans play. It’s kind of difficult to explain if you haven’t grown up with it.”
Jack was going to ask more, as he felt very interested in the Muggle Sport World, but Professor Anderson had begun class, and Eric was suddenly riveted by what she had to say. Jack tried his best to stay riveted to what the Professor was saying, but he very occasionally letting his eyes drifts over to the golden blonde besides him. Whenever he would catch himself doing it, he would furiously stare at the professor while taking detailed notes, but then he would catch himself drifting and the cycle would repeat again. It was this frustration that led to him not noticing the time. Only when Eric had started packing up his things that he snapped out of it. He started packing up his things, and he was determined to go immediately to Shitty and ask him why he had neglected to mention that Shitty had met someone who was exactly Jack’s type.
He did not even say goodbye and he jumped up and started walking away, leaving a confused and slightly hurt Eric behind. Jack was determined as he was passing several students, who avoided him based on the murderous look on his face looked like he was going to commit a murder. He wasn’t but people always judged when there was a Slytherin involved. Indeed, as he tickled the pear on the portrait of the fruit bowl, it swung open revealing several startled house elves. He politely brushed past them muttering about Shitty. One of the house elves nodded and Jack was able to pass by and get to the set of barrels in the back corner, he said the password and descended down the stairs. Upon entering the Hufflepuff, he found Shitty sitting casually reading a book about the Holyhead Harpies.
“Shitty!”
“Jack. What is up my best friend? My comrade, brother in arms, my platonic life partner. What can I do for you?”
“Did you know that Eric Bittle was…” Jack paused here, suddenly hyper aware of all the other students in the room. At his pause, Shitty looked up, and closed his book.
“Did I show you this new spell. I found, it might be useful for someone in the Slytherin house,” and Shitty got up and started waking up the stairs of the boys dormitory, with a now slightly anxious look on his face. Shitty led him all the way up to the sixth year’s dormitory, and he closed the door behind him.
“Alright Jack you repressed mermaid, tell Aunt Shitty all of your troubles and woes.”
“You’re not my Aunt.”
Shitty just gave Jack a look (much like a matronly old woman might have) and Jack found himself wilting and caving.
“Why didn’t you tell me that Eric Bittle was attractive?”
“Wait you met Bitty?” Shitty’s face lit up, and Jack didn’t understand.
“Who’s Bitty?”
“Eric Bittle. That’s his quidditch team nickname. But tell me more about him. I’m interested in what you think of him.”
Shitty leant back against his bedframe, and found himself surprised when Jack did the same. Jack started talking about Bitty’s finer assets and Shitty knew it was the start of something special.