Hello guys!

I hope you're enjoying the story so far. Hopefully, over the summer I can dedicate a little more time to it. All your support is much appreciated!

Much love, doze

"Alfred, you're not going," Matthew said definitively, from his spot by the fireplace in the common room. His Hufflepuff robes flowed around him in a sea of black as he bent to squint at his Charms textbook.

"Well, you know if he doesn't go, one of the Gryffindors will definitely take Alfred out for the glory of it," Liz pointed out, licking on the end of a sugar quill. Her Potions book was upside down, and she'd obviously given up long ago.

"Why is Arthur even still angry at him?" Toris pointed out as he unrolled a length of parchment. "It was Gilbert that charmed the letter."

Ned snorted, "That doesn't matter to Arthur. It's Alfred's fault by the very nature that Alfred was there. Plus, it's less working knocking off some random fourth year Hufflepuff, than Gilbert Beilschmidt."

"You're saying Arthur couldn't take Gilbert?" Toris raised his eyebrows.

Ned shrugged. "I'm not saying anything. All that's important is that Alfred cannot take Arthur."

"Come on, Tor. Gilbert would spell the shit out of Arthur without losing his breath," Liz added with a giggle, glancing at Alfred. "Fame isn't everything." She said in a mock drawling voice that they'd all heard too often.

Alfred groaned, throwing down his Potions text with Liz's on the rug. "Look, I'll be careful, alright? I'm going to try and talk to him-

"Oh for god's sake, Alfred. Don't try that." Matthew rolled his eyes. "He doesn't want to talk. He just wants a punching bag. Think about it. His bastard of a brother shows up and embarrasses him. And we all got an insider look at his love life. You just conveniently happened to be at the crossroads. Congratulations, Alfred. Let it die. He can't do anything to you in broad daylight. Don't go tonight."

Alfred frowned. Geez, Mattie had gotten bossier over the summer. "Okay, okay, I won't." He muttered. "I'm going to bed now. Like a good lad. You can walk me up if you feel the need, Matt."

Ned snickered, but Matthew was not amused. Instead of yelling, he drew his textbook up more firmly on his lap. They were best friends and Alfred recognized signs of the silent treatment from leagues away. He groaned again. He didn't have time to be worrying about Matthew. Not when he needed to worry about how he was going to sneak out at midnight.

It proved simpler than he expected. Almost everyone went to bed early after the first day. As he crept past Matthew's bed, he felt a bit bad for lying to him, but not bad enough to go back to sleep. Matthew just didn't understand this part of him. Alfred had always wanted to be in the mix, playing with the big boys so to speak. He wasn't alright with being just another Hufflepuff lost to the shadows of great Gryffindors.

He had a chance now. Arthur knew who he was. Sort of. He'd make it work.

The corridors of Hogwarts after dark loomed before him. The silence was so loud it hurt his ears. Getting to the fourth floor was its own adventure. Numerous times Alfred almost stepped into empty space when one of the staircases moved. He used Lumos when he had to, but preferred to keep it out. He had no idea who else lurked these hallways at night.

It took him awhile to find the trophy room, and when he had he didn't immediately enter. His Lumos spelled glowed a bit brighter as his heart beat picked up. If Arthur just started throwing spells at him, he was dead, no question. He could only remember like one offensive spell right now. God, he was screwed.

Alfred put his hand against the door and slowly let himself in. It quickly became apparent that there was no one else in the room. He relaxed a little bit. Not here yet. Awesome.

For awhile, he just shifted from foot to foot, glancing around at the shelves of trophies and plaques. Trophies for Quidditch and the House Cup and random student awards. Slowly, Alfred began making a circle of the room, stopping before an ornate silver plaque near the back. It was bigger than a lot of the others, but this wasn't what caught his attention. The words Triwizard Tournament leapt out at him like they were magic, and he paused to read the inscription.

In Memoriam:

Arthur Robert Kirkland (1936-1953)

Hogwarts Champion. Triwizard Tournament.

Bibere venenum in auro.

Alfred whispered the last words, his eyes wide. At first, it didn't make sense to him. Arthur Kirkland? But then he remembered Arthur hailed from a long line of purebloods. This dude must have been someone Arthur was related to. And he died? In the Triwizard Tournament?

"Fuck," Alfred murmured, with a shake of his head. At the same time, he felt something pointy jab into the back of his neck.

"Did you remember your wand?"

In the reflection off the plaque, Alfred could see Arthur sneering at him, wand denting into the back of his neck.

"Actually, I did." He answered. "But I don't really want to use it."

"Oh, should I be afraid?" Arthur gave a mocking laugh. It was hard and nasty and not at all like the one he had graced upon Delfie the house elf. "Have you been hiding brilliance beyond that wall of idiocy?"

Alfred scowled. "Look, if it'll make you feel better just get on with it."

"We'll do this correctly," Arthur pulled back from him and he turned around warily. "Come on. In the center of the room. You've been to dueling club, haven't you?"

Alfred gave Arthur an incredulous look. For a minute he was thrown by the fact that the other boy was in his pajamas, his Gryffindor robes draped sloppily on top. So Arthur slept in silk. He even had an embroidered 'A' on the chest pocket. Alfred nearly grinned. What a pureblood.

"You really want to have a duel?" He asked.

"The perfect way to settle this," Arthur motioned for him to stand in the center of the room.

"You didn't seem like you were a fair and square type of dude," Alfred reluctantly drew his wand. "I thought you'd just jinx me silly and we could go back to bed. You know, it might be faster that way."

Nonetheless, Alfred's breath still caught when he felt Arthur's back pressed against his. They faced opposite sides of the room. Alfred knew the rules well enough. Ten paces. Turn. Wand at the ready. Arthur would undoubtedly strike first.

"This is tradition," Arthur said like he was an idiot. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, but this way I can still kick your arse under the guise of being poised."

"Wow," Alfred said with feeling. "I'm so lucky."

"I'll make it quick." Arthur replied nastily. Reluctantly, Alfred stepped away from him, following his count of ten paces, before turning.

Arthur had his wand raised, but he hadn't said a spell yet, waiting. "Go on." He snapped impatiently. "You first."
Alfred's eyes bulged. "What? Are we taking turns?"

To his astonishment, Arthur's cheeks flamed red. Alfred didn't hear him speak, but suddenly he was thrown across the room, landing on his ass with a giant bang as he slid into the trophy cabinet. "Alright then," Alfred muttered, casting about for his wand. "You can go first."

When he found it, he got shakily to his feet. The spell had only thrown him, apparently it hadn't had another purpose. Arthur was still standing with his wand raised imperiously, a snarl curling his upper lip.

Alfred sighed, sliding his wand back up his sleeve. Matthew was right.

"What are you doing?" Arthur said icily.

"Go on, then." Alfred shifted uncomfortably. "Whatever you want. I'll be your punching bag."

"My what?"

Alfred groaned. Purebloods. "Think about it. It makes sense. Punching bag. A bag for punching."

"What the hell are you rambling on about?" Arthur snapped. "Get out your wand. I want to finish this."

"Then finish it." Alfred raised his hands up. "Shoot me, captain. You wanted someone to beat up on, right? Here I am. I won't tell."

"Wh-what?" Arthur's wand wavered. "Are you stupid?"

Alfred shrugged. "I'm sorry about what happened to you. I honest to god didn't mean to embarrass you like that. Go on. Just not the face, please."

"Y-you..." Arthur seemed at a loss for words. His cheeks went a harsh red that Alfred hadn't seen before tonight. Arthur was never embarrassed or caught out of sorts in the daylight. Abruptly, his green eyes hardened and he stepped forward, jamming his wand into Alfred's chest. "Francis put you up to this, didn't he?"

"What?" Alfred scowled at the mention of Bonnefoy.

"Oh, he never knows when to quit." Arthur snarled. He was close enough that Alfred could feel the heat of his breath. "I'll admit it's a good tactic. I almost let you go there. That's too much of a Ravenclaw move, Hufflepuff. Petrificus Totalus." He growled with a nasty grin that tore up his handsome features. Alfred had never seen him look this vindictive in public before. He felt his legs snap together from the curse and to his chagrin he realized that he didn't know how to get it undone.

With a theatric flip of his hand, Arthur put his palm to Alfred's chest and made a show of pushing him over. And damn it hurt. A lot. Alfred stared angrily at Arthur's stocking feet from the floor, wishing that he'd taken Mattie's advice after all. Arthur didn't even believe his apology.

"Now," Arthur began in a loud drawling voice, placing his foot over Alfred's mouth. "Let the record show that I did give you a fair duel. You brought this on yourself." Arthur twisted his foot into Alfred's mouth, making it impossible for him to breathe anything but Arthur's stinky sock.

Well, this sucked.

Arthur pushed him away, striding back and forth in front of him like some sort of royalty. He really seemed to be getting a kick out of this. The next thing Alfred knew, Arthur had hit him with a stinging hex and it burned its way all up his arm like a hoard of angry ants.

"Last time you ever laugh at me again," He said with a triumphant pump of his fist, his robes flowing out behind him. "Last time they ever laugh at me again. You'll be my demonstration, won't you, Alex? No one will ever laugh again."

At this rate, Alfred felt they would be here all night. Arthur covered him in stinging hexes and strange jinxes that made his stomach turn. It surprised him that Arthur didn't go for anything more than petty curses that were going to make him feel like hell tomorrow. Arthur was just opening his mouth for round two when something made him pause. His green eyes grew huge and he muttered, "Shit."

Just like that he turned on his heel, and Alfred heard the sound of people walking down the corridor outside. Fuck no was Arthur just going to leave him on the floor. It happened miraculously as so many things often did around Alfred. The paralysis curse lifted, fading away like a distant dream, just in time for him to snag his wand and aim a jinx at Arthur's back.

"Rictusempra!" He hissed, causing Arthur to stumble to a halt.

He whirled around to face Alfred, clamping a hand over his mouth and shaking his head rapidly back and forth. So he knew it then. The tickling curse was one of Alfred's all time favorites. He watched as Arthur's knees turned to jelly, now two hands clamped over his mouth, trying desperately not to make any noise, his eyes watering. Outside the footsteps in the corridor were growing louder, coming closer.

Arthur removed one hand to flip him off angrily, but Alfred only shrugged. "Get us out of here without any trouble and I'll take it off. Otherwise, we can both get caught."

Arthur nodded quickly and Alfred muttered the countercurse. Too bad. He had wanted to hear what Arthur sounded like caught in the throes of uncontrollable laughter. Arthur reached out, snagging him by his sleeve and dragging him out into the corridor. He cast some kind of spell that silenced their footsteps and then took off at a sprint. They didn't stop running until they were in front of the entrance to the Gryffindor common room and gasping for breath.

"F-fuck," Alfred breathed out, dropping back against the wall.

"F-Francis, actually," Arthur suddenly kicked him in the shin. "You're a bloody fool telling him the time and place. Just like him to tattle."

"You know," Alfred backed away. "You kind of blame everything on Francis."

"He deserves it." Arthur said sharply. "But..." His eyes narrowed. "You weren't trying to trick me by lowering your wand earlier, were you?"

Alfred blinked, before grinning hopefully. "No, I swear."

Arthur said nothing for a long moment. "Tickling curse?"

Alfred's grin widened. "It did what it was supposed to do."

"One of the only two spells you know, I'm sure."

"Oh, and what's the other one?" Alfred asked cheekily, breathlessly. For some reason, the night took his fears away. He smiled brilliantly at Arthur.

Arthur looked at his grin in confusion, shifting from foot to foot. He raised his wand level with Alfred's face, and Alfred froze. "Reparo." Alfred felt the frames of his glasses slap back into perfect alignment. "Obviously not that one," He said snidely, pocketing his wand.

"You know so many spells," Alfred murmured in awe. "Even more than most sixth years."

"Most sixth years are idiots." Arthur retorted, glancing at the Fat Lady who was beginning to doze off now that he hadn't given her a password. "Oi, I'd like to get in."

She roused, grumbling. "Password?"

"Well, I'll... see you, I guess." Alfred said hopefully.

Arthur frowned. "Listen, Alex."

"Alfr-

"I don't regret jinxing you. You're annoying. Frankly, you deserved it for that. But I know you don't have anywhere near the minimal magical capability it takes to make a Howler. I'm done talking with you. Let's just pretend this never happened, okay?"

"Oh," Alfred bit his lip, watching the Fat Lady start to nod off again. "Alright, then. I'll talk with you tomorrow, I guess."

"No," Arthur grimaced. "Don't talk to me. If you talk to me, I'm going to act like I don't know you."

"Oh." Alfred looked at his feet. "Well, good luck with your year then. I'll see you on the Quidditch pitch sometime, I guess."

"You play Quidditch?" Arthur raised his thick eyebrows disdainfully.

"Do you ever pay attention to who's playing on the other teams?" Alfred asked, irritated.

"I pay attention to important people." Arthur waved a hand dismissively, turning to the Fat Lady again. "Oi!"

Alfred sighed, shoving his hands in his robes pockets. Well, he was back to square one again. Arthur was going to ignore him. "Hey I'm sorry about your grandpa or whoever," He said as Arthur started to step through the portrait hole.

"Who?" Arthur stared at him blankly.

"The man that died," Alfred said around a yawn. "He had your name. The man that died at the Triwizard Tournament."

Arthur froze, his face going white. "H-How did-

"Goodnight," Alfred didn't notice, turning for the soothing darkness of the corridor and longing for his Hufflepuff bed. "Won't talk to ya. Won't look at ya. You won't even exist to me." He knew that was a lie, but whatever.

0 0 0

It was a sunny September evening several days later when Alfred stepped out onto the Quidditch pitch, flanked by Ned and Toris. Matthew was noticeably absent, probably holed away in the library, and definitely still irritated that Alfred had flat out ignored his advice about dueling Arthur. It wasn't like it had resulted in anything though. If anything, Arthur ignored him even more steadfastly.

Before them sprawled the legendary Gryffindor Quidditch team, just finishing up their tryouts. Hufflepuff always got the pitch last, no matter how early they made the reservation. Per usual, Ned and Toris flopped down on the edge of the field to wait the Gryffindors out.

Arthur stood in the center in his too-small sweater, giving orders to second years. Since the last captain had just graduated, Arthur was now in charge. Gilbert stood behind him, giving him bunny ears and otherwise acting the idiot. A girl overhead was demonstrating moves to a group of Chaser trainees. Alfred smiled to recognize Shelly.

She caught his eye and they waved at each other. A few minutes later she dismounted, saying something to Arthur which caused him to scowl. She jogged over to Alfred with a smile. "We'll be off the pitch in five minutes. Sorry for taking so long."

"It happens every year," Ned muttered in a longsuffering way.

Shelly grinned sheepishly at him. "You should say something then."

"It's not like Arthur Kirkland almighty will listen to us plebeians," Ned pointed out, getting to his feet anyway.

She rolled her eyes. "He isn't so tough. He just acts that way. Alfred," She turned to him and then frowned, puzzled. "Where's your captain?"
"Oh," Alfred looked about at the small crowd of Hufflepuffs, gathering around them. "Uh, I don't know."

"The seventh years aren't playing this year." Toris chimed in softly. "Or at least that's what I heard."

Alfred blinked. "Why?"

"Well, they want to enter the tournament," Toris shifted uncomfortably with everybody's eyes on him. "It's the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, is it really that important?"

"Uh, yes." Alfred and Ned said together, incredulous. Alfred frowned, surveying the motley crew before him. So the seventh years were skipping out? What did that leave them with? There were two fifth years and the three of them and one sixth year whom Alfred had never talked to.

Wait a minute. That wasn't enough for a team. Alfred looked about for the usual crowd of hopeful second years to find none.

"They saw our performance last year," said the sixth year as if he knew exactly what Alfred was thinking. "I'd say they made a wise decision."

"Well, we can't just not have a team," Alfred argued, feeling his face redden a bit. Shelly was still watching them.

"The king is coming," Ned muttered.

"Come on, Shells," Gilbert bounced beside Arthur, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Leave the 'Puffs to their kindergarten games."

"Where's your captain?" Arthur asked, noticing immediately just like Shelly had.

"Triwizard Tournament campaigning," Alfred answered when all the Hufflepuffs looked at him. They knew about his debacle with Arthur just like the rest of the school, and for some reason that gave him the authority of Hufflepuff spokesman.

Arthur looked at him reluctantly, like he'd been trying really hard not to. "So the Hufflepuffs can't even muster a team? How pitiful." He asked mercilessly, causing the Gryffindors behind him to chuckle. Except for Shelly who stepped on his foot.

"Don't be ridiculous, Arthur. Alfred'll be the captain."

"I'll what?" Alfred blinked, having found Matthew sitting in the stands with a suspiciously familiar silky haired Ravenclaw. "Sorry, I zoned out."
Ned laughed, as did the sixth year. "Thanks, but no thanks. We don't need the Gryffindor team telling us how to run ours."

"Well, who else is going to be your captain?" Shelly asked, crossing her arms. "Any takers?"

The Hufflepuffs looked amongst themselves, uncomfortable being bossed by this Gryffindor girl, but beginning to realize that she was right.

"You wanna be captain, Al?" Toris asked softly. "I think you're the one that cares the most besides Ned."

"A fourth year Quidditch captain?" Arthur asked with a mocking laugh. "I didn't think your team could get any worse."

Ned's eyes narrowed. "Look here, Kirkland." He said boldly. "I'm not saying anything about your ruffian father or delusional love interests. Let Alfred alone. He'd be a better captain than you."

Gilbert laughed aloud, now joined by Antonio. "Them's fighting words, Puffer!"

Arthur's fingers curled into fists. "Fine," he said imperiously, throwing his head back. "I don't give a damn who you choose as your captain. Either way, we'll cremate you next match."

"Alfred, then." Ned turned to him demandingly. "You be the captain. Show Kirkland where he can stick his broomstick."

Alfred's eyes bulged and he laughed nervously. "B-between his legs, like usual. I mean..." He winced at how awful that sounded. Gilbert had started snickering again. "Look it's our tryout time. Can you guys leave?"

"Sure thing," Shelly chirped, looping her arm through Arthur's. He tried to push her away, but she wouldn't have it. "Come on, Artie. We'll need new tactics now that Alfred's captain."

"If by new tactics, you mean that I'm bringing a bag of crisps to eat in the air during the next Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match, then I suppose you're right." Arthur allowed himself to be led away. The Gryffindor sixth years all trailing behind him, shooting the Hufflepuffs challenging glares.

"What was that about?"

Alfred turned to see Matthew behind him, looking wary.

"Gryffindors," Ned grumbled to general laughter.

"Alfred's captain now," Toris informed happily. "But we still don't have enough players for a full team."

Matthew didn't seem surprised at all by this new information. "What about the second years?"

"No show."

"Hmm... Well," He glanced uncertainly back at Alfred. "I haven't played in ages. Not since first year. And I don't really like it. But... if you needed... maybe I could-

"Mattie, you are the best," Alfred beamed, grabbing his best friend in a mandatory hug. "Arthur just verbally eviscerated us. We can't just suck now."

He turned to the small group. "Well, uh, what positions do you guys want to play this year? Now's your chance to take what you want."

"Alfred should be Seeker," Toris chimed in happily. "That way he can see Arthur's face when he steals the snitch right out under his nose."

The whole team laughed. Matthew punched Alfred lightly in the arm. "I think that's a good idea. I'll play Chaser with Ned."

They divvyed out the rest of the positions and decided to fly around for a bit. As Alfred chased his snitch, he could feel himself getting excited. A chance to take Arthur head-on. Arthur had been playing the Seeker position since he was twelve years old. He was phenomenal. To any and everybody, Alfred didn't stand a chance.

But as he dived and twisted past the other players, with a chance to play the position he wanted, well, let's just say that things were finally starting to get interesting.

The way Arthur had said, "A fourth year captain?" was the same way everybody else had said, "A second year Seeker?" a couple years ago. And the Gryffindor Quidditch team had been obliterating hopes and dreams ever since. Maybe, just maybe, Alfred could turn that tide.