Disclaimer: My sole contributions to the Harry Potter universe are the Lochrin, Stebbens, Davitt, Bradley, Finn, Prewett, and Foster. The Hufflepuffs – notably Korvil, Grassik, Branstone, and Madley, but also the here-unnamed boy who screams and passes out – belong to Quilynn, whose story, as I have said before, you should all read. Everything else belongs to the original often-imitated-but-never-duplicated J.K. Rowling.


"What in Merlin's name makes you think you were winning?" growled Derek Foster as the three boys left the office and headed toward the Great Hall for lunch. "In case you didn't notice, I was beating you senseless!"

"You were more powerful," Richard admitted dismissively, "but I'm smarter. It would've been my advantage in the end. And you," he added to Tom. "Did you really tell Foster about me? 'Cause I happened to notice he was hexing anything that moved."

"I'd mentioned you, but no, he'd never said anything about doing this."

Richard stopped in his tracks, turning to face Tom. "You lied. You lied to Professor McGonagall to protect this worthless bully. And I went along with it so you wouldn't look like a liar. Why?"

Tom shrugged, looking a bit surprised at how angry Richard was. "Fewer points off Gryffindor. It's not that big a deal."

"Maybe if you want to help your house you should talk the prat into not hexing first years."

"Hey," Foster cut him off, "Don't act like I'm not here. And don't act like I'm the only one getting off light. I didn't tell anyone you had a second wand."

"A what?" Tom said in surprise.

"I have a back-up wand," Richard explained curtly. "It's my old one, from Roderick's in Knockturn Alley."

Both Gryffindors stared in surprise. "You have a Knockturn Alley wand?" Foster asked.

"Why do you have a Knockturn Alley wand?" Tom cut to the more important – and less obvious – part.

Gryffindors. Everything has to be so black-and-white, as though half of what was available in Knockturn Alley doesn't have purely academic uses. "Originally, because Ollivander's won't sell you one until you get your Hogwarts letter and my parents didn't want me to wait that long; now, because between Gryffindor bullies and Slytherin ones a Ravenclaw needs all the protection he can get."

Tom might have been smart enough to let it go at that, but Foster wouldn't stop. "Knockturn Alley," the bully repeated. "You have a wand from Dark Arts Central. I always knew Ravenclaw and Slytherin were close, but I didn't know it ran that deep."

"Think what you like," answered Richard scornfully. "If you can call what happens in your head thinking. There's more to the school than your idiot fight, but I don't expect you to be smart enough to see it. A plague on both your houses." Both Gryffindors looked at him oddly, not getting it, and Richard reminded himself that they were, after all, Gryffindors. With a sigh and a dismissive wave of his hand, he turned and walked away.


"Hey Runt," Tom interrupted Richard's reading that evening in the library.

"Oaf," Richard answered, motioning his friend to take a seat.

"Thanks again for going along with my story earlier," the taller boy said, taking the chair.

"You're welcome."

Tom waited a moment for him to elaborate; Richard went back to his reading. Sighing, he pressed on, "Are you mad at me, Runt?"

"No," Richard said, putting his book down. "Just confused. Why bother helping Foster?"

"Mainly because Gryffindor has about five house points left as it is. A little bit because he and I just got our own fight worked out and I didn't want him getting in a feud with you instead."

"Why not? I couldn't care less if he wants to try it. He's a bully, an idiot, and a prat, and I wouldn't mind getting another shot at him." Richard was clearly still angry; normally he was neither violent nor dumb enough to deny it when he lost.

Shaking his head, Tom made one last effort at reasoning with him. "Runt, you don't want to fight him. Did you not notice when he broke your shield?"

"I'll have to learn a little more," the other boy admitted, "but I'll get him in the end. Gryffindor dumb luck runs out eventually, and intelligence doesn't." Tom shot him a slightly more than half-serious look at slur on his house. "No offense, Oaf," Richard said, dismissing the matter.

"I'll let it pass this time," Tom said. But only because your pride is bad enough as it is.

Some of the frustration must have shown, because Richard offered a rare compliment. "I didn't mean you. Whatever I may think of Gryffindors generally, you have enough loyalty and decency to be in Hufflepuff. If only you had a little more common sense and a better work ethic, you probably would be."

"When did common sense become a Hufflepuff quality?" Tom asked, somewhat confused.

"It didn't, lack of it is what makes you a Gryffindor, though you lot call it 'courage.'"

Gritting his teeth, Tom decided it was best to change the subject. But when he's calmed down a bit, we are going to have a long talk on respecting my house. "So how was the rest of your day?"

"Not bad," Richard answered, leaning back in his chair. "Stebbens and Lochrin were playing for a while in the common room – I don't know if I told you, they put together kind of a pick-up band in Ravenclaw, but these two were the only ones free this afternoon. I played a few games of chess – tied Stebbens twice more and beat Lochrin and Bradley. Since then I've mostly been working on homework." He indicated the book he'd been reading. "Just doing some research for a Potions essay. What've you been up to?"

"Eh, had Transfiguration after lunch. McGonogall was watching Foster – the younger one, that is – and me pretty closely. I think she suspects about the fight yesterday."

"The what?" asked Richard, sounding like he couldn't decide between disbelief and resignation.

Tom shrugged it off; Richard had been in his own fight today and had no room to talk. "Oh, during lunch the Fosters and I, well, worked out our differences. Prefect wound up having to get us some stuff from Pomfrey, and I think she got suspicious and told McGonogall."

Richard stared at him, apparently settling on disbelief. "You and two of your house mates skipped lunch in order to beat each other up?" he asked, sounding awfully surprised for someone who had only minutes ago been longing for a crack at Foster himself. Tom nodded. "By hand rather than magic, I suppose?" Tom nodded again. "And your prefect helped cover it up – don't tell me, to avoid losing house points." A third nod. Richard sighed, somewhat over-dramatically given how common fighting seemed to be at Hogwarts. "No offense, Oaf, but this isn't making me think any better of Gryffindor."

We are definitely going to talk about that one day soon. Standing, Tom waited until he was a few feet away to answer, "You know, Runt, you were the one just saying you wanted another chance at Foster. At least I'm letting it go." And turning the corner, he strode away with at least the satisfaction of getting the last word.


Richard's first class on Wednesday was Defense Against the Dark Arts, taken with Hufflepuff. Coming from the library where he'd been finishing Potions work, he was among the last to arrive; in fact, a quick glance showed everyone from Monday's charms class was present except for Korvil.

Professor Moody was truly frightening, his face marked with more scars than a wizard should ever have and one of his eyes a magical replacement, an electric blue orb that spun wildly, seeming to take in everything at once. "You'd be Davitt, then," he said when Richard arrived, his natural eye looking at a class list as the magical one lit briefly on Richard before continuing its spinning.

"Yes, sir," Davitt answered, sitting next to Lochrin.

"That's everyone, then. Let's get started."

Richard glanced around in confusion; Korvil was still absent, but he decided that if her house mates weren't going to say anything he wouldn't be the one to interrupt Moody. The professor began pacing along the front, starting from the Hufflepuff side and walking toward Ravenclaw; his spinning eye frequently vanished from Richard's view, turning to face the back of his skull. "In this class, you will learn the basics of how to defend yourself against dark wizards. I will teach you the spells, but I want you to understand that the best knowledge of magic is not sufficient defense if you do not pay attention. Dark wizards are not like dark creatures; they look no different from anyone else, so you never know when you will find yourself face to face with one – or worse, with your back to one. You must be prepared at all times." Spinning in place, he took a single long step to slam his palm on the desk of a Hufflepuff who had been staring out the window. "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

The entire class at least flinched, several people jumping in their seats; the Hufflepuff in front of Moody screamed, fell over backwards, and lay there without moving. "Now you see," Moody said in a surprising calm voice as the poor Hufflepuff's friends helped him back up, "if I had been a dark wizard I would have been able to hex half of you while you were gasping. I realize you're only eleven, but you're also wizards, and it's time you learned to act like it. You may not be able to beat an adult wizard yet, but I expect you to at least put up a fight." He paused, and his magical eye spun toward Richard. "Davitt, front and center."

Nervously, Richard went to the front.

"Your head of house tells me you already know the disarmament spell. Care to show it?" Moody held his wand out, pointed at Richard.

Richard drew his own wand, feeling more frightened than he ever had. Taking a deep breath, he pictured the moving image from Forty Basic Defensive Charms. Thrusting the wand at Moody, he cried,"Expelliarmus!"

Moody's wand twitched. Someone in the class snickered, but Richard was too mortified to notice who.

"That's unusual," the teacher noted calmly. "You've got the gesture and the incantation, but you need to put more feeling into it. Expelliarmus!" Moody's own spell easily pulled the wand from Richard's hand.

"Everyone repeat that charm," Moody said, handing back Richard's wand and putting his own away. "Expelliarmus!" The class echoed it back, and the Professor nodded. "That'll do to start. Make sure you put the accent in the right place or you'll get some interesting effects. Now pair off and practice.

"You have the idea," Moody added as an aside to Richard. "Don't feel too bad, it just takes some wizards longer than others to grow into their magic."

They spent the rest of the period working on the disarmament spell while Moody corrected problems. Despite already knowing the method for it, Richard took longer than anyone else to make the spell work; he had to shout and thrust as though he were trying to stab someone before the spell had enough power to take Lochrin's wand.

At the end, after Moody gave them a reading assignment for the next class, Richard chased down the Hufflepuffs to catch an old acquaintance, Eleanor Branstone. "Hey, Eleanor," he called as she went to turn the corner.

She glanced back, slowing to let him catch up. "Hi. Good showing today."

"Thanks. Not bad yourself." Richard was fairly sure that was true, knowing Eleanor; the lie was a step farther back, in the implication that he'd been paying attention to anything other than his own struggle. At any rate, it was polite.

"Oh, Laura, this is Richard Davitt," Eleanor introduced him to another Hufflepuff she'd been walking with. "His mom runs Bagshott's Books in Hogsmeade and I used to run into him there all the time. Richard, this is my friend Laura Madley." Laura nodded, a touch shyly, and Richard returned it.

"So how's Ravenclaw?" Eleanor asked politely.

"It's great. Kind of surprised not to see you there." Eleanor's parents had gone through Hogwarts with Richard's and all four had been Ravenclaw; hence the Branstone's frequent stops at the bookstore. "I'm glad to see that you're at least neither Gryffindor nor Slytherin," he added.

"I think I'm quite happy with Hufflepuff, actually," Eleanor said, glancing at her house mates who were running off to make various quick stops before lunch. "Nicest people in the school."

"Glad to hear it," Richard said. "If you don't mind my asking, is Korvil alright?"

He thought Eleanor's eyes had flicked toward the Grassik girl's back, but he might have imagined it. "Why do you ask?"

Curiosity, while certainly the most honest answer, hardly seemed the best thing to say. He went for the other part of the truth. "I hadn't expected her to still be gone. I thought maybe if she's having a problem, I could help." And if he could find anything, he certainly would; the fact that his altruism was secondary to his need to know everything was largely incidental.

Gesturing for him to follow, she headed off in the opposite direction from the rest of the class. "I don't want to spread any rumors," she said firmly. "Hannah's had enough trouble as it is."

"Of course," he agreed, though if Eleanor had a problem with the more harmless sort of gossip it would have to be a new one. "I just was wondering if I might know anything that'd help."

Eleanor nodded, glancing around and making sure the three of them were now alone in a side corridor. "Well," she started, then paused, glancing at Laura, who nodded slightly. Wanting to help seemed to be an acceptable reason to want information. "We don't actually know what happened. She said there was something wrong with her wand, but none of it made any sense. She had a really bad seizure or-"

"It wasn't a seizure," Laura corrected.

"-or I don't know what," Eleanor agreed, "but Madame Pomfrey couldn't fix it. Professor Sprout said she's at-" Laura elbowed her. "She said it's unclear if she's coming back," Eleanor finished quickly.

That, Richard reflected, left a lot of possibilities. One, he ran through it in his mind. Something really is wrong with the wand. One-A, the wand is not matched – Stebben's theory. One-B, mages don't do well with wands. One-C, Hannah has some personal problem – an allergy to the wood or something. Two, Hannah has another problem and got confused. Two-A, she had a seizure and mistook it for a reaction to the wand. Two-B, she has some sort of psychological problem. Two-C, she's a drama queen trying for attention.

Two-C was unlikely – Drama queens, from what Richard could tell, did not generally wind up in Hufflepuff. Two-A, Two-B, and One-C could be handled by whoever was seeing to her – if Madame Pomfrey couldn't handle it, presumably either St. Mungo's or its Mage equivalent. One-A would probably have been caught, assuming Pomfrey considered the possibility. Still . . . "Do you know if she got the wand herself? I wouldn't think it's a hand-me-down or anything, with her being mage-born and all."

"She never said," Eleanor answered after a moment, apparently not wanting to say more than necessary. If it were a problem with that particular wand, Richard thought, it should've been a quick fix. Or even if there was some lasting harm, it won't be anything consistent enough for me to help. Stebbens had said anything could happen with mismatched wands. I guess I'll look into it from the mage angle.

"Well, if I find anything that'd help I'll let you know." Eleanor smiled and thanked him, though her friend – Madley – looked like she was amused at the idea that an eleven-year-old would find something the staff didn't know. "In he meantime, if you see her tell her we're all hoping she feels better soon."