Author's Note: Going back and updating some minor aspects of the fic over the next few days. Mostly to fix grammatical and timeline issues (Care of Magical Creatures club is supposed to be on Tuesday evenings, not Thursday.) If you've made it this far, then I hope you're enjoying the fic.
"How many of them do you know?"
The Durmstrang delegations have been at Hogwarts for all of an hour, and already, Magnus wishes that they would go back home.
Surprisingly, he isn't as upset as he thought he'd be upon learning that none of them are his friends. Not that he was really expecting any of them to come. Just like he hasn't been expecting any letters. No, that hope died towards the end of summer. He thought that at least Per would have been willing to send his owl, Ragnar, once or twice.
So much for best friends and allies.
But even the darkened, weak-chinned face of Headmaster Karkaroff sparks nothing in him. He expected to feel a rejuvenated sense of pride at having been at Durmstrang for the first three years of his educational career. He expected to be happy to see someone, anyone from his old school, even if it was Krum (who Magnus had never spoken to, but of course he damn well recognized the most famous student at Durmstrang).
But no. All he feels is nothing.
"I know of several," he answers Hannah, stabbing a fork into his mashed potatoes. "I am not friends with any of them." He hopes the venom in his words will push them away from continuing to ask questions.
"Oh, I'm sorry…"
Merritt not-so-subtly takes a gander at the Durmstrang delegations, and whistles lowly. "They aren't half-bad looking, though."
"You've got that right," says Susan.
Magnus would rather never look at them again. He chooses to not turn around, especially when Hannah notes that they're sitting at the Slytherin table.
"I can't believe Krum's here," says Macmillan. "Didn't know he was still in school, reckon he'd just graduated…"
He wonders how oblivious to the outside world the student populace is. "How can you not know?"
"Shove off, Hexberg. Why don't you go sit with them, they're all with the bloody snakes. You'd fit right in."
"Ernie," says Susan, puckering her lips as if she just bit into a lemon.
Magnus considers the possibility of doing just that, getting up and away from the Hufflepuff table and sitting himself beside Draco and Krum. Draco would likely be flabbergasted; they haven't had a chance to talk much in the last week or so. Not that the Malfoy heir is making all that much of an effort. No, he seems much more preoccupied by Regina - who, funnily enough, seems determined to still not talk to Magnus.
He didn't think she'd take that much offense to a simple word. But she always had Gryffindorish tendencies, including holding a grudge for far too long.
"If he'd fit right in," says Maxine O'Flaherty, a fifth-year, "then he'd be with the Slytherins, wouldn't he?"
Macmillan mumbles something about the Sorting Hat being wrong before digging into his mountain of mashed potatoes. Magnus's hands get a tad too clammy for his liking. Did he ever really belong in Slytherin?
As the weeks pass, he becomes more and more uncertain.
The Goblet of Fire is beautiful.
Friday morning has dawned uncharacteristically lovely, blue skies and decent temperatures. The natural light that filters through the windows of the Great Hall make the Goblet glitter, glimmer, and glow.
Regina considers, very heavily, attempting to find some way around it. There has to be.
She hadn't the slightest of interest at the beginning of term. Neither did Magnus, considering his lack of discussion about it.
But with Beauxbatons and Durmstrang here, and with the way the Goblet looks, and with the way everyone's speaking of the Triwizard Tournament…
She thinks of what winning could do for her. The glory, the fame, the knowledge that she accomplished something all on her own, with no help from her family…
Then there's the prize money. One thousand galleons would be more than enough to leave Wizarding Britain behind. Maybe Wizarding Norway, too. The United States would be more than welcome to let her in; maybe their national Quidditch team would be willing to let her play, she's not too picky about what team lets her in…
"I know what you're thinking," says Blaise, who has chosen to sit beside her for breakfast. "I thought of it, too. But Dumbledore's wicked brilliant for a Light user. He's undoubtedly come up with workarounds for everything we'll think of."
Regina's mouth thins out. She supposes Blaise would have a lot to gain from winning. Just as she's under the shadow of her father, he's under the shadow of his mother. "If only they'd give us a chance. I bet you we're more talented than have the sixth and seventh years."
"I've seen you in class," he says blandly, "and you're decent at Charms, but not much else."
Sitting diagonally across from her, Tracey stifles a laugh.
She wishes she could explain it to him, how stifling Durmstrang was, how she's still somewhat stifled now, surrounded by so much Dark magic in Slytherin. Every time she performs a bit of magic, she's working harder than the rest of them but producing half the results. It's not as much of an issue as it was at her old school. No, the main concern now is simply learning how to actually use her magic as it is, without the heavy restrictions of Durmstrang.
But explaining that to a pureblooded son is like explaining Quadpot to Magnus; it's a waste of time.
"If I offended you, I'm sorry." He sounds genuine. It's considered uncouth for wizards of their standing to remark negatively on the magical skills of a witch. There are some Lords who would refuse to wed their sons to her if they knew Regina's skills were, thus far, only average.
She looks over at Blaise, and there's a look on his face that she can't quite discern. "You didn't."
He quirks an eyebrow at her. In that moment, she's glad she spluttered out his name to Daphne a few weeks ago. He truly is handsome, all long lashes and high cheekbones. "Happy to hear that. The last thing I want to do is cause bad blood between the Hexbergs and the Zabinis."
No, of course he wouldn't. When he is Lord Zabini and Magnus is Lord Hexberg, life will go a lot smoother if they're playing for the same team. He might have Warrington and Vaisey on his side, but Magnus will have Draco and Theo, and the latter two's families are a lot more influential than the former.
Secondly - and Regina's not sure how big of a role this plays - there's the chance she will be betrothed to him.
That's a lucrative prospect to the Zabinis. He'd be a fool to destroy that in any capacity.
"I am doubtful that we shall ever be on bad terms." That's tentative. She knows that Blaise is aware of her view on muggles and muggleborns. She knows that Blaise's mother was not a Death Eater, per say, but certainly was a follower, and sympathetic to the Dark Lord's cause.
Blaise holds the exact same views as Bianca Zabini. To assume otherwise would make Regina a fool. She is many things, but she isn't that.
"Ah, I can sleep well at night, knowing I've yet to damage our relationship." Blaise gets up from the table. "I'm going to class. Do you care to follow?"
"I suppose," Regina says. As she leaves the Great Hall, she sneaks one last glance at the Goblet, and envisions how wonderful her life would be if she had a thousand Galleons that didn't come from the Hexberg vault.
My disappointment in you is overwhelming.
It is not the fact that you were sorted into Hufflepuff. While this is a great disappointment, this can be utilized to our advantage, even if it is not ideal. You are aware of the pureblooded children there; they may not be as prestigious as us, but none are despicable.
No, my disappointment in you is because you have proven yourself to be little more than a child. I was under the impression that your mother and I raised you better. To demand a resorting in the manner that you have is unbecoming of your status. You will not be resorted. You will not go back to Durmstrang. I suggest you put both ideas out of your mind, and focus on cultivating alliances.
Furthermore: I know you believe in the strength of our lineage and of blood purity. Unfortunately, England is not as sympathetic of such matters as the rest of Europe often is. The only thing you are achieving with every petty fight you get into due to your arrogance is further displacement among your peers. Should we stay in this country once you're of age, they will remember how you treated them, and our standing could be decimated.
If you continue to behave in such a juvenile manner, then I shall have no choice but to reconsider your status as heir. Prove to me that you are better than this.
Magnus's stomach feels like it's sinking into the ground with every line of careful cursive that he reads.
His fathers' letter is carefully crafted, but blunt enough that it stings. He wishes that Father had decided not to write him at all; surely, that would hurt less than…this.
He knows that Father is biting his tongue about his sorting. Likely, Magnus will hear it all when he goes back home for Christmas.
But it is finally confirmed by the one person who would have the most influence on the entire affair: he's stuck in Hufflepuff.
It's not even that that's bothering him anymore, funnily enough. As uncomfortable as the realization was, Magnus knows that, were he to be resorted, it would have happened within the first few months of the term. No, somewhere along the way, he made peace with the fact that he was going to graduate as a Hufflepuff.
It's the tone of the letter, the condescension, the petulance of his words. It's the uncertainty of how he'd fare in Slytherin that's been haunting him whenever he begins to think about it. He can imagine Father spitting them out of his mouth in that tone he reserves for when he's truly disappointed in any of his children. He remembers being seven, nine, twelve and shrinking into himself whilst standing in Father's study, trembling and wide-eyed and -
He stops eating breakfast. Suddenly, he can no longer stomach marmalade on toast and scrambled eggs. He shoves his plate a few inches away from him.
"What's wrong?" asks Merritt. The conversation that the others were having concerning who will be the Hogwarts champion has, quite suddenly, died down. Her eyes flicker to the letter that's still in Magnus's hands. Vaguely, he can see several others - Susan, Wayne, Megan - staring at it as well.
He folds it up into a tiny square. "Nothing. Everything is fine."
"You don't sound fine," she says, narrowing her eyes. "Is everything alright?"
"Even if I was not fine, it is none of your business," Magnus says.
Before Merritt can respond, Hannah plucks the letter out of his hand, unfolding it as she does. Her brow begins to crumple as she reads; Susan and Merritt are peering over her shoulders, making a similar expression.
"Blimey, your dad sure is a prick. That's the scariest thing I could have ever read on Hallowe'en." Hannah flicks the letter down onto the table. No one picks it up.
Merritt nods sagely. "No wonder you're the way you are."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Magnus asks.
"You're also a prick." Megan Jones spears a sausage rather viciously. "But it's kind of justified, seeing what you've got to deal with at home."
Something fierce swells up in his chest, hot and livid. "My father is merely being a proper Lord. My behavior has been uncouth for a pureblooded wizard and heir to our name. He has merely…shown me the error of my ways."
There's a neutral look on Susan's face that he can't quite decipher. At least the girls sitting beside her are much more easily figured out: the downward curve of Hannah's mouth, the pursing of Merritt's, the raising of Megan's eyebrows. Even Wayne looks concerned.
It's Finch-Fletchley who punctuates the awkward silence among the fourth-year Hufflepuffs. "Alright, then. My galleons are still on Cedric being our champion."
The conversation resumes, though it is stifled and awkward. Magnus's stomach still churns, and he can't help but notice the lingering glances that several of the Hufflepuffs seem to give him.
"Happy Hallowe'en," says Draco, falling into step with Regina as she walks to the Great Hall for lunch. "Does your family even celebrate?"
The bridge of her nose crinkles. Lord Hexberg has always notoriously abstained from genuinely practicing any holidays. He knows this.
Even if she doesn't celebrate Hallowe'en, Regina can still appreciate the effort that's been put into decorating the Great Hall. Large pumpkins are floating high into the air, surrounded by a litany of candlesticks. As soon as she walks into the room, the overwhelming scent of cinnamon and pumpkin fills her nose.
The Durmstrang delegations are still sitting at the Slytherin table. She feels lucky that they all choose to sit with the upper year students, the sixteen and seventeen year olds who are as magically competent as they are. None of them spare a second glance at Regina as she sits down. She's even grateful that Draco has decided to sit by her, as is customary at this point.
"Not particularly," answers Regina as she spears a chicken breast. "We hardly celebrate Christmas, let alone any of the others."
Everyone from Durmstrang must be somewhat confused. They don't celebrate Hallowe'en at all at the Institute. No, in Eastern Europe, the practicing of the old religion is much more common and less taboo than it is in Wizarding Britain. She has no doubt that, after the Goblet of Fire ceremony, at least half of the delegations will leave the castle past curfew to partake in a Samhain ritual.
"Y'don't celebrate Christmas?" says Goyle, his plate piled high with sausage patties and biscuits.
"We do. It is a lot more subdued than your festivities," she replies coolly. They never had more than a few gifts each, generally things like new robes or jewelry with their house sigil on it. Father insists that it's to keep them aware of their status. Usually after that, they would attend the Malfoy's Christmas party later in the evening. Christmas, much like everything else in the Hexberg household, revolved around pureblood culture.
Regina doesn't enjoy holidays very much. She'd much rather have gotten a new broomstick than literally anything that Father and Mother have ever bestowed to her.
Somewhere in the middle of the table, she catches Erik staring, wide-eyed, at the Durmstrang students. Krum, in particular, is describing an incredible Quidditch maneuver that he performed, the Tornado Twist, in a match against Denmark. This is the only time any of the lower year Slytherins interact with them - in brief moments in the Great Hall, in the hallways, perhaps in the library.
She wonders how he would have fared at the institute. Frankly, she thought he would have floundered in Slytherin, but he's…thriving. Regina doesn't see her younger brother that often, but every time she has, it seems as if Erik's made another little friend, or decided he's going to gain a new title (the latest was Supreme Mugwump). He's integrated seamlessly into a tight knit circle of pureblooded children, Astoria Greengrass and Laurel Rooks and Capricorn Selwyn.
Regina would be proud, but Erik seems to already be idolizing Draco, and that can only lead him down a mindset she would rather him not partake in.
As she shakes her head, Theo says, "Heard Warrington put his name in the Goblet."
"He better get it," Draco says, "I'd much rather root for a fellow Slytherin. Imagine if a Gryffindor is the one to get chosen? I might just hope Durmstrang wins so I can avoid cheering one of them on…"
Out of pure spite, she hopes that Johnson girl from Gryffindor does get picked. She wouldn't mind, even if it seems like the rest of the Gryffindors hate Regina purely because she was sorted into Slytherin. (The dirty look that the Weasley boy throws her in Potions whenever he gets a chance makes her skin crawl.)
At the word 'Durmstrang', Draco's eyes go from the delegations to Magnus, sitting surrounded by his fellow housemates. "When's your father going to get him resorted?"
"I don't know," lies Regina. She knows damn well that their father isn't going to entertain the idea, but telling that to Draco only serves to piss him off. Though, something about the entire affair must be pissing him off; he hasn't spoken to Magnus for at least a week.
"He's out there, willingly talking to those people." He isn't looking at her brother any longer, but rather the redheaded girl sitting beside him, who Magnus seems to be actually conversing with instead of ignoring. "Does he realize who that is? Her aunt wanted to throw both our fathers into Azkaban and have us adopted out…"
Daphne rolls her eyes. "Are you blind? He's surely trying to get into her good graces. He can't foster alliances in Slytherin as freely as he can in Hufflepuff. Bones is a goody two-shoes, but she's pureblooded and she'll have connections when she's of age."
"I don't see why he needs her connections," says Draco, "when he'll have all the connections he'll ever need from Slytherin."
"Same reason the Dark Lord recruited from all houses," Theo interjects in a voice low enough that only those close by are able to hear.
Their part of the table goes uncharacteristically silent. A wave of unease ripples down Regina's spine at the mention of You-Know-Who. It's a known societal expectation: you never bring up what your parents did during the war.
No one else speaks for the rest of lunch. She is grateful.
"Hannah says you're coming to our club," Susan says, piercing through the silence.
Magnus and Susan have decided to spend their free period in one of the many courtyards. It isn't a conscious decision to relax together; Magnus wanted to get away from the common room, and it just so happened that the emptiest courtyard he could find happened to have Susan there, too.
He's sitting on a bench, taking advantage of the natural sunlight to read instead of reading by candlelight. She's perched on the edge of a nearby fountain, focusing on a canvas that's been propped up on an easel stand.
"Only for one meeting." It seems that Hannah has been so elated with the prospect of getting Magnus to do more than the bare minimum that she's been telling almost every Hufflepuff who makes eye contact with her.
She looks up from her painting, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiles. "I think it's a great idea. You'll have a lot of fun. I didn't know you were interested in magizoology; I would have invited you earlier if I did."
He looks at Susan's latest work. It seems as if she's always working on a new one. This time, it's a pumpkin patch, rows and rows of bulbous orange spheres surrounded by winding green vines. In the distance, he can make out an apple orchard. "I was under the impression I would not be in Hufflepuff for very long."
"I'm glad you weren't put in Slytherin," she says. "And I'm glad that you weren't resorted."
Magnus attempts to ignore the soft kindness in her voice. "I am still undecided on how I feel about it."
There are things about Hufflepuff that he almost - almost - enjoys. When he's around his childhood friends, there's the constant talk of politics, of expectations, of things far beyond the realm of Hogwarts. He knows his duty, knows what's expected of him, knows that this par for the course around purebloods. And he doesn't mind it; it's his birthright.
But…he can appreciate the fact that Hufflepuffs don't always talk about it. He doesn't like how they look down on pureblood culture, how Merritt and Macmillan mercilessly mock it, but he likes how their lives aren't entirely centred around it.
He likes how none of them really know Father, either. If Magnus ever says something unwise in the company of Draco or Theo, it's likely to get back to Lord Hexberg - and he always dreads those conversations. No, as far as he knows, the closest tie anyone in Hufflepuff's got to him is Madam Bones, Susan's aunt. Even then, he's not sure of all the details.
Not to mention - he doesn't hate any of the Hufflepuff girls in his year. They may be too eager to hang out with him at all times, and Merritt is kind of annoying, but they're not bad people. He's not too keen on most of the boys - though Zacharias, as haughty as he is, has slowly been attempting to converse with him more. Wayne's a decent enough fellow, too, even if he complains about the Slytherins and Ravenclaws too much.
"What else do you like?" Susan asks, pulling Magnus out of his thoughts. "I've never - you know, you've been here for two months, we see each other every day, but I don't know a whole lot about you."
In her defense, he'd kept relatively silent for the first month, and most of his conversations in the second have been deflective. But the letter from Father - he has to make alliances. He has to cultivate lasting bonds with highborn wizards and witches, even if they're not a group he would usually willingly be around.
So he ponders her question.
He loves magical creatures of all kinds. He's interested in runes, mostly because he wants to get into the curse-breaking classes that are introduced in sixth and seventh year. He likes Quidditch well enough, but he's not quite as obsessed as Regina is. Most of all, he likes to read. The Hexberg Manor - both the one in Norway and the one in England - has a vast, seemingly never-ending library, full of books that the Ministry either wants to ban or has outright banned.
"Reading," he says. "I enjoy reading."
"I know that, silly, you've always got your head in some book that no one's touched in half a century." Her words are teasing. "You'd make a spot on Ravenclaw."
His nose twitches. "I am a Hexberg. I would succeed anywhere."
She rolls her eyes, but her smile's soft. "Well, what do you like reading about?"
"I enjoy reading about everything," Magnus says noncommittally.
"What're you reading right now, then?" Susan peers over at him and tries to look at the cover of the book in his hands.
His eyes light up; he sits straight up. "The history of wizarding pirates. They smuggled illegal potions ingredients and Galleons out of the Caribbean."
Magnus launches into a detailed explanation of the chapter he's on, which discusses the various ports that wizards had opened up in Nassau and Port Royal and how Jamaica and the Bahamas were instrumental in the utilization of ground-up megalodon teeth for potions. He isn't certain whether his reiteration of the Golden Age of Magical Piracy's contents really makes sense to anyone besides him, but if Susan's lost, she doesn't let on. Instead, she continues gently prodding him along in the conversation, asking questions that she seems to realize he can answer in depth. At some point, she moves away from her easel and artwork, perching herself on the other end of the bench, scooting closer until -
"Great Circe's cauldron," says Merritt, "is that Magnus Hexberg smiling? It must be the end of the world."
He blinks, taken aback as his ramblings have been interrupted so suddenly. When he looks up at Merritt, the smile on his face has been wiped off. "I can smile."
"Bah," says Merritt, running a hand through her hair. Behind her are Wayne and Finch-Fletchley. "Always so serious."
Susan's mouth twitches into a frown.
"What are you even doing out here?" Magnus asks. "Do you not have better things to do than pester me?"
"Relax," Finch-Fletchley says. "We're just passing by."
"Heard there was some sorta secret passageway on the fifth floor," says Wayne.
Finch-Fletchley smiles - or smirks, rather. "We want to see where it leads."
"If it leads," Merritt finishes. "You two can come along, if you'd like…"
Susan shakes her head. "No, thank you. Please tell us if you find anything after, though."
The brunette smiles - a genuine smile, too, no smirking bullshit. "You got it, Susie. Happy Hallowe'en, you two; see you both in the common room. We'll have to celebrate if Cedric gets to be the Hogwarts champion..."
With that, the three of them wander away, Wayne leading the conversation on whether the upper years will slip them firewhiskey if Cedric gets picked. Merritt flicks her wand and mutters something under her breath. Moments later, Susan's acrylics have been covered up with their tin covers to keep them from drying up completely.
"She's right," Susan says, once they're alone again, "I don't think I've ever seen you smile."
His fingertips start running up and down the leather spine of his book. "I do not have a lot of things to smile about."
And he doesn't. Magnus is discombobulated; he's been berated heavily by his father, threatened with being disinherited no less, and his Slytherin friends haven't talked to him much lately. It's like the world has been turned on its' axis for him. In a way it has, ever since that damned Hat was put on his head and he was sorted into-
"Well, it's Hufflepuff." She says that like their house solves anything and everything. Maybe for her, it does.
But not for him.
(Most likely.)
The rest of the day goes smoothly for both of the twins. Double Potions is cut in half, which is great, because Regina keeps messing up. (Daphne has to fix the mistakes she's made thrice in the span of twenty minutes.) On the way to dinner, she fantasizes about the glory winning the Triwizard Tournament would bring to her.
Magnus and Susan spend the rest of their free period discussing wizarding history and painting techniques. Her painting goes untouched; his book goes unread. By the time they go to the Great Hall for dinner, Magnus almost - almost - finds himself consciously acknowledging that he's enjoying her presence.
Then, of course - because Merlin and the universe can't allow either of them to be happy with no complications whatsoever - Potter's name comes out of the Goblet.
His name shoots out, and silence falls across the Great Hall as Headmaster Dumbledore reads it aloud.
His name shoots out, and for once, the Slytherins and the Hufflepuffs are unified:
Fuck Potter.