"Of course, you couldn't be resorted," says Regina, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
The two of them are sitting in a rather empty corner of the library, several hours after the conversation Magnus had with Professor Sprout. It's a perfect place to have a private talk. When it's five weeks into the start of the term, almost no one bothers to visit.
Well, there's Hermione Granger, but who cares about her?
But this particular corner of the library is the most desolate of all. The History of Magic section is, perhaps, almost as boring as Professor Binns himself. And with the two of them talking in Norwegian, almost no one is going to be able to decipher what they're conversing about.
Not to mention the silencing charm that Regina placed as soon as they sat down.
Magnus resists the urge to roll his eyes. There's a scowl on his face, the one Mother always warns might get stuck there if he keeps making it. "I thought there might be a chance-"
"Then you're too dense to ever be in Slytherin," Regina hisses. They haven't had a chance to talk one-on-one since before the Sorting, and this is the conversation he brings to the table.
"You are ridiculous," he says. "Have a bit of sympathy!"
"I don't have sympathy. What I do have is confusion. Why are you upset?"
"I am supposed to be there," he says simply. "Slytherin is where Father wants me to be, and it is where I belong. And all my friends are there."
"And your friends are bloody annoying!" She opens up a book about the vampire hunts of the 1390s, to make it look as if they're studying, in case anyone asks. "Has anyone ever told Draco Malfoy to shut up?"
A pause, then - "Probably not," Magnus concedes.
Regina lets out a noise of frustration that would have made Madam Pince shush them in different circumstances. "I wish Professor Moody had kept him as a ferret. Then I'd never have to hear him whine about you not being in the Common Room ever again."
He'd heard of that little incident the same day it occurred. Frankly, Magnus is surprised Professor Moody is still employed after that. If that had happened to him, surely Father would have arranged for Professor Moody to be out of Hogwarts by sunset.
"I think that is illegal."
She rolls her eyes. "We are not here to talk about the legality of a professor transfiguring a student into an animal. We're here to talk about why you're dense enough to think you could be resorted."
"Because we are Hexbergs, and we have connections." Rain begins to pelt the window behind him.
"Father has connections. Mother has connections. We are children. We don't have anything." Regina starts flipping through the pages of Bloody Conquest: The Plantagenet's Magical Origins. "You've always been this way, and I've never understood it. Even at Durmstrang, you were always prattling on about this sort of thing."
"We are not children," Magnus says. Then, an idea pops into his head. "Can you ask Professor Snape to help?"
Regina blinks. "What do you expect Professor Snape to be able to do?"
"He is the Head of Slytherin House. He knew our father. Surely, he wants me there. Maybe he can help to pull some strings…?"
"Have you ever met the man? It's like asking me to dive for a piece of parchment surrounded by vipers!" she exclaims.
"Regina. Have I ever asked you to do anything for me?"
She stares. "Every day of our lives until we were sent off to school."
"I will help you with your Potions essays from now until we graduate," he says.
There's a pause. Magnus can hear the rain, still steady and strong. If doing his sister's coursework is the price he has to pay to get into his rightful house, then so be it.
"Okay," she says, slowly. "I'll try. But you've got to do something in return."
"Anything," Magnus says, a bit too eagerly.
"You have got to be a bit nicer to the Hufflepuffs. I'm tired of them coming up to me to complain about how much of a tosk you are. It's practically every day, now. You don't need to take your anger about being there out on them."
Almost anything.
"But they're mudbloods! And mudblood lovers! And blood traitors!"
If looks could kill, he would be a dead man walking. "You know I hate those terms."
"It is what they are." Magnus folds his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair. "I swear, you joining that Equality Initiative at Durmstrang was such a mistake. It changed you into an almost unrecognizable person. No, that was befriending Loki Hansen. He is the biggest blood traitor-"
"Okay. This conversation is over. You lost your chance." In a flurry, before Magnus can even protest, Regina is stuffing her book into her messenger bag. Wand in hand, she flicks her wrist, presumably to end the silencing charm.
She doesn't bother to give her brother a second glance as she walks away.
The most frustrating part, for Regina, is that she can't even try to describe why she's mad at her brother. Doubtlessly, the rest of the snakes would sympathize with him over her.
So, when Daphne tries to figure out what's wrong, she chooses to keep the conversation at a bare minimum. "My brother is an imbecile."
"I know that," she says dryly. "If he were smart, he'd have been sorted with us."
That, at least, gets Regina to laugh - the first time she's done so all day.
"I don't get it," says Draco. "What have the mudbloods ever done for her?"
The only time that Magnus gets to be with Draco anymore is in brief moments like this. They're sitting by the gigantic lake, the one that - supposedly - has an enormous squid in it. There's a slight breeze in the air; it is crisp and cold, exactly as it should be in the thicket of October.
Magnus shakes his head. "She was not always like this. But then, at Durmstrang, she fell into this group of - I suppose they are Muggle sympathizers. And that sympathy extended to mudbloods."
"A pity."
The conversation dies down. They spend the rest of their time together in relative silence, working on their essays - Potions for Draco, and Arithmancy for Magnus.
Regina finds herself spending more and more time on her broomstick than in her common room.
In a way, it's out of necessity. Soon enough, the Scottish Highlands will get so cold and snowy that flying will become more of a nuisance than a stress reliever. Not to mention, the amount of homework she'll have will undoubtedly restrict her from flying, too. She's trying to soak up every last minute of this - of feeling the wind on her face, of being so high up in the air, of being free - before it's stolen from her.
Not for the first time, a wave of bitterness washes over her. She really, really wishes that Quidditch hadn't been canceled.
Her speed lessens as she lowers herself to the ground. It's getting late; curfew will be in place before she knows it, and she doesn't want to earn herself a detention. Or points taken away, for that matter. She might not necessarily like being in Slytherin, but she doesn't want to incur their wrath for potentially losing the House Cup.
Regina's taken out of her thoughts almost immediately, though, when she sees a blonde sitting underneath the nearby tree.
"You're a good flyer," says Draco.
She hops off of her broom - a Raskkost 200. It's no Nimbus 2001, but it's still the broom of choice for the Norwegian National Quidditch team. "I know."
"They say arrogance is unbecoming of a lady."
"It's not arrogance," says Regina. "It's confidence. I was the youngest on my team at Durmstrang."
Draco quirks an eyebrow. "That's a shock. I seem to recall that you were absolutely terrified of getting on a broom when we were kids."
He isn't misremembering. Regina's first time on a broom wasn't of her own choice. It was Magnus and Theo poking and prodding her to get on one without bothering to teach her proper broom handling. And then - she was catapulted fifteen feet into the air. If she hadn't bounced as she landed on the grass a few minutes later, she probably would have come out a lot worse than she did.
She didn't get on a broom again until she had flying lessons at Durmstrang, five years later.
"Well, you know. Things change."
"Things do change." He looks her up and down, slowly, before his lips pull into a sneer. "For example: I don't recall you being such a mudblood lover growing up. What made you decide that your heritage isn't worth fighting for?"
Regina rolls her eyes. "I'm not having this conversation with you."
"You're going to have to at some point."
"I don't ever have to."
"But-"
"Goodbye, Draco," she says, starting to walk away.
To Regina's detriment, however, Draco takes it upon himself to get up, hastily shove his things into his messenger bag, and catch up to her, matching her pace. "I mean it. Why?"
"Durmstrang was awful," Regina says. "But I learned a lot there. Some of that so happened to be keeping an open mind towards those who aren't Pureblooded."
That was the best thing that'd happened to her at her old school. The Equality Initiative made up a minority of students at Durmstrang - barely enough to be officially registered as a club - but it was wonderful. Twice a week, Regina and the rest of them would get together. They'd discuss what each of them could do to help counteract the muggle and muggleborn prejudices that their fellow students had as well as mention any relevant current events relating to muggleborns.
Were they successful in changing the minds of other students? Not particularly. In fact, they became a band of outcasts and misfits. But it felt nice to belong to a worthy cause, and the group helped to solidify the doubts that Regina had held concerning her family's viewpoints since childhood.
Not like she could explain all of that to bloody Draco.
"You're ridiculous," he says. "Didn't you have anything better to do than gallivant with blood traitors?"
"Stop using those terms if you ever wish to speak to me again," Regina hisses. She cut off a conversation with her blasted brother over this, she can do it just as easily with Draco.
"It's what they are. Doesn't Durmstrang only let Purebloods in?"
"Yes." Maybe if she's concise, he'll decide this conversation isn't worth the struggle.
Draco readjusts the strap of his bag as they continue walking. "You'd think their curriculum would emphasize how we're superior."
"You would think Hogwarts would have taught you not to be such an utter prat that a professor transfigures you into an animal."
His face immediately goes sour. As he splutters some sort of excuse, they enter the castle. There aren't many students milling about.
"I just don't get it," he says. "I'm trying to understand."
No matter how swiftly Regina tries to walk to the dungeons, it seems that Draco can easily match her gait. "I do not find it difficult to understand."
Ugh. He's upsetting her so much that she's forgetting to use contractions. She sounds like her blasted brother. There's something not right in his head, that's for certain. Maybe he fell off his broom too many times?
"Then you're a fool," Draco says, pulling her out of her thoughts as they reach the stone wall that leads to the common room. "Grandiosity."
The passageway reveals itself. "Ladies first."
Regina snorts, deciding to be particularly unladylike in the moment. She goes in anyhow, wholly expecting him to continue interrogating her, but -
"Regina! Come play a round of Exploding Snap with me?"
Oh, how grateful she is to have a younger brother in Slytherin. Swiftly, she sits across from Erik - who is surrounded by a gaggle of wide-eyed, snot-nosed eleven-year-olds. She can feel Draco's gaze on her, and is positive that their conversation isn't over, but Regina ignores it in favor of losing spectacularly.
"What's got you thinking you're so much better than the rest of us?" says Justin Finch-Fletchley.
The common room is at its liveliest. There are a couple of third years playing Wizard's Chess in one corner. A group of sixth years are quietly editing the Puff Paper, a biweekly newsletter that they dutifully tack to the common room's bulletin board. Merritt is sitting on the end of one couch, idly making purple and black streamers pop out from the tip of her wand, while Hannah tries to get her to work on their Care of Magical Creatures project.
And then there is Magnus, attempting to mind his own business as he reads The Magical Properties of 1001 Herbs. Normally, he would find solace in an empty classroom or in an unused corner of the library, but Hogwarts has a dreadfully early curfew.
Hence, why he's stuck having to coexist among the Hufflepuffs. Hence, why he has to deal with Finch-Fletchley.
Magnus responds immediately, reciting the title he has been taught since before he could walk. "I am Lord Magnus Thorsten of the Ancient House Hexberg."
There's silence, for a brief moment. Then - a chorus of laughter among the badgers.
"Lord? Is that what they call you at Durmstrang?" snorts Wayne Hopkins.
"The Hexbergs were ennobled in the fourteenth century," Magnus says, jutting his chin out, "by Margaret I of Norway before the Separation Clause of Wizards and…Muggle folk. So, no, this is not simply a Durmstrang nickname. I am Lord Magnus Hexberg, and as the oldest, am the heir presumptive to-"
"Did Margaret I ennoble you to be such a bloody prick, too?"
There's another round of snorts and giggles from the other Hufflepuffs. Magnus feels his face flush a terrible shade of red. He wonders, briefly, how many House points he'd lose if he decided to jinx Macmillan. He then decides that it doesn't matter.
He pulls out his wand…
But before Magnus can determine whether to perform the Jelly-Legs Jinx or something a bit worse, Susan chimes in. "Oh, Merlin's Beard, Magnus, no one except total prats care one bit about lineage. Especially not in Hufflepuff!"
Magnus huffs indignantly before returning to his book. It's clear that these Hufflepuffs know nothing of proper highborn etiquette. A shame, especially on Susan's behalf. He's fairly certain she's Pureblooded, too.
"Hexberg," says Finch-Fletchley, "You think you're better than the rest of us?"
He does not look up from the yellowed pages discussing the healing and calming properties of henbane. "I know I am."
Macmillan scoffs. "Why, 'cause you're a Pureblood who went to the Darkest school in the entire wizarding world?"
"Leave him alone," says Megan Jones in an even tone. "He's making up for some really deep-rooted insecurities."
Macmillan gets up, then takes a deep, exaggerated bow towards Magnus. His voice adopts an exaggerated, upper crust accent. "Ah, my deepest apologies, Lord Hexberg. Never again shall I so deeply insult a member of the Ancient House Hexberg, a House that is so obviously well-renowned throughout the nation. In fact, when we graduate, I shall give you the entirety of my paychecks for the rest of my life, as penance for my grave mistake."
Everyone starts to laugh once more. Magnus stands up, immediately taking his wand and pointing it towards Macmillan. Almost immediately, Macmillan does the same.
There's a spell on his tongue, one that would likely get him a week's worth of detention if a Professor heard. But he'll hex all of them so severely that they'll never even think to besmirch his name again-
"Whoa, whoa, guys, let's lower the wands and calm down."
Cedric Diggory's standing beside the chairs and the couches, now, arms folded across his chest as his eyes dart between the two boys. "What's going on here?"
"Hexberg's being a prat," says Macmillan, his wand still raised.
"Hexberg's being prejudiced against everyone who isn't a Pureblood," says Finch-Fletchley.
"The boys are being utterly ridiculous," says Merritt.
"Everyone's being ridiculous," says Hannah, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
If Diggory is irritated or upset, he certainly doesn't show it. "Alright, alright. Abbott, tell me how this all started. And lower your wands, the both of you."
Slowly, Magnus does as he's told. Macmillan, looking rather resigned to following directions, does the same thing.
And so she starts into the story: Magnus, in his words, 'flaunting' his supposed Lordship, Macmillan and Finch-Fletchley having a go at Magnus, the raising of the wands, until Diggory walked in.
"Let me get this straight," Diggory says, after a brief pause. "You two are on the verge of dueling because of…Pureblood customs?"
"But no one even cares about customs anymore," says Susan.
"Be that as it may, aren't there better things to get into duels over?" he says, giving a slight smile.
Magnus doesn't know what to say to that. It seems that Macmillan is the same. The latter boy sits down; he follows, a few moments later.
"I'm not going to take any points away this time, but do try not to get into fights, any of you. I'd hate to lose our chance at the House Cup because the fourth years couldn't get along."
Like Magnus gives a damn about points.
As the commotion that Finch-Fletchley began starts to finally wane out, he goes back to his book. He takes great pleasure in pretending not to notice everyone's eyes on him (though it makes his stomach knot up). A Hexberg does not concern himself with the opinions of those beneath him.
A Hexberg would also hesitate before jumping into such a petty squabble, but Magnus ignores that.
Later, when almost everyone else has gone to bed, Magnus is sitting in the same chair he was four hours ago. He's reluctant to walk up the stairs and into the boy's dormitory when he has to deal with the likes of Finch-Fletchley and Macmillan and even Smith.
Merlin knows that if he's hexed, Smith isn't likely to help.
He's been staring at the same page of his book for the past five minutes. His head is heavy with fatigue; the letters on the page start to wriggle and squirm.
"You know," Diggory says quietly, "I'm a Pureblood, too."
Magnus's head snaps up. He didn't notice the Prefect sit down on the couch adjacent to him. And he certainly didn't recognize his surname.
"My parents aren't blood purists, mind, but I understand the expectations that you've got to deal with, considering yours. I know how your parents must be right pissed that you're stuck with a bunch of wankers like us." He gives a self-depreciating smile.
He doesn't know. His parents still haven't sent him any letters.
"But we're not a bunch of wankers. We're just a bunch of blokes who're loyal and work hard. Are you loyal to your friends? Do you work hard in your studies, or maybe out on the Quidditch field?"
He likes to consider himself loyal and a hard worker. His grades would speak to the latter, the fact that Draco and the rest of the Slytherins still talk to him on a regular basis would speak to the former.
He does not think about the fact that none of his friends from Durmstrang haven't contacted him in months.
"I am," Magnus says, his voice barely above a murmur-mumble.
Cedric's smile is no longer self-depreciating but rather genuine. "Then you belong here.
"You might wanna talk to Helvius Tremblay," he says suddenly, standing up and stretching. "He was in a similar predicament as you when he got sorted here. But I'm gonna go to bed. Your dorm mates won't try and duel you again, if that's why you're still down here. I talked to each of them. Have a good one, Magnus."
He does not respond in kind, instead choosing to stare into the dying embers of the fireplace. Tremblay. The name sounds familiar. Did some Death Eaters have that surname?
Magnus decides that he will do more research. Eventually. Not tonight.
He's too damn tired.