Preliminaries:
This OS is based on an AU-RP I'm doing with May La Nee (find the link to her profile in my profile description).
It's essentially Draco/Hugo AND Hugo/Scorpius
Apart from the fact that Hugo Weasley has completely forsworn the Magical World, he's also madly fallen in love with Scorpius Malfoy. Unfortunately though, Scorpius commits suicide a couple of years later and Hugo -eugh, this is so cringe, then finds comfort in the arms of his former lover's father - Draco.
The following OS is about how Hugo and Scorpius met, why Hufflepuffs are great students and why Hogwarts, in fact, sucks. Enjoy.
San Francisco, where's your Disco?
Occasionally, class wasn't too bad. Today, for instance, seemed just fine as Mr Humble, teacher for Charms, had spontaneously decided to hold today's class outside. The weather had proven to be rather nice, maybe still a little too chilly in the shadows, but then again anything was better than having to be chained down in the grim and dark chambers people here referred to as "classrooms". This year's Charms class had been scheduled to be a shared experience with the brilliant minds of the Hufflepuff House and Hugo as well as his house mates from Slytherin had been delighted at the news of that. Hufflepuffs were generally nice folks although sometimes slow in understanding. The best thing about them, however, was that no matter how much you sucked at a subject, there'd always be at least one Hufflepuff who'd suck even more at it.
The students had gathered around their teacher in a half circle, which was in itself once more split into a Slytherin part and a Hufflepuff part of the circle. Most of the class were listening carefully to Humble's explanations and tales about special charms. It was their fifth year and although nothing much had changed since the previous year, Hugo had detected some sort of panic in most of his fellows' demeanour. They were probably shitscared of the upcoming O.W.L.s (which, Hugo thought, was a emridiculous/em abbreviation, yet rather descriptive of the circus this school constituted). He still had trouble figuring out though why his comrades seemed so utterly scared of the exams. Eventually, they'd all manage. And even if they didn't, it wouldn't make a huge difference, Hugo concluded, as he was pondering about the necessity of a diploma, handwritten on a piece of useless parchment.
Some of them would probably really fuck up, others would do a little better and others would do brilliantly. Still though, he figured, it was pretty much impossible to end up as a failure or as someone without proper occupation in this absurd world. Bad marks only meant that you were unlikely to pursue a career in the Ministry of Magic but apart from that this really was the land of infinite possibilities. You could, for example, still get a job at Diagon Alley (what kind of name was that by the way?!). His uncle George, for example, had never finished Hogwarts and still founded a joke shop together with his brother (who had died, though Hugo couldn't remember how or even why) and had become incredibly successful with it. Weasley's Wizard Weezes had by now expanded to France, Iceland, Finland and, most recently, to Croatia. Another option would be that you'd become a janitor at a school. First out of pity, of course, but after you'd have proven to have a ridiculously big and caring heart, you'd be naturally appointed new teacher for Care for Magical Creatures, despite the fact that it would still trouble you at times to count from one to ten. Or you'd just end up as a Quidditch player - a lot of people with lower intelligence seemed to be pretty good at 's eyes judgementally wandered through the crowd of Hufflepuffs that were standing like a sad flock of desperate seagulls around Mr Humbles, fearfully listening to his words.
Don't you worry, little Hufflepuffs, you'll be just fine.
As for Hugo himself, he knew that he'd no longer be part of this grotesque theatre, especially since his plans to leave had become much clearer since the last time he'd met up with a guy named Finch. Well, actually, Finch's name was Finnegan, but everyone called him Finch. He was a Muggle, old enough to live on his own and even though Hugo didn't consider him much of a friend, Finch seemed to be the closest of that sort. How Finch and Hugo met, however, would really distract from the cheerful and mischievous events that are to follow in the course of this story.
Hugo himself had turned fifteen in February and although he didn't consider himself old enough to be able to handle whatever would be happening outside of the Wizarding World, he rather took the risk in ending up underneath a bridge than staying longer in this bubble of madness. So in the course of the years he'd been bound to spend in the middle of bloody Nowhere in order to study the "higher sciences" of Astrology, Divination and Herbology, he'd become an expert in the many hassles that had come along with his rebellious behaviour that had essentially consisted of refusing to participate in any school activity whatsoever. He still owned parchment and ink from his first year. He'd read the books alright, but he'd never do homework. He'd refuse essays, participation, projects. Anything, really. In return, he got detention on a regular basis, sat through numerous emergency meetings, crisis sittings, heard many ifs and buts and even more pleas to come to his senses. But nothing could have eventually stopped his progressing estrangement from the Magical World and instead, he'd mastered to simply blend it out entirely. He'd perfected his mental filters up to the point that they would intercept any spoken word or any sound that would not match up with his own magic-free ideology.
So here he was on this sunny day, among his comrades from Slytherin and the sheepish herd of lame ducks from Hufflepuff, ignoring most of the content that was on Mr Humble's agenda for the double period. Instead, his mind circled around a book that he had finished in the early hours, still before breakfast. He'd fallen asleep with the book still in his hands, and first thing he'd done in the morning was to finish it. It hadn't been a big read, really, twohundred-something pages. Yet, he'd really been drawn into it. Dubliners, by James Joyce. Hugo knew of himself that he was a rather simple-minded person which was probably the reason why he'd never thought much of the classics, yet he'd read them just as much as he'd read any kind of literature. He loved books. They kept him occupied and entertained him in moments in which he felt he could no longer endure his confinement in this school. Still, Dubliners had been a nice read with simple enough language to make it enjoyable and although Hugo usually never drew lines between his life and the fiction he read, there'd been something in this series of short stories, that seemed to mirror how he felt about emyour parents are so obviously ashamed of you/em. From what Hugo gathered from the stories, Dublin and Ireland must've really been shitholes and none of the protagonists really managed to get out of there. Although Hugo had never been to Ireland or the Northern part of it before, he could easily imagine being friends with a guy who's got the mental capacity of a three year old, are you mad?Hugo frowned and focused once more on the students around him. None of them had been talking. The Hufflepuffs were still frozen in panic and his fellows from Slytherin also seemed rather focussed on the topic. The hell did the ramble come from then. There again. Cackling and laughter. Hugo turned around and searched for the source of his annoyance.
A bunch of 7th graders was standing a good twenty metres away from his own class, gathered in a similar half circle around their respective teacher. He saw red and blue ties and batches, brave Gryffindors and smart Ravenclaws. And amidst them he spotted the reason for his distraction. A tall, bulky boy with black hair and edgy face was standing dangerously close to a blond Ravenclaw boy who had put on a challenging face, fists all clenched as if he truly believed he'd stand a chance against James.
One punch to knock them all, Hugo thought, mentally reprimanding himself for the ridiculous reference to Lord of the Rings. If you put as much energy into school as you did into reading silly Muggle literature you'd actually be successful one day, Rose had once reminded him.
Cheers Rose.
So Potter and Malfoy. Why. Of. Course. Hugo puffed out his cheeks and rolled his eyes and decided that this was none of his business. Never intervene in the natural animosity between a Potter and a Malfoy. Although he had to admit that he had never been a big friend of James himself, though that is once more another story. Speaking of which:
So, his favourite story in Dubliners, he concluded, was probably "The Dead". Describing a paralysed society trapped in a Golden Cage of decadence and luxury, the protagonist found ultimate remedy in embeen told that your father avoids talking about you.
Fucking hell. What?!
Hugo sighed and once more turned and looked into the direction of the 7supth/sup graders. James had reared up like a mad horse, attempting to intimidate Malfoy, who in return had now raised his fists.
Woah, this was getting mad.
"Right then," he murmured to himself and decided that it was about time to bring an end to this before Potter had even the slightest chance to ramble on and maybe even cause some serious trouble. As he was making his way to the other class, Mr Humble was quick to realise that one of his students had set off and gone for another course, and half heartedly shouted after Hugo.
"Mr Weasley? Mr Weasley, were do you think you are going?
Ignoring the idiotic nature of the question (the direction was obvious after all), Hugo proceeded until he had reached the squabblers. Once he had caught their attention, both of them paused in an instant, mustering Hugo with suspicion. Hugo evaluated the situation for a short moment and drew the conclusion that what he was dealing with was on one side a senseless, protein-overdosed monkey, and on the other side pathetic desperation personified."How. Bloody. Annoying. But okay then.
"Your bullshit can be heard from miles away and it is rather distracting," Hugo said calmly, darting his clear green eyes into James's blue rotten ones.
Although the following events happened in the course of a split second, it is notable to point out that, at this stage Hugo had never thought that he'd ever get to the point in which magic would actually prove to be a helpful tool. But this, it seemed, must have been Hugo's single pivotal moment in his career as a Wizard and it amused him to think that, after almost full five years of doing fuck all in this bizarre world of dancing chocolate frogs, wooden sticks and people riding broomsticks, it would be Potter who'd be responsible for a petty, yet epic, display of the little bit of magic he Potter had realised that Hugo was indeed about to apply some serious magic, Hugo had already spoken the words "You're gonna enjoy some slugs" and with a brief tap of his wand, put a wonderful spell on him.
Potter's face turned instantly pale, eyes suddenly bloodshot. He began to gasp, apparently in serious need for air and Hugo was worried for a moment that the charm had gone wrong and that, for whatever unfortunate reason, Potter might make it to the history books as the emBoy Who Died a Little Too Early/em. But then, slowly and what seemed to be also rather painfully, James gagged up a disgusting slug in the size of a golf ball. He seemed relieved for a moment but cried out once more as he became aware that another one was making its way up his throat. As it crept up under James's skin, Hugo felt reminded of scarabaei – those weird insects that would first dig their way into the flesh and then haunt you from inside out. Another slug popped out of Potter's mouth, following the slimy trail of its predecessor. Apparently and to Hugo's huge surprise, the charm was doing a fantastic job. Chuffed with himself, Hugo looked at Malfoy and nodded briefly.
All sorted.