Hufflepuffs on Firebolts

Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: Unless some Freaky Friday type thing happens to me and I end up in the body of Jo Rowling, I won't own Harry Potter.

I apologize in advance for the OOCness of Hannah Abbott and friends. Hannah is known to be very naïve in the HP books, but I like my Hufflepuffs better when they're a bit more spirited. Also, this is not a sequel to Eloise Midgen and the Yule Ball. Just assume that all of the events in EM and the YB never occurred.

We, the Hufflepuffs, must get our hands on loads of Galleons, or perish. You may wonder how I have jumped to that conclusion. It's all rather simple. The other Houses have one thing in common: a similar disrespect for Hufflepuffs. They all look down on us, therefore we must prove ourselves.

To do this, we must win the House Cup for the first time in 89 years (though my dear friend Susan Bones has informed me that the only reason we won the House Cup 89 years ago was because both Slytherin and Gryffindor were disqualified for using Felix Felicis during a few of their Quidditch matches). To win the House Cup, we must either get loads of points from teachers by being our demure, and – I admit it – sometimes quite dull selves or we must beat the other Houses in Quidditch. To beat the other Houses in Quidditch, we must acquire several Firebolts. I personally don't know anyone who is cool enough to be able to steal us a bunch of Firebolts, therefore it is extremely rational to suggest that we try to make loads of Galleons to pay for said broomsticks.

When I mentioned my brilliant plan to Susan, I was preparing myself for over-the-top praises. But no, Susie had to go and be all reasonable.

"The problem isn't the broom, it's the guys who are riding them." Susan sat on the black-and-yellow rug with her knees pulled up to her chest.

"That sounded slightly dirty," commented Eloise in a bored tone.

We ignored her remark. "The Firebolt is supposed to be easy to handle," I pressed.

"If you're good at flying," Eloise said, unfastening her bag and dumping the contents out onto the floor. "I think we'd have a better chance of winning if we were the ones playing."

"Getting hit in the nose with a bludger isn't something you want. Your face is ugly enough as it is," said a very brave or very stupid third year. She stared at him for a minute. He glared back as if to say, 'What're you gonna do about it, huh?!'

I watched in horror as she smiled widely. Her gray eyes were icy and fixed on the boy.

Susan shot me an uneasy glance.

The third year looked really scared now, practically trembling. He cowered in front of her, but she just kept on smiling.

"Congratulations!" I tried brightly. "You're incredibly scary and there's no need to be thinking about any punishment along the lines of castration right now."

"Shut up, Hannah!" Susan snapped. "Don't give her ideas."

The boy shifted uneasily as Eloise's creepily fixed grin widened even further. "Evan, right?" He nodded and Eloise continued. "How would you like to accompany me to Hogsmeade this-"

She hadn't even finished that sentence when he bolted.

There was silence in the Hufflepuff common room as everyone turned to look at Eloise. "What would you do if he said yes?" asked Ernie with a smirk, looking up from his game of Gobstones.

She shrugged and collapsed onto a black armchair. "I'd probably ditch him in the Shrieking Shack or something."

"Knees closed," Susan said primly. "You're wearing a skirt, remember?"

Eloise scowled at her, but sat up, pressing her knees so close together that it looked like her thighs were about to burst out of her pantyhose.

"If you keep wearing those tiny skirts, someone's bound to notice," I said seriously.

"A teacher is bound to notice. And not a cute male teacher," added Susan.

"There are no cute male teachers," Eloise sighed. "I wish Lupin was still here."

"We're talking about Umbridge."

"Umbridge can kiss my fat arse. She can give me detention all she wants, but I've had a growth spurt and now my skirts are too small. I got even pudgier during the summer!"

"Stop talking about your weight!" I groaned. "We have to focus on those Firebolts and the ways we can acquire them."

"You mean, buying them, right?" asked Susan, suspiciously. "With Galleons, right? You are a Prefect, after all. You have a reputation to uphold."

"Dumbledore should have made you the Prefect; you know that," I told her with an eye-roll. "And yes, I was planning to buy the brooms. It's been two years since the Firebolt first came out. The price is bound to have come down a little."

"They were worth a fortune," said Eloise sulkily. "If the price went down a little since a few years ago, they'll probably be worth a little less than a fortune now."

"Do you always have to be so negative?!"

"I'm a realist, Hannah. I have actually asked for the price. The bloke in the store said that if I had to ask, I probably don't have enough."

"We can raise the money. It's a little thing called fundraising."

"Or we can use something just as effective to winning the cup: sabotage." Eloise grinned as she rifled through her Herbology book.

"I'm not going to resort to anything that low!" gasped Susan.

"Susie, I love you honey, but you have to get over it." Eloise was shaking Susan by the shoulders roughly with each word.

"I think we should get the Firebolts. We'll do whatever we can to get the money."

"I'm not becoming a prostitute," Susan said firmly.

"We can have bake sales, kissing booths, broom washes…" I continued, ignoring her.

"Or I can tutor people in History of Magic so that they don't fail," Susan said.

"You both sound like bloody idiots. Who'd wanna kiss me? And we can't bake anything for our lives," said Eloise grumpily.

"We should pay a visit to the kitchens."

"If we knew where the kitchens were," Susan said to me, uncharacteristically grumpily.

"And I, personally, think that the best way to get thousands of Galleons is to make Colin Creevy take embarrassing pictures of people and call it a yearbook," Eloise said sarcastically.

"Hey, that's not a bad idea."

ooooooo

Fred and George were innocently taking a stroll, when they were stopped by the sight of a third year Hufflepuff pushing past them, flailing his arms and sobbing everywhere. "I always thought Hufflepuffs were wimps," Fred said to his brother.

"What a rude thing to say, Freddy-boy. They aren't wimps - they're just slightly mad," George replied. "Hey, kid!" He turned to the boy.

Apparently the boy was trying – and failing - to cry into the Bloody Baron's shoulder, but he went right through the Slytherin ghost and smacked his head on the stone of the walls. The Hufflepuff crumpled to the floor as the Baron turned to glide away, a disgusted look on his pale face.

"Hey, kid! What's wrong?" Fred reached out a hand to pull the Puff upright.

"THE PIMPLE MONSTER WANTED TO GO ON A DATE WITH ME!"

"Ahh," said Fred and George in unison.

"Ooh! That was cool," Fred said to his twin. "Let's do it again! This time we'll say 'sexy.'"

"Sexy," they chimed, grinning.

"So, kid… Eloise Midgen asked you out?" George asked, trying to keep a straight face.

"DO NOT SPEAK HER NAME," the boy rasped.

"So she asked you out…. What did you do to deserve that punishment?"

"He probably called her ugly," Fred sighed. "Have we taught you younglings nothing? You NEVER call Pim ugly! At least not to her face!"

"She probably doesn't even like you. Don't worry, girls don't like scrawny little gits like you. You're safe," George assured him.

The boy fell to his knees in front of George. "Thank you!" he gasped, kissing the hem of his robes and backing away slowly, bowing.

"That was weird."

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