Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!
A/N: My house is Hufflepuff, my given character was Zacharias Smith. I paired him, perhaps ridiculously, considering I have a week and she is, yet again, very obscure, with Morag MacDougal. I love both these characters having done this, so I hope you like it too! Many, many thanks to Smile Life Away for all of her excellent, and speedy, beta work!

Between the darkness and the light Zacharias Smith can't decide how to deal with life. He wants normalcy – to be a teenager with friends and enemies and to be able to concentrate on schoolwork and dating. He doesn't want to have to join secret organisations to keep up with his friends, or get into trouble with the bastard teachers for his beliefs. Merlin, he doesn't even want to have beliefs yet. He's not old enough, and he knows that.

Under his father's haughty gaze, he quivers and leans towards Voldemort. 'It'll be good for people like us, Zacharias. They look highly on purebloods.' He tells him. He doesn't have You-Know-Who's mark on his arm, but it's on his heart, and Zacharias thinks that's almost worse.

'Ignore your father,' his mother's soft gaze turns hard as she looks at his father. 'You know neither of us agree with what They do to Muggle-borns, don't you, darling? Your father is just scared.'

'Martha, kindly, do not tell the boy what I believe.' And another of his parents' fights start. It's not new, not anymore. All they seem to do is argue about what they believe, and what he should. He stops believing in anything, eventually. It's far too much bother; he just wants this all to be over, so his life can be easy again.

He tells this to Morag MacDougal, his partner in Potions. She sits and works quietly, listening to him and letting him vent his anger. She smiles, sadly, and stares a little too intensely into his eyes. 'Zach, how in the name of Merlin were you sorted into Hufflepuff?' And she shakes her head, and goes back to her work.

'What?' He asks, dumbfounded. He's worked with Morag in Potions since they were in third year, and she's never really offered more than a kind ear, polite responses, and easy small-talk before. She's really good at Potions, too, where he isn't. She is, all things considered, an ideal partner. Sure, she isn't quite as much of a looker as Padma Patil, but she's less distracting than Patil, for that very reason.

Morag sighs, stirs their Euphoria-inducing Elixir, and sets her knife down. 'Zach, what you do believe is up to you, but no one believes in nothing. Especially not someone with the famous Hufflepuff loyalty.'

'Morag, you and I are both pureblooded. We don't need to believe in anything yet.'

'You're like the riddle at the Ravenclaw common room, but I've already solved you, Smith.' She tells him plainly. 'You want to believe what your mother tells you, but inside, you already agree with your father. See? I'm not interested in what you think you believe. I already know.'

'You don't think I should be Hufflepuff?'

'Do you?' Morag asks. He can tell from her tone that she doesn't want to discuss it further; their potion is slowly bubbling into the frothy orange-yellow that means they're on the right track.

But no one's ever said it to him so bluntly before. It doesn't bother him that she thinks she's solved him. All he wants to do now is prove that she hasn't.

'I think I should be.' He argues pointlessly. Yes, Morag's been a quiet, kind ear, but she's not made any secret of her own pride. 'I have a sense of justice, I'm helpful, I'm nice ... enough –'

'You're too proud to be nice, without the courage to be plain evil, or the intelligence to be quiet about it. That's why you're a Hufflepuff, not a Slytherin,' she says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 'I never tried to hide my pride, but I'm not stupid enough to be foul along with it, nor am I foolish enough to run headlong into trouble. That's why I'm a Ravenclaw.'

Zacharias can't help but be offended, because she does know him, and he doesn't know how. That scares him. 'You think you're so clever, don't you, MacDougal? You think you know everything, but you're wrong.'

'Am I?' She shrugs and smiles as she adds a small handful of chopped castor beans to the Elixir, which bubbles sunshine-yellow. 'You may as well accept that I'm right. Embrace it; I do. Maybe then you'll be able to actually help with the next potion?'

He contemplates it later, and comes to the unsatisfactory conclusion that he has no idea why he's a Hufflepuff. He's not kind, or loyal. He's a bit of a bastard, and he's definitely not a hero. He knows this all too well, but, when it comes down to it, that hat made him Hufflepuff, which was probably a mistake.

'Don't be stupid, mate,' Ernie tells him with a smile. 'The hat doesn't make mistakes. Not ever!'

'You and I both know that I'm not right for this house,' Zacharias replies, smoothly ignoring his friend's sentiment. 'Everyone thinks I should have been Slytherin. Or even Ravenclaw.'

Really, that ends the conversation, because when he mentions Ravenclaw he starts to think of Morag again. She's like him, except that she fits her house. If he was Ravenclaw, he'd be with her, and no one would be surprised by his bloody-annoying need for the truth.

'If you really want to prove to yourself that you belong here, chose your side.' Hannah suggests carefully, glancing at Ernie. 'It's not a joke anymore, Zach. This matters.'

'Well, obviously it matters,' he scoffs. 'I'm not a complete prat –' (he ignores Ernie's sarcastic cough, and Hannah's nudge to his ribs to stop him) '- I don't want You-Know-Who killing Muggle-borns. The blood prejudice is just petty anyway.'

'It's not petty, it's dangerous. Are you with us?' Hannah asks, and she's serious now. If he says no, he loses his friends forever, so he nods his head. 'Come and train with us to fight him.'

It's not a request, it's a demand. Hannah can be that person when she wants to be. She's got the fire and the fairness, and eyes that he can't get on the wrong side of, he just can't. It's like she's a little kitten or something.

'What can we do? We're sixteen years old.' Zacharias questions scathingly. 'A Death Eater would take one look at us and laugh.'

'Look on the bright side, Zach,' Ernie points out, 'while they're laughing, we can throw the first curse!'

'Of course...' He replies, halfheartedly, as Hannah tells him very quietly when the next meeting is.

Morag isn't at the meeting, and he's not really surprised. Clearly she has the intelligence to keep her head down, to get through this. Zacharias already regrets going. He doesn't like Potter, or Granger, or any of the Weasleys. He doesn't want to be taught, preached to, or patronised by those people. It's his damned pride, but sometimes it feels like that's all he has.

'You were right.' He tells her, sitting heavily in the seat beside her in the library.

'I know,' she continues working. 'About which thing in particular?'

'About being too proud to be nice. How have you managed not to be?' He asks it like it's an exam question, not like he's desperate to know. He can see from her face that it's taken her by surprise.

She thinks carefully about it. The Smith background is known to her, just as the MacDougal one is known to him; his father is as proud of his bloodline as her mother was of hers, when she was alive. 'My dad doesn't care, so I don't care. Mandy's a half-blood, and Lisa's Muggle-born. Those things matter more than blood-pride, don't you think?'

'Will you fight, if it comes to that?' He says quietly, and as he does, he leans in closer to her. There's no telling whether they're being listened to, whether this conversation will come back to bite them. They're sitting closer together than in the two years of being partners in various lessons (Runes, this year, as well as Potions).

She shakes her head somewhat sadly. 'We can't all be heroes, can we?'

She's looking at him, like that, because she knows he understands, and suddenly she's leaning closer, and tilting her head, and he's doing the same. She's so imperfect, but somehow she knows him. Their noses brush, but something pulls them apart.

'Boys and girls are not to be within eight inches of each other!' Umbridge says stickily, her voice sweet like honey, but sharp. Zacharias hates her so much that he goes to the D.A. meetings after that, almost solely to spite her.

He moves his chair a little closer to hers, and is extra careful to make sure that his knee is touching hers under the table as they translate their Runes. His hand brushes hers as his fingers trace the symbols.

Her fingertips start to trace his fingers, and there's something so forbidden about it. He looks up, but no one has noticed, because Umbridge isn't there, her Inquisitorial Squad have no place in Professor Babbling's classroom, and Babbling doesn't care anyway. They're translating the Runes (something he's always been particularly good at), and as long as they're doing that, Babbling doesn't tend to bother them unless they ask for help.

Her hand eventually rests over his, fingers curling around his hand. I'm too proud to do this normally, she scribbles onto the corner of his parchement. Does that bother you?

No, he writes back, his text cursive, even when rushed, we're allowed to keep this for ourselves.

His friends already suspect something is different with him anyway; Hannah had told him that he was acting a lot nicer than usual, and Justin's face at dinner had been priceless when Zacharias had joined in their discussion without making any scathing remarks. But since he doesn't know what it actually is between them, he hasn't told them anyway.

A couple of Runes later (because they've still got work to do, after all), Professor Babbling stands, and announces her need to go to the library to find a book. With her, she takes the other two students, leaving them alone.

'What is this to you, Zacharias?' She asks. 'Do you really like me, or do you just want me as a prize? Another secret to be smug about?'

'I don't know!' He exclaims in reply, wondering where this has even come from. Granted, he hasn't always shown affection, but he feels something for her, whatever it is. 'I don't know if I like you, or if I just want you. All I know is that I really, really hate the feeling I get when I'm not around you. Is that enough?'

She smiles. 'Of course. Since we've started this, I can't seem to read you as well as before.' Shrugging, Morag leans across to place a light kiss on his cheek.

'Miss MacDougal, Mister Smith, how are the Runes coming?' Babbling announces their return without any hint of malice or annoyance. These days, it seems like the teachers, as well as the students, are willing to put up with most small amounts of rule-breaking. Umbridge, he supposes, has that effect on them.

Morag smiles. 'Excellently, Professor. We've just successfully translated Ehwaz.'

So they're two proud, haughty people, and they work. Because yes, they're proud and haughty – that was never a secret, really – but they're proud and haughty together, and that makes all the difference.

And they continue over the summer; his father approves because she's proud, and because her mother was in the same Slytherin position as him. His mother approves because she's female, and she makes him into someone who is finally more like her than his father. She makes him into a Hufflepuff, and for the reason she'd stated originally. Granted, nothing has changed in either of them, but he's acting like less of a pillock now - as Ernie likes to point out, gleefully.

I can't do this.

The note glides along the table top to him, a couple of weeks before Hallowe'en, and he clutches it in his hands until it's screwed up and ripped in half. The half with her familiar writing, telling him that she can't (and those words that make the least sense to him), is the bit that he writes his return note on.

His writing isn't as neat as normal. Why?

He watches as she bites her bottom lip, and she looks up and catches his gaze. He's shocked to find that tears are gathering in her eyes. He stands very deliberately, and moves to the seat beside her, and then slides closer still. They've not been completely open with everyone else about their relationship, but there was no secret about there being something.

'Why, Rag?' He whispers into her ear.

'Because this is N.E.W.T work now, and I have to focus.' She replies softly, but she's packing her things away and dragging him from the library and into an empty classroom. She looks at him with that look in her eye; not the one she uses when she wants her own way, or when she wants him to snog her. It's the look that he can't resist, that fills him with dread, and breaks his heart in ways that he can't really explain.

'Because the world is darkening, and because it's illogical, and because if anything was to happen, I wouldn't know what to do,' she rushes through her words, 'I'm not ready for this. I think I like you too much, and I can't because you don't feel like that yet, do you? And it's too much for now. Can we just ... see what happens in the future?'

So he doesn't feel the same, but he can't turn her down. He nods, and hugs her firmly. She's right really - she's a Ravenclaw, of course she is, and she always could teach him more than he taught her - about everything. Except, over the months, she was wrong about his reason for being a Hufflepuff; he's been a lot nicer, since they happened, and he's got the intelligence to not throw that in people's faces. He's finally loyal, but only to her. This normalcy that he has with her wasn't what he wanted, but it was worth it. And now she's ended it, it's worse than not having it at all.

'Maybe in five years, ten years, twenty years, you and I will meet again, and - ' she steps away as he releases her.

' - Maybe then we'll straighten this all out?' He finishes for her. He doesn't want to wait that long, not really. But by then, the war will be over, and they'll be older, proper adults. They'll be different, and maybe he'll be a Hufflepuff for long enough, but he can't guarantee. Morag isn't a fool either, so he thinks she'll probably change, find a guy better than him, and then he'll just be a memory, not even an event, but an occurrence. There's little to hold his loyalty except her, and sometimes his friends. He fits his house perfectly; even though it isn't right, he looks out for himself, and he'll try to wait for her, too.