How had things gone so impossibly wrong?

Randall Lawson sprinted down the alleyways of Tottenham, his heart hammering his ribcage. He clutched the black market AK-47 and ran like his life depended on it, which it actually did. Rounding the corner he nearly bowled over Kody Pip and Marshall Woodrow, both decked out in mismatched body armor and wielding similar weapons. All three bore the insignia of the Fire Fang Gang, an underground group that dealt with bribery, extortion, and firearms smuggling. As one of the most dangerous criminal organizations with one of the largest illegal armed forces in the UK, the FFG was a group to be feared and respected. Everyone in the underworld recognized the flaming tooth impaled in a human skull. Boasting over two hundred armed "troops" and plenty of weapons and ammunition, the Fire Fang Gang had survived military police attacks and brutal gang wars for nearly half a century.

Which was why their current situation was surprising, to say the least. Not only had some unknown group picked a fight with them, but the FFG was losing. Badly. Black-uniformed soldiers wielding modified assault rifles were cutting through their positions like there wasn't any resistance. The unknown group had steamrolled through anything the FFG threw against them, and had already wiped out over half of the FFG's fighting force.

Lawson righted himself after avoiding a collision, and turned back the way he came from, eyes wide and panting heavily. All three aimed their automatic weapons down the alley, shaking with fear and anticipation.

"Oi, how many-how many of them are there?"

Pip was noticeably shaken, a direct contrast to the man who'd bet £50 that he could take eight shots of 101 Proof Bourbon two nights ago.

"No idea, they keep appearing out of nowhere!" cried Lawson, "It's like they're teleporting!"

Pip was shaking so badly his knees were practically knocking together. He barely managed to stammer out a weak "Is it the fuzz?"

"Can't-can't be. These blokes didn't even try to take us alive!" Woodrow babbled.

A small metal cylinder bounced off the left wall and clattered into the middle of the alleyway. Pip and Lawson were able to avoid the flashbang's detonation, but Woodrow wasn't. Lawson hurled himself to the side and landed awkwardly. He opened his eyes and felt Pip's hand dragging him up. Lawson clambered to his feet and the two sprinted as fast as they could from their unknown enemy. In the moment Lawson turned, he could see Woodrow's unmoving body sprawled on the ground. Then he completed his turn and sprinted, running for his life.

"Let those two lead us back to their final holdout. We've already located and destroyed their other strongholds. The other lances have reported a confirmed total body-count of 147."

The figure of a young man stared dispassionately at the backs of the two fleeing FFG members. Another figure wearing black combat gear and holding a what appeared to be a M16 assault rifle nodded in compliance. These two and several others equipped similarly watched Pip and Lawson disappear around a corner from the top a brick building. To any random passerby wandering the rundown streets of Tottenham at 10 PM however, the space seemed completely empty.

Lawson and Pip sprinted into the abandoned railroad station at breakneck speed. A hastily constructed line of old shipping crates and other movable barricades provided cover for the remaining fifty-something members of the Fire Fang Gang's armed forces.

"Oi! Lawson, were you two followed!?"

Lawson and Pip whirled around and raised their weapons. Nothing.

"I don't see anybody."

Lawson and Pip moved behind the makeshift barricade. Lawson tried to calm himself. However, no matter how many deep breaths he took, he could still feel his heart trying to jackhammer its way out of his ribcage. A quick glance around told him that the others felt the exact same way.

They stayed that way for a minute, nerves mounting to unimaginable heights. Rapid and shallow breaths. Constantly rechecking their weapons. Glaring at the single entrance to the compound. Shaking with undiluted fear of the unknown enemy they faced.

Another minute passed.

Then another.

And another.

Crack!

Fifty haphazardly yet extremely well-armed FFG members practically leapt out of their skin as the sudden and ominous sound echoed off of the metallic walls of the compound. Lawson and everyone else whipped their heads around, searching for the source of the noise. In front, nothing. Left side? Nothing. Right side? Still nothing. What about behind? Everyone turned around raising their weapons only to find themselves facing a wall with absolutely nobody in sight.

"WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY!?"

The FFG troops continued their frantic search for their enemy. Lawson rechecked his surroundings, before looking up. There, standing on top of the twenty foot tall walls composed of empty cargo trailers, stood a line of imposing figures.

"UP! THEY'RE ABOVE US!"

All FFG members raised their weapons and began shooting, sending a storm of automatic gunfire toward the enemy.

"Protego Totalum."

The space in front of the unknowns warped and shifted, the caster of the spell having anticipated the barrage of bullets. The projectiles shattered upon impact with the invisible barrier and clattered on the ground below them.

Having been unnerved by the strange barrier, the sudden appearance of the enemy, and the nerve-wracking wait, the FFG members could do nothing but spray gunfire and hope for the best. After a deafening symphony of gunshots, a chorus of desperate clicking signified that everyone had run out of ammunition.

The young man standing in the center of the black-clad group lowered his arm as the soldiers flanking him stepped forward and aimed their modified rifles.

Lawson and the others tentatively stepped backwards before the enemy rifles spat out green blasts of energy that dropped them where they stood. Lawson survived the first salvo and watched as people he'd known for years suddenly crumpled noiselessly to the ground like puppets whose strings had been cut. He did not survive the second salvo, and neither did anybody else. Once the riflemen stopped shooting, the leader raised his arm again and aimed his wand at the row of dead bodies.

"Incendio."

A jet of fire sprang from the tip of the caster's wand. Starting at one end, the mysterious man slowly swept his arm across, cremating the bodies of the dead and melting their weapons into slag.

Their mission now accomplished, he waved his hand dismissively and his soldiers disappeared with a series of sharp "crack"s. He himself lingered for a while, gazing at the still burning remains of the Fire Fang Gang. Allowing for a moment of indulgence, he permitted a slight smirk to cross his face. With one final, echoing "crack", he disappeared, leaving a line of scorched bodies behind in an abandoned railroad juncture in Tottenham; at last, an eerie quiet settled.

Several Months Earlier. . . .

Tristan Siegrain immediately felt a wave of uncomfortable greasiness wash over him as he regained consciousness. He groaned himself awake and groggily wiped his hand across his face, as if attempting to cast away his fatigue. It wasn't until he'd staggered to the nearest bathroom and washed the gunk out of his eyes that he escaped sleep's persistent hold. After rinsing his face, he looked at himself in the mirror, reflexively checking his raven hair and running a hand down the left cheek. He walked back through the stone hallways of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to the school's library. As he ungracefully plopped himself down in a rather secluded area already marked by piles of textbooks and scrolls (he was far too tired to be graceful), he ran his hand through his hair and cursed the wizarding world for its lack of coffee. No amount of magic could replace the feeling of satisfaction and warmth the beverage brought him.

He let out a sigh that like undiluted despair itself and resigned himself to his work. As he reached out for yet another worn leather-bound textbook from the pile on his right, he cursed the wizarding world again for its redundancy and lack of organization. The substantial pileon his left showed the rather impressive amount of textbooks he'd already summarized. The much larger pile on the right showed the amount of textbooks he'd yet to go through. He hadn't expected this sort of note taking to be so time-consuming, but the books were long, redundant, and often had to be translated or deciphered. It wasn't that the individual textbooks and scrolls were redundant, they were actually rather concise and lacked information in some areas. It was just that the others often were just copies of the same magical theories or concepts with a slightly different direction. The magical world lacked an effective organizational system for its vast repository of information. Countless witches and wizards had seemingly pioneered a new path of magic only to discover that if they'd visited a certain part of the Hogwarts library or gone to talk to a certain noble family that such a book detailing this sort of magic already existed.

It was a sign of their decadence that such knowledge was often repeated. It had been nearly a century since any new types of magic or other groundbreaking discoveries had been made, and the current level of knowledge hadn't even been synthesized or organized coherently. It was also a marker of their arrogance, thought Tristan, that various nobles refused to share their knowledge and that those unlucky witches/wizards who'd "discovered" new magic published their findings either way simply to make a name for themselves. He didn't know which he loathed more, only that all of these factors contributed to making his current job very tedious. It took him an hour to work his way through L. Wakefield's book Numerology. In the back of his mind, he knew that he'd be much more interesting researching combat spells and the process of developing his individual brand of magic; unfortunately, this was also important. As he reached the end of the torturous reading he could feel his eyelids getting heavier. Perhaps spending a day and a half in the library synthesizing the various textbooks on arithmancy and numerology wasn't such a good idea after all.

Erza Belserion elegantly descended the stone stairs and nodded politely to a pair of third-years gawking at her hair. She often got looks due to her bright hair color, and had gotten used to it. Even though she was a seventh-year, it had only been a few months since she entered Hogwarts. In the afternoon light, her bright-yellow Hufflepuff badge practically shone like a beacon. She'd already tried covering it with her robes, but gave up on the effort and resigned herself to the label. Inwardly, she dreaded the letter she knew she'd receive when her mother discovered she'd been sorted into the "weakest" house in Hogwarts. Irene had a very distinct idea of what strength was, and Erza had always seemed to fall short of it. Erza had begged the battered hat in the sorting, to no avail. Gryffindor would have been ideal, although she would have been fine in Slytherin as it had many other notable pureblood families that would have welcomed the Belserion heir. Ravenclaw would have been acceptable as well due to its recognition as an intellectually superior house. However, fate had not been kind and Erza had been placed in the house of the badger.

She unconsciously shook her head to ignore her worries and continued on her way to the library. Normally, she'd be spending her weekend doing something else or studying in the common room, but she'd recently been dislodged from her top spot in the recent Numerology tests and sought to brush up. She made no detours, except for quickly ducking into a random room to avoid Cormac McLaggen. Though he was a Gryffindor, he was insistent on her joining Quidditch and competing in the Inter-House Cup. While she was more athletic than other students, the thought of flying on a broom made her nauseous. She preferred to keep her feet on terra firma, and saw no reason to perform acrobatics on some flimsy broom. It wasn't like she had no other hobbies.

The afternoon sunlight made the intricately designed library glow. The Hogwarts library really was incredible. She vaguely remembered where Wakefield's Numerology was, and searched for it. However, after thoroughly checking and rechecking the group of bookshelves she remembered seeing it in, she gave up and cast a seeking charm to point her to it. She followed the trail to a secluded area of the library, where the bookshelves covered most of a table from casual view. There were two large piles of at least thirty textbooks, none of which were her target. As she got closer she realized that Numerology was the textbook which the sole occupant of the table was sleeping on. She sighed in annoyance and went to take it, only for the black-haired boy to shift and clutch the book to his chest possessively. She glared and went to try again, only to stop in surprise. She recognized the boy, after all, he was the one who'd claimed her top spot in Septima Vector's Numerology class. What was his name? Siegrain. Something Siegrain.

Siegrain wasn't a name she recognized, and it didn't sound like it belonged to any of the English Pureblood families. The boy was very plain looking as well, though that may have just been the school robes. His messy hair and crumpled robes contributed to his disheveled look, and contrasted sharply against the neat piles of textbooks and detailed note sheets.

Irritated, Erza stepped forward briskly and grabbed the book. Once her fingers clasped the edges of the book firmly, she yanked it out of Siegrain's hands, inadvertently dragging him out of his seat-and his blissful sleep.

Siegrain had fallen into a deep sleep after finishing his notes on Walkefield's textbook. Considering he'd gotten only short naps in between his work for the past day and a half, he welcomed the tranquil embrace of unconsciousness. Suddenly he found himself forcefully yanked out of his gentle requiem. As one could expect, he did not take kindly to the affront.

"BLOODY HELL, WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING YOU BLOODY LUNATIC!?"

Erza was taken aback at the previously tranquil boy's reaction. It was as if she'd set off a landmine. However, she was the Belserion heiress, and no one dared to speak to her in such a manner.

"I'm getting a textbook, what does it look like!?"

Had he been in a more rational state of mind, perhaps Siegrain would have been much forgiving and would have conducted himself slightly better. However, Siegrain had been awoken from a blissful sleep and was still plagued by his eternal shoulder demon known as "fatigue", so rationality disappeared from his mind. Therefore, he responded in kind.

"What kind of person wakes someone up to get a bloody textbook!?"

Erza was normally a calm and reserved girl, as was expected of a Hufflepuff. However, Siegrain's status as someone who surpassed her academically, someone who came from an unknown background, and someone whom she saw as the cause of the entire situation riled her up and led her to angrily retort back.

"What kind of person sleeps with a textbook in their arms!?"

Seeing Siegrain's momentary look of confusion over her statement, Erza misinterpreted as hesitation on his part and capitalized on this "opening".

She smirked, tilting her head slightly, and mocked him, "Is the little boy homesick? Perhaps he needs his favorite teddy?"

Siegrain noticed the disdainful tone of her voice and her bright red hair. Naturally, he recognized her as the Belserion heiress. He recognized all of the students who belonged to privileged families.

"Maybe I care more about my academics more than the sleeping habits of other?"

How could Erza not become infuriated with this insult? After all, the whole reason she came to the library in search of the textbook was because he'd taken her spot as the top student in Numerology.

"Or maybe you just want to sabotage others' progress. Who on earth takes so many textbooks at once?"

What was Siegrain supposed to say? "Oh, I'm just synthesizing all of the information in this bloody library so it actually makes sense because the previous writers were all arrogant pricks." Of course he couldn't say that, that would be rude, as pureblood families often prided themselves on tradition and ancient knowledge. As the gentleman he was, he naturally held his tongue and refrained from saying something that could possibly insult the angry redhead in front of him.

Rather, he directed his anger against her, and said something would infuriate the redhead with absolute certainty by going after her mother.

"How amusing, especially coming from someone whose mother does nothing else but hold others back."

It was true, Eileen Belserion had financially and socially destroyed several nouveau riche families that had crossed her path.

"Who do you think you are? You dare to insult my mother?"

"I'll dare to insult you next, you pureblood elitist! I don't give a damn about your blood!"

"Perhaps you should, with such a crass attitude."

"You're the one who started this whole ordeal!"

"No, you are, you daft idiot!"

"How!? I was sleeping, you-"

"Don't dare to talk back to me! I am-"

"Don't talk back to you!? Talking back is half of a conversation!"

"I know how to hold a conversation you wifty moron!"

"Then maybe you'll explain to me how I am the cause of this!"

"Maybe I will!"

"Then do so!"

The two glared at each other, their eyes clearly demonstrating a desire to kill. Erza hadn't moved from her initial position, though her hands were on her hips and her head was tilted back. Siegrain had advanced a few steps, and was capitalizing on his height advantage to glare into the redhead's eyes. Neither one moved, simply communicating unbridled and baseless hatred through the intensity of their scowling.

"You wouldn't let me have the bloody textbook", Erza hissed.

"This library is common property, no one has privilege over another in the usage of a textbook." Siegrain was equally quiet, though his voice still carried the same amounts of disgust and anger.

"You weren't using it. Need I remind you that you were sleeping?"

"I was using it."

"Oh, right. You were using it as a pillow. However, I need to use it to actually study, so I'll be leaving with it now."

Even though he was already done with the book, Siegrain wasn't about to concede to this arrogant girl.

"I'm not done using it."

"Stop being so arrogant, you were only sleeping on it!"

"Stop being so arrogant!? You're the arrogant one here!"

"Let me go with the bloody book."

"Do you believe that you can simply take anyone's library book without their permission?"

"I'm commanding you to give me permission to leave with your library book!"

"Then that's. Not. Called. Giving you permission!"

"This doesn't need to be so difficult, just give me the bloody book!"

"No! Every person in the library is provided with certain and unalienable rights to the books!"

"I will hex you."

Erza practically growled the words out. Both were hurling broken glass and contempt at each other with every syllable they spoke.

"Try it, aristocrat wannabe."

Minerva Mcgonagall had been a teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for a very long time. She had seen many strange things in her years of teaching. The magical world was known for its strangeness, after all. However, seeing two top-tier students arguing and threatening to hex each other over a textbook, L. Wakefield's Numerology nonetheless, earned a raised eyebrow from the Transfiguration professor. Deciding that her intervention was necessary, she attempted to break up the fight.

"Miss Belserion! Mister Siegrain! That's enough out of you two!"

Normally, her death glare would send students running for cover. However, these two didn't so much as flinch, as they were in their own world. A small world with them as the sole two occupants, and created out of equal parts of disgust, contempt, hatred, and spite, but a separate world nonetheless.

Siegrain, the black-haired boy who'd shown a remarkable talent for dueling and had quickly absorbed the knowledge of the magical despite knowing about for less than two months, ignored her and growled, "Try it, aristocrat wannabe."

Noticing that both had their hands on their wands, Erza's cherrywood chased with silver, Siegrain's a simple rod made of yew, Mcgonagall drew her own wand, cast a quick sonorous charm, and shouted to gain their attention.

"Both of you, that's enou-"

Mcgonagall's shout brought both Siegrain and Erza out of their separate world. While both were yanked back to reality, both had very different reactions. Erza realized what she was doing and looked ashamed, while Siegrain went to DEFCON 2 and drew his wand. He reflexively cast an expelliarmus and stupefy combination at the intruder.

Before Mcgonagall completed her sentence, she noticed Tristan's movements. She was Dumbledore's right hand for a reason, and was an accomplished duelist herself. Before Tristan brought his wand to bear and cast his disarming spell, the headmistress of Hogwarts had already cast a nonverbal finite incantatem to nullify the spell and disarmed the raven-haired boy before he could stun her.

While Mcgonagall had reacted fast enough to completely suppress Tristan's attacks, she was still surprised at his speed and instincts. As well as the fact that he'd just tried to hex a teacher.

Meanwhile, Erza was staring at SIegrain with a look of surprise and growing apprehension. She smirked as she saw the look of fear and regret that spread across Tristan's face as he realized just who he tried to fight.

How had things gone so impossibly wrong?

This thought ran through both Erza and Siegrain's minds at the same time.

"I just wanted a textbook, and that wifty idiot made me lose fifty points for Hufflepuff!"

What fired through Erza's synapses could be described as pure rage. All she could do was simmer in the general unfairness of the situation and plan various ways to brutally torture the raven-haired ravenclaw in her spare time. In her defense, she'd done nothing wrong. From her perspective, it was Siegrain who'd overreacted.

"Over a textbook, no less! Could he be any more petty? For a Ravenclaw, he doesn't seem that bright."

Erza glowered surreptitiously at the black haired boy who was currently cleaning off one of the many ornate candelabras in the Great Hall. The moment Siegrain felt her menacing stare fall onto his back, he flinched involuntarily as the redhead had cast an actual spell instead of a glare. Siegrain sighed. At least the punishment wasn't as harsh as, say, Professor Snape. While Siegrain had a secret relationship with the dark and brooding Potions teacher, it wasn't one that allowed him any slack. If anything, Snape held him far more accountable to even the smallest of mistakes as if to hide the fact that they'd known each other for a while. After all, the Potions teacher was the one who'd given Siegrain a comprehensive, if extremely basic, background on magic. Even if the scariest male professor in Hogwarts recognized Siegrain's talents, that wouldn't stop the professor from sentencing the student to trauma via toad disembowelment. Though that punishment would have been made a lot more bearable if it meant being able to watch that pureblood Belserion heiress squirm.

Attempting to distract himself from thinking about the current nuisance polishing candelabras behind him, he found the punishment rather light, considering he'd attacked the disciplinarian of the school. Only losing a hundred and fifty points of the house was practically benevolent on Mcgonagall's behalf, and Siegrain was completely fine with physical work. The only thing that he found vexing was the fact that his library usage was extremely restricted, as he could no longer take books out of the library or spend time in there at all unless a class required it. And these restrictions would remain in place for two weeks, something that would screw up his schedule. All because of that girl.

Siegrain finished wiping out the melted wax from the candle holders and turning to glare at the female in question, who was having surprisingly little difficulty with the physical task she'd been presented with. Pureblood students, especially ones with well-known parents such as the "Queen of Dragons", often trembled at the slightest mention of physical labor.

"Just what are you looking at?"

Erza's question snapped him out of his reverie. He glared hotly at her.

"For a pureblood, I'm surprised you're not collapsing at the thought of cleaning with your bare hands."

"For a someone like you, I'm surprised you're able to attend this school."

"Tch."

"All of this is your fault. Now I can't use the library."

"My fault? You were the instigator. Why don't you take responsibility?"

"I have no reason to apologize to you. Why do you want an apology?"

"Because I deserve at least that for the trouble you've caused me."

"It's like punching someone in the face and then demanding reparation for injuries caused. This is entirely your fault. Why don't you stop looking for an apology and take some responsibility for once? I'm sure you had plenty of servants to do that for you back at mummy's place."

"A comment like that shows you know nothing about me. My family is one of nobility and honor. I always take responsibility for my actions."

"You're not even trying to hide your hypocrisy, are you? This is clearly your fault, and you use some excuse about your family's 'honor' to shift the blame on to me? Actions speak louder than words."

"They sure do. A muggleborn like you would hardly understand the prestige of the distinguished families. It's not like we have our titles for nothing."

"Why don't you stop hiding in your mother's shadow and do something of significance yourself? You purebloods and your emphasis on blood superiority."

"My mother worked hard to ascertain her position."

"I'm not talking about your mother, am I? I've already acknowledged her, you're the one I'm talking about. What does blood have to do with anything? Is your blood any different than mine?"

"Any insult against me is considered an attack on the family."

"You're dodging the question, is your blood anything different than mine?"

"I don't need to answer your question."

"Classic pureblood. Anytime you people find something you can't magic your way out of, you pretend it either doesn't exist or is beneath you. Just like Voldemort."

Erza flinched at the mention of the Dark Lord's name.

"A muggleborn like you shouldn't dare to say that name."

"I have a voice, so why don't I use it? God knows I make better use of it than you people."

"He targets muggleborns like you."

"So? He's not so scary. He's just a glorified murderer toting a fanatical ideal of discrimination and a Napoleon complex. 'Muggle' history is full of people like him. And by the way, since when did you care about my welfare?"

"Are you implying I have some sort of affection for you?"

Erza had had many suitors from other pureblood families claim she had secret affections for them. Due to her beauty and unique hair, she was well-known among the high class, and she detested it thoroughly.

"I'm not implying anything. You seem to like arguments though. You take any sort of dialogue as provocation. You must have lots of friends."

"With such a witty personality, you must be quite the platonic interest."

"You know, I'm starting to understand why you're in Hufflepuff. You're the spitting image of a honey badger."

"Excuse me? Are you saying I'm soft?"

Siegrain had to bite his lip from bursting out into laughter. If only she knew just how terrifying the mascot of the supposedly "weak" house was. After all, it lived and thrived in Australia of all places. After gathering his wits, he retorted again.

"Is your ego such a fragile thing that you have to butt heads with everyone you meet to keep it afloat?"

Erza glared furiously at her fellow detention-mate. She really wanted to hex him, though she remembered his willingness to attack a teacher. Not to mention he'd already accused her of being to ready to jump to violent magic to resolve her problems, and she'd intoxicate herself with butterbeer before she knowingly proved this self-righteous brat right. Try as she might, she couldn't find a logical argument to counter his claims. If Siegrain's argument had been less prolific in derogatory accusations against pureblood families, maybe she would have been more receptive to his position. As it stood, she couldn't formulate a rational argument that didn't repeat what she'd already said, so she merely continued to glare at him.

Siegrain returned her glare, and both turned away from the candelabras they were supposed to be polishing in order to face the one person they were not supposed to be threatening.

As if on cue, Mcgonagall appeared.

"Both of you, that's enough. Get back to work and finish your detention or I will have Professor Snape conduct your detention for you."

Both students immediately dropped their glares and meekly went back to polishing.

Back in the warmly decorated Hufflepuff common room, Cedric Diggory was relaxing in the warmth of the fire from the hearth when he noticed Erza's entrance. While most of the school had simply recognized her for her last name, Hufflepuff wasn't a house that focused on blood ties. Ironically, while Hufflepuff was the last place she wanted to be in, it was probably the best environment for her, given that it was stable and inviting, and provided the constant support she'd never gotten in her life. However, Erza ignored the possible benefits that the house of the badger offered her, and had made very few friends due to her introverted behaviour. Cedric was one of the few who had been able to establish a relationship with her. As another seventh-year and a new student, she'd come to appreciate the guidance of the kind yet determined prefect.

"Erza! How are you?"

"I just got back from a detention with Mcgonagall. Sorry, I lost fifty points for the house."

Cedric blinked in surprise. Erza had proven to be a diligent and composed student in the several months that he'd known her. FIfty points wasn't a small number either.

"Oh," he said, "it's fine. I'm sure it was for a good reason. What happened?"

Erza blinked and formulated her thoughts.

"Um.… I got into a rather…. heated argument with another student about the…. um…. natural privileges afforded to students in the library. Merlin's beard, that sounds ridiculous."

Cedric had to take a moment to process.

"I'm sorry, an-an argument over library privileges?"

"I-I know, it's just as ridiculous as it sounds."

Cedric had the grace not to press any further. Erza looked mortified and had flushed the same color as her hair.

"Well, as long as it doesn't happen again, everything's fine. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Mcgonagall was pretty lenient on our punishment, even though Siegrain tried to hex her."

Cedric had to take another moment to process.

"I'm sorry, someone tried to hex Mcgonagall of all people? Are they alright?"

"He's fine, but he's the reason I wanted to talk to you."

"Alright," Cedric inquired, "who is he?"

"Something Siegrain. I don't know his first name, but I know his last name is Siegrain. He's a Ravenclaw. Since you and Cho are dating, I figured you might be able to find something out about him. He seems like he's a good student, since he's aced every recent test in Numerology. But the weird thing is that I've never seen or heard about him before."

"I can definitely ask Cho. Is there something specific you wanted to know about him?"

"Nothing specific. I just want to know who he is."

"Alright then."

Cedric got up to leave, muttering slightly under his breath.

"Merlin's beard, who'd be crazy enough to try and duel against Mcgonagall?"

It didn't take long for Cedric to find Cho, get the information, and return.

"Well, I've never seen him before, but Cho has. His name is Tristan Siegrain. Apparently, this is his first year with formal magic schooling, and he had to take supplementary courses for the first several months. Apparently he missed his Hogwarts acceptance letter when he was younger because he lived in a different country until he moved to England a year ago. He's not a very social person, and spends a lot of time in the library. He's also very diligent, and does every single assignment quickly, even for Ravenclaws. A lot of people in that house are coming to him with questions and requests for help, but he doesn't seem to like the attention. All in all, he's a bit different, but he is a good student. Nothing about him really stands out except for his background and the fact that Snape seems to hate him a tad more than the other Ravenclaws, though that probably has more to do with Professor Snape than Tristan."

"This is his first year in a magical school?"

Erza was surprised that someone who'd had less than a year of magical experience had managed to wrest her spot as top of the class from her, given that she'd been mentored by various experts in every magical field since birth.

"Erza?"

She blinked quickly and realized she'd spaced out on Cedric.

"Hm? Oh, sorry! What did you say?"

"I asked if I should go get more information."

"No, no. It's fine, I'm just surprised that this is his first year formally studying magic."

"Yeah. Most people who come in late are usually homeschooled, but according to Cho, he's never mentioned anything about homeschooling."

"Thanks Cedric. Sorry about the trouble."

Cedric laughed good-naturedly and waved off the apology.

"It's nothing. Good night."

Erza bid the prefect good night and headed to her bedroom. Most students assigned to polishing the surprisingly large number of ornate candelabras in the Great Hall were usually wiped out by the time they went to sleep. However, Erza was a lot more athletic than the typical Hogwarts student, having fenced since the age of five. As such, physical tasks that would have exhausted other students had little effect on her.

As she lay on her bed, she realized that she was having difficulty coming to terms over the argument with Siegrain. The argument in the library was simply ridiculous, and the only emotion she felt about it was shame and embarrassment. It was the latter argument, the one she'd had with Siegrain during their detention, when he was a lot more rational and awake.

"Am I arrogant?"

She supposed that she could have handled herself better, but he'd been adamant on his position against purebloods and his opinions of established families like hers had been made painfully clear. Yet despite her indignation, she couldn't help but understand his argument. Nothing she could say could logically refute it, and she wasn't about to claim that she was above dealing with such low-born peasants.

"Do all muggleborns I talk to feel the same way?"

Erza wanted to understand where they were coming from so she could better protect them. While her mother had hated muggleborns and disliked muggles as much as any other high-class pureblooded family, Erza felt as if the magical world existed as a shield to protect the muggles from the horrors that magic could create.

No, she wasn't arrogant. There was plenty of evidence. Pureblood wizards and witches were much stronger in magic than muggleborns. No matter what sort of technology the muggles created or how strong they made their bodies, they couldn't stand up to magic. If Voldemort was serious about his goals of oppressing the muggle world with magic, than it was up to the magical community to fight him. There were plenty of muggleborns who cared ill-intent toward her due to mistreatment from other pureblood families such as those of the Slytherin House. With these thoughts, Erza fell asleep at last, having satisfied her honor, eased her conscience, and completely avoided the question.