Chapter 4: Bonfoy

His first night in Slytherin House, Harry had, as he'd expected, quite the nasty culture-shock, but not at all in the way he'd thought it would be.

Snape had assigned Pansy Parkinson to be Harry's guide until he was adequately oriented. She led him to the common room at the end of the day, and Harry's first impression was that it was a bustling marketplace of activity. In the far corner hung a poster requesting contributions for war orphans in central Africa, and beside it sat a box filled with what looked to be second-hand clothing, and a money collection tin. Malfoy, Millicent Bolstrude, and a handful of others sat in a huddle nearby, knitting what looked to be sweaters and chatting about economic disaster in Southeast Asia. Another group of Slytherins were animatedly discussing house elves' rights as they folded pamphlets that Harry could tell, even from where he stood, were written in deplorable English.

There were Slytherins doing homework, it appeared; Crabbe and Goyle were frowning over pages of parchment covered with intricate patterns of numbers and exotic symbols. Harry frowned. "I didn't know you two were in Arithmancy—"

He was cut off by Pansy yanking on his collar and pulling him back. "I wouldn't talk to them just now if I were you," she advised. "Goyle, in particular, gets a little snippy when he's working on quantum mechanics."

"Quantum—?"

"And you do understand," Pansy continued blithely, "that if you tell anyone anything you see here, we'll have to kill you. Slytherin House does have a reputation to maintain, after all."

Harry was feeling a mite faint and quite overwhelmed. "Does Sn—my dad know about this?"

Pansy smirked. "Well, he was in Slytherin, you know," she reminded him.

"Right."

"Hey, Harry! Come join us!"

He turned to see Malfoy waving him over to the knitting group. Harry glanced at Pansy, who shrugged and smiled encouragingly. "Go for it," she urged. "Bonfoy's got the highest respect for you."

"Bonfoy?"

"Oh, yeah." Pansy looked a little sheepish. "Reputation goes before all. Malfoy sounds so much more…well, Slytherin, than Bonfoy does, wouldn't you say?"

Well, I suppose—"

"Oh, and that reminds me." Pansy drew her wand and pointed it at her own forehead. "Finite glamourie." Immediately, her stocky form and pug-face faded, replaced by a much prettier face and figure. "See?" She grinned. "Reputation first."

Harry shook his head. "Unbelievable." Even though the prospect frightened him a bit, he walked over to Malfoy—Bonfoy, he corrected himself. "Er, hello," he said tentatively.

"Welcome to Slytherin," Bonfoy replied cheerily. "Sorry about that row in the Great Hall—it was nothing personal, you know."

"Um, sure."

"Have a seat, join us." Bonfoy raised his eyebrows. "Do you knit?"

Harry shrugged helplessly. "No, I can't say that I do."

"No problem," Millicent told him. "You'll pick it up in no time if you have a mind."

"There's also a quilting group that meets on Tuesdays," one of the others put in. "How are you at needlepoint?"

"Er…not so good," Harry answered.

"Me, either," said Bonfoy. "So what do you do?"

Harry furrowed his brow. "I sneak out at night and go snooping around quite a bit," he replied.

Millicent nodded solemnly. "Well, it's no harm to your reputation," she said thoughtfully. "But what sort of aspirations do you have?"

"Well…" Harry scratched his head—or tried to, anyway; his hair was very much in the way. "I know I'm supposed to defeat Voldemort someday."

The others nodded but didn't look impressed.

"But I must admit," Harry continued slowly, "my burning passion is to right the wrongs inflicted on the English language by America."

Bonfoy brightened. "Me, too!" he exclaimed. "Isn't it a scandal what they're calling the Philosopher's Stone over there?"

"And using c's and z's instead of s's, and leaving out the u's!" Harry added, then stopped. "Wow! I never knew we had that in common, Bonfoy!"

Bonfoy shrugged. "One of the drawbacks of reputation before all," he sighed.

Harry frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder what they talk about in the other common rooms," he mused.

The others looked thoughtful, too.

Bonfoy glanced at the clock. "Well, it's about time for my bad deed for the day," he told Harry. "And I daresay you haven't got yours in yet. Do you still have your invisibility cloak?"

"Yeah."

Bonfoy grinned. "Then, at the suggestion of Ancalimë Erendis' beta-reader, let's go see what the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs are up to. And in the meantime," he added, his eyes gleaming, "we can start plans for a new society devoted to returning the English language to its proper roots."

"You've got yourself a deal," Harry said.

It was something of a trick fitting both of them under the cloak, not because the cloak itself was small but because Harry's hair now added about fifteen centimeters to his height. They managed, though, and departed for Ravenclaw Tower.

Three Ravenclaw girls came out of the library just as Harry and Bonfoy were passing, allowing the two Slytherins to follow them to their House. Outside the entrance, one of the Ravenclaws said, "Hash," and the door opened, allowing all five to go inside.

"What's that smell?" Harry whispered as the Ravenclaws dumped their bags in what looked like a trash bin and joined their Housemates in the common room.

Bonfoy looked stunned. "I think it's wacky!" he replied numbly.

The two Slytherins traded horrified looks, then passed into the Ravenclaw common room.

There was not a book in sight, but there were uncounted lager bottles, plenty of smoke, and piles of white powder on the tables. None of the Ravenclaws seemed particularly dynamic; rather, the majority of them were staring off into space, and some were giggling to themselves. One of the girls they had followed in slipped a sugar cube into her mouth, while another of them picked up a water pipe.

"I think we've seen enough," Harry murmured.

"No arguments here."

Hufflepuff was easily located, but following a Hufflepuff into the common room proved to be a little more troublesome. They succeeded in getting through the door (which responded favorably to the word "Patton"), but then they had to wait ten minutes while the Hufflepuff they had followed was thoroughly searched for weapons or contraband. Once cleared, he stowed his bag in a locker, then proceeded to the common room, Harry and Bonfoy on his heels.

"You're late, Corporal Abelmore," said a gruff female voice at the far end of the room. The room itself was filled with students standing, military-erect, in ranks.

"I apologize, sir," the Hufflepuff replied. "Professor McGonagall held me behind for questioning related to my hedgehog."

"Well, you damn well better have a note."

Abelmore strode forward, his back straight and his step measured, and handed a note to Hannah Abbott, the seventh year prefect. She eyed him sharply, then had a look at the parchment. "All right, you're clear," she growled. "But one more like this, and I'll have you scrubbing out the latrines with a toothbrush. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good!" Hannah barked. "Now get in line!"

Abelmore walked halfway back across the room and moved to fill in an empty spot in the ranks.

"Good," Hannah barked again. "Now listen up. Supreme Commander Sprout has just given the word that the time for our move has come. In three weeks, we will launch Operation: Mighty, Mighty Hufflepuff. Now, five years of preparation and reconnaissance have gone into this, and I'll be damned if one of you rats is going to muck it up, so beginning tonight, we're doing intensive, specialized training—And what the hell is it, Finch-Fletchly?!"

Justin Finch-Fletchly lowered his hand. "I was just wondering, sir, if you could explain for the benefit of the reader what Operation: Mighty, Mighty Hufflepuff is intended to accomplish. Sir."

Hannah glared at him. "Are the readers Hufflepuffs, Major?"

Justin shrugged. "Statistically speaking," he replied, "at least some of them should be."

"Then they already know the plan, and the rest don't need to!" Hannah snapped. "How in Merlin's name did you get to be an officer? If you want to act like a fucking enlisted man, I'll treat you like one! You're on potato-peeling duty for the rest of the month, and in the meantime, drop and give me two hundred and fifty!"

"Let's get the hell out of here," Bonfoy breathed.

"No kidding!"

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I must confess (no, I'm Protestant, but thanks for asking), I never actually thought about what Snape would do to me on account of this story. If he does manage to hunt me down, I think he'd actually have far more to say to me about the damage done to him in "The Selkirk Grace", and this might be the story that gets me off on a mitigating-circumstances plea. So really, if you run into Snape, send him my way; I'd love to hear what he thinks.