Author's Note: It's actually really funny to me that the first review for this is a bot. :P
"Harry Potter is a right bloody prat!"
This is the first time Magnus has agreed with Finch-Fletchley since the beginning of the term. He's repeated this multiple times throughout the weekend, but that doesn't dilute its' impact.
He's got a lot of reasons to dislike Harry Potter, but right now, Magnus is irate at the fact he had to shove his stupid self into the Triwizard Tournament. It seems like the Daily Prophet and the rest of the school are always prattling on in some form about the Boy-Who-Lived (Magnus always sneers at that moniker). The last thing anyone wants or needs is to hear even more about him.
"And you're only now figuring this out?" Zacharias deadpans. He's got the same look on his face that he usually does like he's bored with everyone and everything. "He's always acted better than the rest of us."
Hannah opens up her Herbology textbook, likely to quickly reread the passage that Professor Sprout assigned over the weekend before class begins, but just as likely to keep her temper in check. She may be silent, but everyone knows her feelings about the whole thing: she's quietly fuming. She was the first of the fourth years to mention the unfairness of it, in the privacy of their common room, where everyone was torn between celebrating Cedric being chosen and cursing Potter's name.
"I don't understand why Hufflepuffs can't have one nice thing, all to ourselves," Merritt says. She casts a rather narrow-eyed, Slytherinesque glance at the incoming Gryffindors.
That's another reason. Last Friday night, he watched every Hufflepuff's face light up with elation when Cedric's name came out of the Goblet…and then dim again with sadness and anger when Potter's name came out, only a few minutes later. Magnus is empathetic with the continual underdog situation. His house at Durmstrang, Silen, was similar. They rarely obtained the glory of winning a Quidditch Term Cup, or winning the Durmstrang Term Cup, or…well…glory of any sort, really. They always seemed to be in the shadows of the other houses, Stolthet, Umnaya, and Tsentr.
So Magnus understands the disappointment that his house feels.
(His house? He immediately corrects his brain: the house he so happens to be stuck in.)
The tension in the greenhouse tightens considerably when Potter comes in, trailing behind the rest of them. It seems as if the Weasley boy is ignoring him, a poor imitation of a neutral look on his freckled face as he takes a seat near Granger and Thomas. In fact, it seems like almost everyone in his house is ignoring him, save for Granger, but she's so insufferable that Magnus thinks he'd much rather be all alone than have her as his only ally.
Good. Maybe being a social pariah will teach Potter to not step out of line, to humble himself.
Professor Sprout seems adamant to ignore the awkward atmosphere and immediately launches into her spiel about the feisty nature that Bouncing Bulbs possess. Magnus is less focused on the lesson and more on the fact that he has to go to a bloody club meeting tomorrow evening. He wonders if he can get out of it somehow; perhaps he can perform so badly in Defense Against the Dark Arts later on that Professor Moody assigns him extra homework or detention.
But he casts that thought of his mind. A Hexberg doesn't go back on their word.
No matter how much they'd like to.
"Oi," says Wayne, ducking as Susan pulls a bulb out of its' original pot. "Watch where you're puttin' that thing before it kicks one of us!"
"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" she says hurriedly, squeezing the bulb as it tries desperately to escape her grasp. Her repotting, much like most of the Hufflepuffs', is swift, haphazardly done. Magnus has to move a few inches away from her, fearful that the bulb will jump out of the pot and ruin his admittedly pitiful progress. Everyone, save for Longbottom and Granger, is having difficulty with the bulbs; they seem determined to leap out of and away from the greenhouse altogether.
When a bulb smacks Potter square in the face, Magnus certainly isn't the only one to laugh. He notices a smirk on Macmillan's face that isn't erased for the rest of the class.
Hm. Perhaps he can be allied with, if only because of a mutual dislike of Potter.
"Did we expect anything else from Potter?" Theo spits out on the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts. "He's always got to make himself the center of the entire Wizarding World."
For the umpteenth time in the past week, the Slytherins are pouncing on an opportunity to talk shit about Harry Potter.
"He just can't stand the attention being on anyone else but himself," Pansy sneers.
"I hope he fails miserably," Draco says, "Maybe if we're lucky, he'll get in some sort of accident that causes him to leave Hogwarts…"
"I know," says Regina, "Having to be around someone so self-centered is such a pain in the arse."
Daphne smiles, but no one else seems to notice - or, more likely, care - about her comment.
"Why do all of the major events at this blasted school have to wind up revolving around the Boy Who Lived?" Blaise grumbles.
He has a point. Regina has only been at the school for a few months, but the stories she's been told about Potter are numerous and lengthy. Apparently, a former Death Eater escaped Azkaban and spent the majority of the last school year hunting him down, even prompting Dementors to stand guard on the Hogwarts perimeter.
Her thoughts about the boy are still relatively neutral. Much more than the rest of the school, at least; her thoughts aren't entirely consumed by him and how shitty it is that he managed to get his name in.
Regina believes that much. She's convinced he managed to find a way to stick his name into the Goblet, despite his supposed protests. It really does seem as if he always wants the proverbial spotlight on himself. She's less so upset at him and more so at how he managed to surpass Dumbledore's age restriction magic. If she had known that it was possible, then she would have actually put some effort into doing the same thing…
Regardless, the grumbling about Potter has been almost constant since Friday evening. Draco seems to almost revel in it. Apparently, he was slighted once at the beginning of term in their first year, and he's never let it go. Which is very much in-character for the Malfoy heir.
"It's hilarious, honestly," says Draco. "He whines about attention yet draws it to himself in spades. Say, Regina, did I ever tell you about how he managed to convince everyone he was the Heir of Slytherin?…"
Regina allows him to go down another rabbit hole of Potter hate. He really needs to get a new hobby so his thoughts don't revolve around another student. It's unhealthy.
They jump over one of the vanishing stairs and get to the second floor, where Defense Against the Dark Arts is held. The topic of their conversation quickly spirals, however, when the Hufflepuffs pass them by. Magnus looks to be engaged in some conversation with Abbott, Bones, and Honeycutt about counter-curses. What's odder, he seems to be actually enjoying himself, enough so that he doesn't even offer a hello to his sister or to his best friend.
Wonder if he'll ask me again to wheedle Snape into getting him resorted.
Draco looks as if his entire world has been turned upside down. "He's - he's - he hasn't talked to me in almost two weeks, but he has the time to make friends with a mudblood and blood traitors?" He says this loudly enough that there's no way Magnus didn't hear.
Hmm. Maybe best friend wasn't the right term for them anymore?
In almost an instant, Bones and her friends turn around. Her face has turned a very deep shade of pink. "Better a blood traitor than a supremacist."
"It's not like you'd know any better," says Draco. "When you're raised with that horrible vulture of an aunt, what else do you learn?"
"Don't you dare talk about my auntie like that!"
One of the boy Hufflepuffs - Macmillan, maybe? - wrinkles his nose. "You're one to talk, Malfoy, with your dad and all."
"We're going to be late to class," Blaise says in a bored sort of voice, as if this kind of outburst happens every week. Then again, with Draco having the subtlety of a brick wall, it does.
Honeycutt folds her arms across her chest, trying to look more imposing than her short stature gives her. "Her aunt's a thousand times better than your prat of a father. I don't think he's ever gotten the wand out from between his arse cheeks-"
"Oh, what do you know, Honeycutt? You're just a-"
"I think," Magnus says slowly, gaze going from Honeycutt to Draco, "it would be best to stop this conversation before it goes any further."
He's got a point. Abbott and Honeycutt have already pulled their wands out; Draco and Pansy have done the same. Another ten seconds, and there'll be hexes flying throughout the hallway, and Regina would rather not get caught in the line of fire. Especially when they're so close to Professor McGonagall's office.
Draco looks as her brother with an expression of utter disbelief. His eyes then narrow; his mouth forms into a scowl. "You're taking their side now? Morgana's wand, Hexberg, maybe you weren't cut out for Slytherin after all if you've decided the Mudbloods and their ilk are good company."
Regina's unsure if his hatred is legitimate or if Draco's just compensating for the loss of his best friend. Regardless, Magnus sure believes it's the former. There's genuine hurt in his eyes that's almost immediately covered up by a new steely look.
"Let's go," says Abbott. "Let them wallow in their prejudices."
For a moment, Regina almost understands why the Slytherins seem to hate almost every other house. They've lumped her into the same beliefs that Draco and Blaise and nearly everyone in her house believes. She represses a sneer.
She's about to turn away from them, ready to just go to class, but then-
"Flipendo!"
A bright blue wave of light erupts from Bones's wand. Regina and the other Slytherins quickly step back as the spell hits Draco square in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Immediately, Blaise and Theo whip their wands out; Macmillan and Honeycutt are just as quick in showing theirs.
There's a dark look on Draco's face that Regina's never seen before, his teeth bared, eyes narrowed into slits. As he sits up, he fumbles for his own wand for a few moments before pointing it at Bones. "Why, you filthy little - everte-"
"If you wish to spend another night at Hogwarts, Mister Malfoy, you will not finish casting that spell!" barks Professor McGonagall, rushing out of her office.
Merlin's ragged beard. Regina feels the beginnings of a migraine starting to rumble between her temples; she closes her eyes. How very Gryffindor of the entire lot to pull all of this so close to her office…
Hurriedly, everyone puts their wands out of sight. The next few moments are a blur of fourth-years attempting to explain (and defend) themselves. Draco gets up, and the look of fury on his face is so blatant that she wonders if he's going to try to hex the professor, too. It isn't until McGonagall tells all of them to be quiet that there's finally some peace. Well, relative peace - Regina sees a group of first-year Ravenclaws walking by, wide-eyed and nosy until McGonagall politely yet firmly suggests that they ought to get to class. They do.
"I am going to wait three seconds," she says in a dangerously calm voice, "and then I will choose one of you to explain what happened."
Her gaze turns to Magnus. "Mister Hexberg. Please relay to me the events leading up to Miss Bones and Mister Malfoy deciding it was an appropriate decision to duel."
Well. Here it is, then.
"I -" Magnus pauses, his lips puckering as his eyes dart back and forth between the Hufflepuffs and the Slytherins. "There was a bit of name-calling. Family members were insulted. Tensions escalated."
He's trying to appeal to both sides, giving such vague details, not letting his true thoughts on the matter show.
McGonagall's lips thin. "I gathered as such. Who began insulting the other?"
Another pause. Magnus starts wringing his hands. When Regina tries to make eye contact with him, he very pointedly avoids it.
"It - it was Draco who started it, Professor. He insulted Susan's aunt." His gaze settles on Bones, whose face is almost as red as her hair.
McGonagall narrows her eyes, and Regina feels her heart nearly skip a beat in anxiety, even though she hasn't done a bloody thing wrong-
"Five points from Slytherin, Mister Malfoy, for deciding it was appropriate to insult another student's family. And five points from Hufflepuff, Miss Bones, for deciding it was appropriate to respond with a Flipendo. You will both be spending next week in detention with me."
"But that's not fair, Susan was just-"
McGonagall's voice is so sharp that it could cut glass. "Would you like a detention as well, Miss Honeycutt?"
She quickly stops her protests.
There's a fire in Bones's eyes that Regina thought she'd never see coming from a Hufflepuff, but she doesn't complain like Honeycutt did.
"Now, unless anyone else is interested in losing house points and gaining detentions, I believe it would be wise if you all hurried to your respective classes. I will not be writing passes excusing any of your tardies."
Blaise and Regina are the first to heed her word, their paces quickening. The rest of the Slytherins follow up several moments later as they reach the classroom door.
"I can't believe him! This is all his fault, really, for getting chummy with the damned 'Puffs!" Draco's fiery rage hasn't smoldered at all.
"That foul woman," simpers Pansy, "She had no right to give you detention! You didn't do anything wrong, she doesn't understand what the Bones did to our families during the war…"
It'd be wiser, Regina thinks, not to mention the War in public.
That was one of the first lessons she learned whilst growing up: never speak of the circumstances that brought the Hexbergs back to Norway after being away for a generation and a half. Whatever Father did, it was bad enough for him to take his family and flee the country for over a decade.
She's never asked for details. He's never offered them. She prefers to keep it that way.
Blaise seems to share similar sentiments. "Let's keep the whining to a minimum 'till we get back to the common room."
Pansy sniffles indignantly. "Excuse me for showing solidarity with a fellow snake."
"Yes, excuse you," Regina says in a monotone voice. "You are standing right in front of the entrance. I'd like to get to class. It's a wonder we weren't late."
Pansy sighs, long and suffering, and Regina wonders if the Muggle way of solving disputes with their fists is superior. At least she gets out of the way.
"He was telling the truth, though," says Daphne as she takes her usual seat beside Regina. "That could've easily been avoided if you had used your brain for more than half a second. I don't like their lot either, but you don't see me going around and insulting them like that. That was so Gryffindor of you, Draco."
It seems that comparing him to a Gryffindor brings Draco back to reality (for the time being, anyways). He grumbles something under his breath but otherwise behaves for the rest of the day.
Thank Merlin, because Regina wasn't keen on having detention on account of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. As Professor Moody launches into a rant about the incompetence of former instructors to the point where Crabbe can't tell the difference between a hex, a curse, and a jinx, the entire affair in the hallways leaves her mind.
"I do not understand," Magnus says, "why she had to cast Flipendo on him."
That's somewhat of a lie. He understands the reasoning well enough. A few generations ago, if a Pureblood wizard insulted another's family, it was almost a given that a formal duel would commence. But he's never seen that sort of anger in Susan, and that was the farthest thing from formal; she hadn't even declared a second. Granted, he hasn't known her very long, but regardless…
Hannah's mouth twitches into a frown as they continue to walk to the classroom where the club is being held. "Her aunt's is the only family member she's got left. The rest of them, they were…they died during the war. Susan's pretty protective of her, what with Amelia raising her and all. Not that she needs protecting, the woman scares me…I've never seen her smile, and I spent loads of time at Susan's house growing up…But, yeah."
Magnus takes a few moments to ponder about all of that. He knows only a bare minimum about the Bones family. Amelia Bones is on the Wizengamot, that's about it. The last time Erik and Magnus had bumped into each other several weeks ago, the younger boy had let some details from the letters Father has owled him slip. Primarily, that Lady Bones is giving him a very rough go of things ever since his return to the British Ministry.
"During the war." It's not a question, but the lilt of his accent makes it sound like that.
"Death Eaters…" Hannah doesn't have to finish the statement, but she does anyways. Vaguely, at least. "Took out the rest of her family. Her dad, mum, cousins, uncle, and another aunt…Her dad and uncle were Aurors."
A question pops into Magnus's mind as if it Apparated there, and it sends a shiver down his spine that he's never felt before. Was it Father who caused that?
He doesn't think very often about the war. He was hardly alive for it, let alone sentient and conscious. All Father has told him - in hushed tones, vowed never to be repeated outside the walls of the Hexberg's estate- was that he fought for the correct reasons, to maintain their blood purity, to keep unworthy wizards and witches from diluting it. And all Mother has told him of it is tight-lipped smiles and vague comments that stress Father believed he was on the side of the righteous. Never anything about her own opinions concerning it all - an oddity, considering the war's what made Father decide to go back to Norway, forcing her to leave her home country…
"Ah. I see."
"So, yeah. That's the one thing that'll set her off." Hannah gives a weak smile. "That and saying the Appleby Arrows are shit."
Magnus snorts as he opens the classroom door.
The club, he quickly realizes, isn't a very highbrow one. There are about twenty-five people in attendance. There's Hannah and Susan, of course; he quickly takes an open seat by the latter girl, not wanting to have to struggle through this beside a stranger. There's only one other in their year: the round-faced boy, Longbottom, who's giving Magnus a wide-eyed, trembling-lipped look that's more pathetic than anything.
He doesn't recognize any of the others, who - despite being from different years, and from mostly different houses - seem to be a tight-knit group, sharing sweets and chocolate frog cards and already talking about whatever they learned in class or independent studies.
None of them are in Slytherin.
"Relax, Nev," says Hannah, sliding into the seat beside the skittish Gryffindor. "I've got him on a tight leash. I made him swear an unbreakable vow not to hex anyone for looking at him the wrong way."
She very much did not make him do that. When Magnus shoots her an inquisitive glance, she quite pointedly does not look at him, instead keeping a straight face as she opens up a textbook she must have checked out from the library.
A Ravenclaw with bouncy red curls decides to divert the conversation. "What'd you paint this week, Susan?"
Susan pulls a small canvas out of her bag, putting it in the center of the table. The hardness that was in her eyes a few hours ago seems to have softened. Multiple people give at least a passing glance at it. "A jackalope. Isn't he cute?"
He is. He's a tiny, rabbit-like creature, with antlers poking through behind his ears. She's painted him in some sort of field, surrounded by tall grass and colourful wildflowers. They're native to the American Western states and Australia, but they're commonly smuggled into the United Kingdom. Usually, it's for potion ingredients - jackalope paws and antlers contain wonderful healing properties - but children tend to love them as pets, too. Regina had begged for one in their youth.
"You should paint a Murmuring Mullamon next time," says a rather young-looking girl with messy blonde hair. Her voice is dreamy, out of sorts. "It would be quite the shock to see its' rainbow fur against such an ordinary meadow."
"I don't think a Murmuring Mullamon even exists," says a Gryffindor who's at least a sixth year.
"Oh, they do. You just have to travel through the United States to find them. I hear they like to live in the midwest, something about hiding in the cornfields…"
"Are we here to discuss actual creatures," said a rather sharp-looking Ravenclaw, "or are we here to speculate about another one of Lovegood's imaginary friends?"
That's when a sixth-year boy clears his throat and smiles. "Not to discount Lovegood, but I brought another one of my figurines, if you lot want to see…"
"I want to see!"
"Show us, Tremblay!"
Something clicks in Magnus's head, something that he hasn't thought of since his late-night conversation with Cedric a few weeks ago. The Hufflepuff boy with a pitiful excuse for a beard and watery gray eyes is Helvius Tremblay.
Tremblay pulls something out of his robe pocket. It's a small, wooden figurine, rudely carved into the vague figure of a horse. Now that it's out in the open, it moves: its' nostrils flare, and it leaps off of the boy's hands and onto a nearby desk. Almost immediately, everyone attempts to crowd around the desk, watching, enraptured, as it moves and neighs.
"This," he picks it up again so that it's cupped precariously in his palms, "is a Kelpie. You lot likely know it as a spirit or a water horse."
At that, the Kelpie figurine visibly bristles; Magnus feels flicks of water land on the back of his hand.
"As you can see, they hate being called horses." Tremblay smiles.
Magnus is quite fascinated by it. He's seen plenty of wizarding portraits and photos in his life, but figurines are rarer. When Tremblay sits it back down on the table to let it roam, it does just that, meandering around, teeth bared whenever someone else tries to touch it.
About ten minutes is devoted to discussing the creatures' various characteristics. It used to be a seventh year Care of Magical Creatures encounter, but after the retirement of Kettleburn, it disappeared. At least, that's what one of the seventh years say.
They all seem to have gotten along for years, even though at least a few of them can't be older than eleven. They all call each other by their first names. They laugh and have inside jokes and reference past events that Magnus has no idea about. This is exactly why he didn't want to come.
Eventually, they move on from the Kelpie and onto other creatures. There's brief chatter about whether Bowtruckles are more plant or beast.
One boy, a second-year Gryffindor, mentions excitedly how his father - a Muggle who was fascinated by cryptozoology - had explained to him as a child the theory that the Loch Ness monster was likely a Kelpie.
"Nah, Emmett, that's just a Bunyip someone smuggled in from Australia," says Hannah, waving a dismissive hand.
"It's not a Bunyip," says the curly-haired Ravenclaw. "It's an Enormous English Eel, my older cousin used to work in the Office of Misinformation and they've had to deal with Loch Ness loads of times…"
"What d'you think, Magnus?" Susan asks, tilting her head to look at him. He hasn't spoken since the meeting started. "What's it, really?"
It feels like, upon everyone noticing he's here, there's a new layer of tension in the room. There's no way he hasn't been talked about in hushed whispers behind his back, being one of the rare few Hogwarts transfers in the past couple of decades. Add to that his family's lineage…
His stomach begins to knot. He notices how Tremblay is looking at him somewhat pointedly. To avoid the stuttering that had plagued him earlier, he speaks a bit more slowly than usual. "It is a fuath attempting to lure Muggles into the loch to drown. There is a book on the subject that can be ordered at any Wizarding bookstore, and that was the conclusion it came to, though it is inconclusive. I do not remember the name, but it is a good enough read."
"Why d'you talk like that?" asks Emmett.
Another Gryffindor smirks. "I think Durmstrang banned contractions."
Magnus bites his tongue as his mouth thins into a straight line. He knows English. He couldn't not learn it, with Mother being English and Father living there for decades and having to be around a great portion of English purebloods. But until he arrived at Hogwarts, Magnus didn't use it that often. He's not like his sister, who's always preferred English over Norwegian or German. He's trying to be cautious with his words, trying to make sure everything sounds correct, and that includes not using contractions.
Before Magnus has to explain himself, a clock tower chimes in the distance. Looking at his wristwatch, he realizes that curfew will be in an hour. He blinks. Has he really been sitting here for that long?
Goodbyes are shared, and then the majority of students leave. Magnus gets up to leave with Hannah and Susan, determined to never come back to this damned club, but -
"Hexberg. Stay back a mo', will you?"
It's just him and Tremblay now. Sighing, he closes his eyes briefly before turning back around to face the only other student who, according to Diggory, knows his struggles.