Author's Note: Though certainly not required, reviews or favorites would be much appreciated. :) I see at least a few of you reading this - thanks for sticking with me so far. While I write this for myself, I'm happy to see other people are enjoying it, too.

"I can't believe they made us walk," Draco bemoans. "Really, they ought to let us fly our brooms, it'd be quicker…"

"It was a fifteen-minute walk. I think you'll survive." Daphne is in no mood for his shit. She adjusts her scarf, a sour expression on her face.

"A broom would be better," says Pansy. "Oh - but I don't have one, Draco, you'd have to let me hold onto you…"

Tracey wrinkles her nose like she's smelled something particularly foul. Theo gives Pansy a look as if he worries she's gone mad. Regina has to thin her lips out to refrain from cackling in the middle of town.

"Yeah, Draco," says Millicent. "Let Pansy ride your broom."

His face turns an interesting shade of red that certainly isn't caused by the cold weather. The rest of the group laughs as they make their way to the left side of the village.

Hogsmeade is charming, really. Regina adores all of it almost as soon as she and the rest of the fourth-year Slytherins step foot. It's the personification of cozy, with its cobblestone streets and warm atmosphere. The wizards here wear garb that is much more colourful than in Norway; their robes are purple or vermilion. Familiars of all kinds meander the streets; there's a black cat, for example, licking its' paws in front of Tomes & Scrolls.

Of course, she would adore it more if Pansy wasn't simpering behind her. And if Draco hadn't consistently been asking for all the minute details of her personal life for the past forty-eight hours. And if Blaise wasn't looking at her like she's something to eat.

But she can overlook all that when she's staring at Spintwitches Sporting Needs, the shop adjacent to Dervish and Banges. Especially when she's staring at the latest model of the Rodstok 820, which was purported to have not only a top speed of a hundred kilometers an hour but had patented "EZ-Break" technology that made descending and disembarking from it a breeze.

Regina almost immediately breaks free of the crowd to briskly walk over.

"Look at it," she says to no one in particular as she steps up to the window display. It's beautiful: the broomstick handle is carved from a deep red-tinted wood. It looks sharp, sleek. She envisions herself riding it, bringing her team to victory at the Quidditch International World Cup…

Blaise is by her side, his hands stuffed in his pea coat. "It's alright, I suppose, but I never was one for Quidditch."

"I can't imagine a life without it." She thinks of one match she was in last year, where a Bludger narrowly missed her head by a few centimeters - but the shock of it nearly hitting her was enough to make her fall off her broom. Luckily, she'd had a moment of quick reflexes that allowed her to grab onto the end of it with one hand, and thus could safely descend that way.

But even then, at one of the most dangerous moments of her fledgling Quidditch career, she didn't consider leaving the sport altogether.

Not once.

He may not like Quidditch, but Blaise doesn't complain as Regina enters the shop. Instead, he patiently follows her around like a lovesick mooncalf as she goes from dragonhide Beater gloves to the sleeker, faster Silver Snitch to the various broom enchantment kits that promise everything from invisibility to guaranteed winning of a Quidditch match ("Not approved of by the Ministry or the International Quidditch League; use at your own discretion.").

Somewhere along the way, he grabs her hand - not forcefully, but gently, intertwining their fingers.

Regina supposes this is the time when she ought to feel butterflies floating around in her stomach, the crushing weight of being infatuated pressing down on her chest. Like she did with…with some boys at Durmstrang.

But Blaise is holding her hand and she feels nothing. Shouldn't she feel something? Is this what the rest of her life will be like if it turns out she is arranged to marry him? Nothingness, neutrality?

Something in her stomach clenches uncomfortably. She wishes she could get her hands on a Time Turner to tell Blaise that, no, they will not be going out on a date, thank you very much.

Alas, she can't do that.

It's just one date. She'll survive.

In the window of Borgin & Burkes, Magnus sees his reflection, and the first thing he thinks is that his face is awfully pink.

All in all, he looks rather…Hufflepuff. He hasn't cut his hair since the beginning of term; it's unkempt, falling a little past his ears. The hat that his mother insisted he bring makes his hair stick out at odd ends in the back. He's got on the SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY badge that Susan had given him a few days ago. The sweater he's wearing is a soft shade of butterscotch; originally, however, it was green, bought in anticipation that he'd be in Slytherin.

But he's not. He's a Hufflepuff, and he's not walking with Draco and Regina and Theo, like he most certainly is in another world. No, he's with just Hannah, and somehow - somehow that's better.

On the walk to Hogsmeade, the two of them began to trail behind the throng of students. They weren't so far back that any of the chaperons would have told them to hurry up, just enough so that they could talk without having to deal with everyone else's chatter.

Plus, Megan, Merritt, and Susan kept glancing their way, and the knowing smiles on their faces made Magnus feel somewhat uneasy.

But that's irrelevant, because the girls have gone off on their own adventure. Thank Merlin, too; he'd seen Macmillan and Finch-Fletchley decide to follow along, and the last thing he wants to deal with is them.

"Honeydukes first," Hannah announces, immediately turning left.

The candy store is colourful, with bright oranges and purples and greens, with sweets from all across the wizarding world. There's the usual fare: chocolate frogs, every flavour beans, giant lollies, and jelly slugs. But in the corner of a store is a display labeled "TRY ME - I'M NEW!". There's Cajun Crawlies, which promise to make you breathe fire as you bite into a spicy gummy shaped like a bug; Magical Stroopwaffels that change colour with every bite; and…

"Wow," Magnus breathes out, reaching out and grabbing a bar of chocolate. The packaging is yellow, with a troll sleeping beside the logo. "Trollmannssjokolade."

"Bless you," Hannah says. She's reading the back of a package of Everfloating Bubble Gum.

"I did not sneeze. This is - it's the best chocolate in magical Scandinavia."

She looks up at him, quirking a brow. "The best? I'll have to try some."

And she does a few minutes later, once they've made their respective purchases and they're standing outside the shop (a smart idea - the store was beginning to get a bit too crowded for Hannah's liking). They both agree that the best part is the fact that eating even a tiny sliver makes your entire body go warm.

"Must be useful when you live in such a cold climate," Hannah says.

A pang of homesickness hits Magnus. Surprisingly, his yearning to return to Durmstrang has slowly faded - it's become a distant ebb rather than a gaping wound. But Norway? He always misses Norway. He misses the saltiness of the sea air during the summer and the way the cold never really left your bones during the winter. He misses dinners where reindeer stew was regularly served and exploring the vastness of the Norwegian Sea.

To stave away that particular emptiness, he asks, "Where are Merritt and Susan?"

"I think they're at Zonko's? We'll catch up to 'em eventually." Hannah waves a hand dismissively toward him after unwrapping one of her sweets. "Now, open your mouth."

He looks at her, brow furrowed, as they begin to walk.

"Seven-layer fudge," Hannah says. "The sprinkles on 'em pop. They feel like fireworks in your mouth. S'really good."

As she breaks off a piece, Magnus stretches his hand out to take it, mouth slightly open. Instead of handing it to him, she pops it into his mouth. Almost immediately, the sprinkles begin to crackle and fizz pleasantly.

"Wasn't I right?"

He nods. It's delicious, but then again, almost every sweet is.

She grabs his hand, briefly, gives it a light squeeze, then just as quickly pulls away. "Y'wanna see the bookstore?"

His eyes light up; they're like that even when they're in Tomes & Scrolls several minutes later. His head is tilted as he looks at the various titles. "What to Expect When You're Expecting Expelliarmus, A Brief History of Orcs from 1190 to 1583, A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner of Ancient Runes…These books are fascinating."

"Aren't they? I'm not a big reader, but even I find half a dozen books I want to buy every time I stop in…"

They spend a great deal of time in comfortable silence. Magnus would be perfectly happy to stay in this shop forever, but he doesn't have endless amounts of money or time. Especially because, as the minutes tick past, Hannah goes from curious about what's newly stocked to anxiously peering at the giant orange building across the street.

"What's that?"

"Zonko's," she says, heavy reverence in the way she says its name. "Even if you aren't into pranks, it's bloody brilliant in there."

After making a brief mental note of what to purchase next time they come to Hogsmeade, Magnus reluctantly allows himself to be pulled away from the bookstore and into the joke shop.

"You look murderous. Who upset you?"

Regina's right nostril flares slightly as she continues to stare at a package of Whizzing Whirlies. Everything in Honeyduke's is bright, over-saturated with every colour of the rainbow. It nearly gives her a headache.

But it's an improvement from the last store, looking at instruments of all kinds and sorts. Blaise has always been enamoured with music; she remembers him being able to play the piano from a very young age. But classical music doesn't interest her; in fact, it bores her to tears. The only songs Regina enjoys are played on the wizarding radio.

So, while Blaise is looking fervently at the new piano the store recently stocked, Regina decided to slip away. It's hypocritical of her since he amused her love of Quidditch, but she couldn't tolerate another moment of him holding her hand. Not that she dislikes Blaise. Not really. She dislikes his viewpoint on muggles and muggleborns, but not him.

No, she dislikes what this date has represented: the banality of the rest of her life.

Which is why she's looking at British wizarding sweets, trying to distract herself from thinking about her future. And apparently looks murderous while doing so.

She doesn't make eye contact with Draco. "No one upset me."

"You're an awful liar," he says casually. "You would've made a wonderful Gryffindork."

"Don't you have to take Pansy to Madam Puddifoot's?"

"Thankfully, Puddifoot's is closed for renovations." He snorts. "Pansy is downright mutinous. She's with Bulstrode looking at clothes, something about wanting to see what the spring styles will be. What about Zabini? Where's your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend."

She grits her teeth as she sets the Whirlies down on the shelf. As she feared, when she tries to walk away from the conversation, Draco follows.

"Theo and I were talking," he drawls, "and we both think it's awfully strange that you even entertained the idea of going out with Zabini. What do you even have in common with him? He hates Quidditch. He hates…well, he hates your beliefs even more."

The casualty in which Draco inadvertently calls her a blood traitor makes her jaw clench. She watches a Ravenclaw stuff sweets in his robe pockets whenever an employee isn't in the vicinity. Finally, she says, "We both like History of Magic."

"If I hadn't heard all of his rants about History of Magic before, I'd almost believe you."

"My private life isn't any of your business. Why don't you go kiss and make up with Magnus and leave me alone?"

She finally glances over at him. Draco's got a tense look on his face; his nostrils flare. "I'd rather die than have to deal with him ever again."

"You don't mean that," Regina says as she decides to buy a bulk bag of chocolate frogs, grabbing a plastic baggie.

"Yes, I do. He - he's a traitor." Draco spits out the word like it's a nasty-flavoured Bertie Bott's. "He settled into Hufflepuff well enough. He doesn't even try to talk to any of us anymore. When was the last time he talked to you, Regina?"

She opens her mouth - then closes it. Magnus hasn't tried to talk to her since before the duel between Bones and Draco. In fact, she can't remember any time after that he even glanced her way. Or at Erik, for that matter. Sadness hits her chest, cold and heavy like an iceberg.

She frowns.

"See? He's as much of a prat as-"

"If you mention Harry Potter," Regina says, "I will curse your face so boils as big as your nose sprout and won't stop popping up for a week."

Draco flushes a deep red but doesn't mention Potter.

Thank Merlin.

He trails behind Regina as she makes her way to the register, a bag of chocolate frogs in one hand and a handful of knuts in the other. "Don't you think it's strange, though, that he doesn't talk to you anymore?"

"He talks to me," she says offhandedly as she pays for her goods. "What goes on in my day-to-day isn't any of your business."

"I told you, you're a bad liar. Almost all of your spare time's spent with Daphne and Tracey, and they would've told us if he'd approached you to talk."

They leave Honeydukes, the bell ringing as they go from the blissful warmth of the store to the icy chill of the outdoors. She's hoping that Blaise hasn't left his respective store yet; having to explain why she left…and why Draco is with her. It would certainly look bad.

"Speak of the devil," Draco says under his breath.

Regina blinks owlishly, trying to figure out what he's prattling on about - but then she sees a figure she'd recognize anywhere. Magnus is with one of the Hufflepuff girls, and he looks - he looks happy. He's smiling. She doesn't think she's seen that since they arrived at Hogwarts.

"You want me to talk to him? Fine. Watch this."

Draco starts to make his way towards the two of them, his back straight, his fists clenched. Regina watches for a few minutes after shuffling away from the door - a third-year Gryffindor elbowed her in the ribs as a hint to get out of the way - then decides that, whatever Draco is going to do, it isn't worth sticking around for.

At least when she gets back to Blaise, the instrument store is nice and warm.

"Pranks were not pulled very often at Durmstrang," Magnus says. "The curriculum there is…much more intensive than Hogwarts'."

This is true. While Durmstrang definitely had a few pranksters, none were as devious or as persistent as the Weasley twins are. Pranks were generally relegated to unscrewing your rivals' ink bottle so it'd spill, or misplacing another student's homework. The worst you would get is someone hexing you so that you'd trip every ten feet for a couple of hours. Even then, that was much more likely to occur after you had done something to piss them off, not out of sheer amusement.

They've just left Zonko's, planning to make their way to the Three Broomsticks next. A small bag of sugar quills is the only thing that either of them bought. Hannah claims it helps her get through a History of Magic class.

While this wasn't Magnus's favourite store, he can appreciate its' entertainment value. Watching students look through the stores' inventory, only to get bitten on the nose or deal with the nasty effects of a puking pastie, was hilarious.

"How intensive?" Hannah asks, quirking an eyebrow.

He smiles. "I'm lucky to be spending an hour and a half a night on homework here rather than the three or four I often did."

"Oh, wow," she says. "I'd go mad."

"Sometimes, I wonder if I did," he says, cracking a rare smile.

They've stopped walking at this point, having turned to face one another; the Three Broomsticks is barely visible, past the shops and houses. The weather has gotten slightly worse since they first arrived; the snow that was lightly falling on the walk to Hogsmeade is now going down fast, sticking to the ground in wet, slushy clumps.

Hannah laughs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. He notices tiny details he hasn't before: the tiniest of gaps between her front teeth, the snowflakes in her hair, and on her hat. The silence between them isn't as comfortable as it normally is. It's tense, and Hannah's eyes flicker ever so slightly down, and -

Over her shoulder, he sees Draco walking - no, stalking - toward them. His eyes widen.

"What-?"

"Hexberg," Draco says, acid on his tongue. "Would you like to have a little chat about where you and I stand?"

He can feel Hannah looking at him incredulously before she turns around to look at the other boy. Magnus stands up a bit straighter, jutting his chin out. "Gladly."

"I don't think-"

Draco cuts Hannah off. "Your opinion is irrelevant."

"Go. I will catch up to you," says Magnus, cocking his head in the general direction of the Three Broomsticks. "This won't be very long."

She hesitates.

"He said go away, Abbott," snarls Draco.

Hannah glances toward Magnus. "It's alright. You can go."

She lets out a little sigh - her breath is visible in the air, now - and walks away.

The two boys look at each other for a few moments, before Draco tilts his head momentarily. "Walk with me," he says.

Magnus follows him away from Zonko's and towards a more secluded area of Hogsmeade, behind the main strip of shops. There's no one around them. Students and townspeople alike are preoccupied with Christmas shopping and drinking butterbeer. It occurs to him that Draco could hex or curse him in some manner, and a sliver of anxiety makes his stomach spin for a moment, but he decides that they aren't that distant.

"So we're just ignoring our heritages now? Is that it?"

Draco's voice is colder than the snowfall around them.

Maybe he was wrong.

Magnus stares at him. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Don't play dumb with me!" Draco hisses. "You took Susan bloody Bones' side over me! Do you know what her family did to our side during the war? Do you know what her family did to yours?"

His mouth thins out into an even, straight line. "She hasn't done anything to me."

"Her aunt wants our family to rot in Azkaban. If she had it her way, our fathers would have had their bloody souls sucked out when we were toddlers!"

"Susan is not her aunt," says Magnus.

A fierce rush of something swells up in him, making his throat feel closed, making his jaw clench. He hasn't acknowledged how he doesn't merely tolerate the presence of the Hufflepuff girls, not like he's learned to do with Macmillan or Hopkins. No, he…he supposes they are acquaintances, now, at the least. Hannah and Susan especially.

Draco's looking sour. His brow's furrowed, and his lips are puckered. There's a heavy bought of silence for a few minutes, save for the ambient noise of the village around them.

"You haven't even bothered to talk to Regina since - since all that. Almost three weeks. She had nothing to do with any of that, but you're detaching yourself from her, too? Is it because she gave Bones a funny look? Is she your girlfriend? Is anyone who insults your girlfriend now your enemy?"

Magnus has to stuff one hand in his pocket so Draco doesn't see him making a tight, white-knuckled fist. It isn't like that, not at all. He isn't upset with his twin. In fact, he's more sympathetic to her than ever. He's just…trying to find the words to say to her. About the whole Tremblay thing, and the book, too. He wants to say he now almost (almost) understands her viewpoint without sounding condescending.

He takes Magnus' silence as a confession. "Alright, then. I suppose this is it."

"Wait-"

"I can tolerate your sisters' mudblood loving ways - at least she sticks with us - but to hear this from you? And then to see you - gallivanting with people whose parents wanted us dead when the Dark Lord was defeated! That's more of an insult than Regina's ever said to me!"

Something white hot strikes in Magnus's chest; it's the kind of fury that would have made his magic go haywire when he was a child. "Insult? Insult? Do you expect me to not talk to anyone in my house until we graduate? To only be able to talk to Slytherins? I have to at least try and make amends with my housemates. My father told me I have to!"

"You have a choice," Draco says, "You always have! You don't have to sit with the Hufflepuffs at meals. It isn't assigned. You can sit with us! But you don't! Where's the Hexberg who used to be my best friend growing up?"

"I am still the Magnus you know." He swallows thickly. "I still like Quidditch, and magical creatures, and reading books. I'm still the one who taught you about Futhark runes when we were children. I'm the Magnus who was your best friend until I was sorted into fucking Hufflepuff!"

The Slytherin boy stuffs his hands into his pockets, staring at him with loathing in his eyes. He doesn't say anything for a few moments. Then:

"No, you were my best friend until you decided to be a traitor. Not only to what we believe in, but to me, and everyone else you used to be friends with." He turns around, back turned.

"A traitor?" Magnus' voice cracks.

"You are who you hang out with." Draco walks away without another word, shaking his head as if the entire situation's a lost cause.

That's it, then. Draco thinks he's a blood traitor. And, well…with what he's been reading and thinking lately, he kind of is.

But he doesn't know that. There's no way he does. Draco's only evidence is the fact that Magnus isn't absolutely, totally, utterly miserable in Hufflepuff. What is he going to tell Regina about this conversation?

The trek to the Three Broomsticks is a lonely one.

"He's weird," Megan says. "Honestly."

Usually, Hannah prefers her butterbeer colder than the snow, but with the nasty weather outside, her drink's piping hot. She doesn't say anything as she takes a sip. The extra drink she'd ordered for Magnus is slowly cooling down with every minute that he doesn't show.

She slipped into the Three Broomsticks easily enough, and even easier into her established friend group. Most of them had been sitting here for a while; Ernie's on his third butterbeer, and Justin claims he tried to get Madam Rosmerta to spot him for some firewhiskey. There are chocolate frog cards scattered all around the table.

"Why do all our conversations come back to Hexberg? It's more annoying than Potter." Justin's got a straw in his mug; he's twirling it around endlessly. "Can we get back to the cards? I'm still looking for the limited edition Bathory…"

"S'not every year that Hogwarts gets a transfer student," says Hannah, ignoring the cards. Behind her, the large windows give the fourth-years a glimpse of the snowstorm that's raging on, the one that only really started not a half hour earlier. They're all perfectly content to stay in here for as long as possible, thank you very much. "I think the last time it'd happened was in 1934…"

Ernie rolls his eyes. "Wish he'd never shown up. Least his sister's easy on the eyes."

Susan frowns, looking up from a wrinkled-looking card of Merlin.

"He's very sweet when he wants to be," she says. "When he opens up, he's nice. Everything here is just a bit of culture shock, I suppose."

"I don't care how sweet he is, he still thinks he's better than us! He never says it, either, but I know he's a huge blood supremacist." Justin scoffs. "He's friends with Malfoy."

Wayne shakes his head. "I don't think they're friends anymore, did you see the look Malfoy gave him the other day? He's pissed Magnus sided with Susan. Which, by the way, makes me think that he might be a decent enough lad."

"Is he decent?" Megan asks, looking directly at Hannah. "I mean, must be, if you gave him a private tour around Hogsmeade."

A look flashes in Susan's eyes as Hannah's lips twitch. The rest of the group snickers. "Megan, I was just trying to show him around. Y'know, any of you were free to be there, too."

Zacharias rolls his eyes. "And deal with his broodiness?"

"I'd rather be Crucio'd," Justin says blandly.

"If you gave him another chance-"

Ernie looks at Susan like she's gone mad. "He almost hexed me into oblivion because I made fun of his family. I don't want to give him another chance."

"Every time I've tried to talk to him, he just stares at me. I don't think he wants me to give him a first chance, let alone a second." Wayne tilts his head back, chugging the rest of his pumpkin juice.

"You girls give too many chances to people for my liking," Justin says. "I still don't entirely trust that Potter bloke, either, not after the whole debacle a few years back…"

Hannah frowns. None of them like to speak about Justin's petrification at length. He'd apologized profusely to Harry at the end of the school year, but over the last few months, he's been expressing more and more concerns about the boy-who-lived. Maybe the combination of Harry being chosen as the second Hogwarts champion, compounded with Magnus's arrival, has put Justin on edge. He always was the suspicious type.

"Speaking of blood supremacists," Ernie mutters as he glances at the entryway. There, a small gaggle of Slytherins has just come in. Parkinson looks very much unimpressed by the place, as she always does. Greengrass looks like she's on the verge of casting an Unforgivable. And then there's the other Hexberg, the one Magnus never really speaks of, who looks just as stuck-up as usual. Behind her, Zabini seems quite upset; the two of them are engaged in a quiet, but heated conversation.

"If it were up to me, I would have abolished Slytherin years ago. They seem to churn out nothing but Dark wizards." Justin wrinkles his nose.

"There are good Slytherins," concedes Zacharias. "They just get drowned out by the shite ones."

"Speaking of - who wants my special edition Salazar? There's snakes on the back instead of the standard design…"

Several minutes later, Malfoy enters the establishment, looking even more pissed off than usual as he sits with his cronies. And several minutes after that comes Magnus, cheeks pinker than Puffskein fur. To the Hufflepuff's general surprise, he doesn't sit in an unoccupied booth in the corner. Instead, he silently slides into the empty chair beside Hannah.

"Who invited you?" Ernie asks.

"I do not want to fight, Macmillan." Magnus says. He sounds exhausted.

Ernie looks as if he's about to say something, but Merritt shoots him a look. He opens, then closes his mouth, looking rather like a goldfish.

"Are you okay?" Hannah asks.

He nods.

No one pays him much attention afterwards. The conversation shifts focus from various things: Ernie's abysmal essay grades in Defense Against the Dark Arts; the logistics of bribing upper years to smuggle firewhiskey into the Hufflepuff Common Room; how to get the portrait of Andre the Arrogant to stop pointing out their physical flaws every time they walk past; the price jump on chocolate frogs; whether Merritt should cut her hair.

Magnus never speaks during any of it. He doesn't speak for the rest of the day, not even when they're back at Hogwarts, in the safety of their common room. No, he acts like he often does at meals in the Great Hall: with silence and brooding eyes.

Hannah wishes she knew how to help.