He sits back down in his chair, holding a terse breath for a few moments. He had a feeling that, if he didn't seek out Tremblay, Tremblay would seek out him. Undoubtedly, Diggory had informed the older Hufflepuff of the younger.

He was just hoping that it was a conversation that could wait for another day.

Tremblay's looking at him with an expression he can't discern. Sadness?

"Cedric told me about what happened to you. You know," he says, in a voice a thousand times kinder than it ought to be, "when I was sorted into Hufflepuff, my father immediately passed the lordship title onto my younger brother."

Magnus blinks as his stomach drops to the floor. He's been trying to put the thought that Father may do the same out of his mind. Perhaps the plan is already underway. Wouldn't he have received correspondence from the Ministry if that were the case? Or Erik would have mentioned it. Maybe he won't receive it until it's all been finalized, before he can actually do anything about it…

"Kind of feels like a fate worse than death, innit? We're taught growing up that Slytherin is the end all, be all of respectable houses, even if we don't go to Hogwarts. Then you're sorted into Hufflepuff, and, well, you know our reputation, don't you? Makes you feel like you're an inkblot on your lineage, especially considering…well, considering what our fathers were involved with."

Ah. That explains a lot. Lord Tremblay, he remembers, was a Death Eater who had narrowly escaped life in Azkaban, much like his own father. He can't recall ever meeting him growing up, but he doesn't discount that he may have, at some party or event, face blurred amongst all the others Magnus had to meet.

Tremblay doesn't bother to wait for a response. "That isn't the case. I promise you: Hufflepuff is the best place for blokes like us, honest. What our parents have been telling us all our lives - they're dead wrong. This house - our house - it shows us a side of the wizarding world that we never would've seen, otherwise."

He pauses, then: "A lot of the 'Puffs are muggleborns and they're absolutely brilliant in class. You mean to tell me that you-know-who was right, when we've got muggleborns who are changing the very foundation of our world as we speak?"

He thinks about what Draco had said earlier in the day, when they had passed one another in the hallway. A mudblood and a blood traitor, as he threw a scathing glare at Merritt and Magnus.

He hadn't considered the possibility that Merritt was one of them; he just assumed it to be the case. He's seen her wandwork, seen the way she understands magical theory in a way that he can't, so easily, little to no studying necessary. It made sense that she'd come from good wizarding stock.

Back at Durmstrang, Headmaster Karakoff was very adamant in his explanation of why the school didn't admit muggleborns: they simply couldn't perform magic as adequately as halfbloods and purebloods. There are outliers, but those are few and far, and even they wouldn't be able to keep up with a rigorous magical curriculum.

But Merritt can. Merritt can, and Granger from Gryffindor can, and even Finch-Fletchley is miles ahead of him in a few subjects, as much as he hates to admit it.

Magnus's hands suddenly feel clammy. Did she not mention it to him because…she was afraid of what he'd say or do?

"It's going to take a while for you to get out of the supremacist mindset. You're probably going to roll your eyes when you walk away from this conversation. You're probably dismissing me right now."

He wants to. No - he is. He is. He is.

He must.

"Perhaps," says Magnus, mouth thinning as he pushes down the knot in his stomach, "your father was right to disinherit you from your family's Lordship."

"You don't know that. You don't even know me." Tremblay's smile is still sweet, as if he pities the younger boy. He probably does.

"I am not going to have this conversation with you."

"And yet, you're still here. There's a part of you that believes in what I'm saying."

"I am here because you refuse to let me excuse myself," Magnus hisses.

Tremblay fiddles with the hem of his sweater. "Au contraire. You're free to leave at any time. I can't make you stay. Go on, then. If you hate confronting reality so much, walk away."

Magnus doesn't walk away. He thinks of the pamphlets Regina had shoved into his hands at Durmstrang, and how he'd crumpled them up without even looking at them. He thinks of Hannah admonishing the Dark Lord's followers whenever she gets a chance. He thinks of Susan's family, dead from the war, and how the lingering question of if Father killed, and if he did, who he killed. He thinks of an eleven-year-old boy from a pureblooded family immediately being disowned because he was sorted into Hufflepuff, because Hufflepuff doesn't churn out dark wizards, and is it worth it, believing in these things, if it kills families and disowns children without a second thought, without hesitation?

His tongue feels awkward in his mouth. His throat feels very, very dry.

"Now," the older boy says, "we've established that you're going to have this talk with me."

He runs a hand through his hair. "I do not know what you could possibly want me to say."

"You and I are going to start meeting up. Not very often. Maybe once a month. I'm going to give you some homework, so to speak, alright? We're going to change your beliefs from the ground-up proper."

Magnus blinks, forcing his thoughts out of his head. "No, we are not."

"Do you really want to be miserable for the next three and a half years? I'm trying to help."

The blunt tone in Tremblay's voice is startling. He pulls a thin, small book out of his messenger bag. "Breaking the Boundaries: Why Pureblooded Preconceptions Need to Stay in the Past. It's very informative; Cedric gave it to me when we were third years. Now, I'm giving it to you. I'm not asking for a book report in return. Just show me you've read it. And don't skim it like it's a Potions textbook - really read it."

"Why-"

"Abbott told me you were coming. I made sure to bring it."

Magnus doesn't say anything as Tremblay gives him the book. The spine is worn; there's a piece of the cover that's missing, the very top right corner. If any of the Slytherins saw this in Magnus's hands…his father would disinherit him right this very moment, if he knew.

"I do not want this," he says, trying to give it back.

"You don't, but you need it. You mean to tell me you've never had any doubts about your family's beliefs?"

He ponders that. There were brief moments, usually spurred on by Regina, when she'd start asking questions she wasn't supposed to ask. Why'd Father have to leave the country, if what he did wasn't that bad? If our beliefs are correct, then why're there entire articles in every magical newspaper about why the Dark Lord was evil? Why do half the Pureblooded families in Norway refuse to associate with us if we're in the right?

When he brought it up, he thought about it for a half second, before dismissing her before the thoughts got too uncomfortable.

Silence speaks louder than words. To his credit, Tremblay doesn't look smug about it. That look is still on his face, and Magnus no longer wants to sneer at him.

He feels small and insignificant, thinking about Regina's questions and the way Father would answer them, anger thinly veiled. Differing viewpoints are not allowed in their home. The only reason Regina hasn't been disowned is because Father's hoping for a powerful marriage from his only daughter…but Magnus doesn't have that to cling to.

"My father," Magnus says, as if that's more than enough of a reason not to do this.

"He won't disinherit you like mine did. If he planned on it, he already would have. Your father cares too much about his image to do it now. My father, unfortunately, doesn't care much for his image." Tremblay smiles sardonically.

He tries another avenue. "I am the son from an Ancient and Noble House. My heritage is worth fighting for." The words feel thick and strange in his mouth.

"A heritage based on discrimination and hatred?"

"A heritage based on noble abilities and power."

"There is nothing noble about hating those who are different from you," Tremblay spits out. "So keep the bloody book, Hexberg. Read it, let it sink in, and we'll talk about it in a month. I can't make you, but it'll make your life in and outside of Hogwarts a lot easier if we start this sooner rather than later."

Hating those who are different from you. He…he doesn't hate them. He just - he knows their magical capabilities can never compare.

Except Merritt. And Granger. And Finch-Fletchley.

Magnus grits his teeth, clenches his jaw momentarily. His stomach is churning, and he can't ignore it anymore. He thinks of dead families and Merritt upstaging him all the blasted time in Charms and the fierce conviction in which Regina had said, time and time again, our family is wrong.

He thinks of the look on his father's face that he's seen time and time again. Disappointment, deep-rooted disappointment, as his heir and son once again proves he's not fit to be Lord Hexberg. Disappointment that, at this point, won't go away, and why bother trying to live up to expectations? His expectations will be entirely unrealistic now that Magnus is in Hufflepuff…But he won't disown him.

"Okay," he says, "I will read it."

Tremblay smiles. "Good! Good. I'm glad. We'll talk about it right after the term ends, alright? That gives you more than enough time to finish."

He nods, looking back down at the book. The cover shows a Dark Mark repeatedly having a giant red X stamped over it. Magnus presses his thumb along the pages, and bristles them.

"Alright," Magnus says. "After the term ends."

It feels like an appropriate time to leave. He stuffs the book into his messenger bag and turns around. He's almost about to leave when-

"Cheers. Also," says Tremblay, "start using contractions, if you can. You kinda sound pretentious."

"Pretentious," Magnus repeats.

The boy nods.

When Magnus is in bed that night, before he drifts off into sleep, he thinks of contractions and whether they'd help or hinder speaking in English and of how he'd be if he'd been raised with a different belief system and whether it'd be better if that happened after all.

"It was the most awesome thing," Merritt says, as she recounts the Grand and Epic Battle Between Bones and Malfoy, as she so concisely puts it. A group of second years are sitting around her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed in awe. "Have any of you ever seen Draco Malfoy on the verge of tears? It's a beautiful sight. That's going to get me through producing a corporeal Patronus one day..."

She's been retelling the tale for over a week, now, and every time she seems to add a bit more embellishment. Last Susan heard, she not only made Malfoy cry, but had managed to curse the next five generations of his family with excruciating boils. No one seems opposed to hearing about how a Hufflepuff, of all people, managed to get back at one of the Darkest wizards currently attending Hogwarts.

Susan, on the other hand, would much rather for Merritt - and everyone else in Hufflepuff, frankly - never to speak of it again. Auntie Amelia had sent her a very long letter describing her disappointment in her niece for getting into such an unnecessary fight.

Not to mention, the bloody detention. Susan was lucky only in that Malfoy wasn't there alongside her. She'd spent the better part of an hour and a half writing out a twenty-inch essay about thinking before reacting.

But none of it was fair. He'd started all of it. He insulted her family.

Susan sighs as the second years throw another glance at her. And then, she sees their glance flicker to a table across the room.

Magnus is sitting there, running a hand through his dark hair, blue-grey eyes ruminating on...something. They're focused on the page he's supposedly reading, but Susan knows he's been stuck on that page for almost fifteen minutes.

It seems like there's always a storm brewing up in his head, one that makes him detached from reality. Ever since he sat down at the Hufflepuff table the first night of term, he's always had this look in his gaze, like he's thinking about things a hundred thousand metres away from Hogwarts. What she wouldn't give to see into his mind, if only for a moment.

She's been trying to make him feel welcome, genuinely. Merritt's doing it because she wants to have another friend to tease constantly without fear of getting detention (she wants to be Prefect, yet can't stay out of trouble - it's baffling). Hannah's doing it in part because she thinks he's cute, in part because she wants him to feel at home.

They all knew the moment he was sorted: he'd have an awful go of things in their house if he didn't have a committed group of friends from the very beginning.

But coldness, commitment, and cuteness aside, Susan likes him. Magnus has been very much determined to make himself unlikable, but she's been whittling away at him all term, and reckons she's made some good progress. That day in the courtyard, when he actually let himself shine for a bit, talking about history like he'd been teaching it for years? And when he didn't throw her under the bus in front of McGonagall? That was his true self, underneath the mountain of duty and snootiness that he seems to heap unnecessarily onto himself.

Maybe not unnecessarily. She's seen the letter that his dad sent him, seen the crestfallen expression on Magnus's face as he read it. And Aunt Amelia's discussed the Hexbergs at length in some of the letters she's sent to Susan since the term began.

With the way Thorsten is, I'm unsurprised you describe his son in such a manner. They're just like the rest of the old pureblooded, Dark-aligned families. They're stuck acting as if they're Muggle highborns of the Tudor era rather than wizards of the late twentieth century. The younger Hexberg has grown up not knowing anything else. It's only natural that he'd refer to himself as lord and hold unsavoury prejudices.

Especially due to Lord Hexberg's attempts to pass some of the most awful legislatures in recent months. It's as if over a decade away from the United Kingdom has only served to exacerbate the hate in his soul. He's just as cruel as I recall him being, and I fear he will only become worse as the months go on.

Please be careful, Susie - I don't want you to get caught up in his family's…problematic ways. You're much more of a Hufflepuff than I ever was. Know not to overexert yourself trying to fix someone who doesn't want to be fixed. You have the best of intentions, but intentions can only do so much against a boy who has grown up in an environment of hatred.

Her auntie is wrong. Susan knows it. Amelia thinks in black and white, with no in-between.

And she hasn't been overexerting herself these past few months. She's made bloody well and good progress without sacrificing her mental health. Magnus hasn't been going around calling himself a future lord, at least. And he hasn't, not once, ever used unsavoury words for Muggleborns like Malfoy has.

Not in public, at least. Maybe in his head…

"Ain't that right, Susan?"

She looks away quickly from Magnus and down at her homework before, finally, making eye contact with Merritt. The other girl's got a wide grin on her face, light glimmering in her eyes. "Pardon?"

"Before McGonagall went and gave you detention, you told Malfoy that you'd shove his broomstick up his-"

"Don't be crude," Susan interrupts, a faint flush heating her cheeks up as a tittering of laughter comes from the second-years. She very much wishes she'd told Malfoy that. Hopefully, the whole experience humbled him a bit, though she's doubtful.

The grin on Merritt's face has yet to disappear. "Sorry." She sounds quite the opposite.

"Sure, you are, Merr."

"Why don't we talk about something that hasn't been done to death?" Megan says. "Did any of you read about the dreadful way the Chudley Cannons played this week?"

"Worst I've seen in years!"

The rest of them get into a ramble about the recent Cannons versus Kestrels match. Megan and Hannah argue about whether the referee was paid off by the Kestrels to throw the match, and the second-years quickly lose interest in them.

Susan is just grateful the spotlight isn't on her anymore.

"That's the wrong answer," Draco says, tapping his quill on Regina's parchment paper.

She should've known not to do her coursework in the common room. She had been under the impression that Draco would be bumbling around, trying to once again butter up the Durmstrang delegations enough to make valuable connections.

Or maybe he just really likes Krum.

Regardless. Evidently, he's decided to take a break from that particular passion of his.

Hence him sitting beside her.

Hence him looking over her work like a snooty, upper-year teacher.

Hence her wondering what's preferable: a life sentence in Azkaban on account of murder, or having to deal with Draco being Draco.

At the very least, he has stopped constantly talking about Potter getting himself into the Triwizard Tournament. No, he's evolved; now he just wears that obnoxious POTTER STINKS badge all the time.

Yes, she has one. No, she doesn't usually wear it. Not because she feels any particular way about Potter (though she does appreciate him being responsible for the takedown of the world's biggest blood supremacist known to wizardkind). It's simply too ghastly to look at.

Regina wrinkles her nose as she stares down at her Astronomy coursework, the parchment tinged turquoise from the lighting that having the Slytherin dormitories surrounded by the Great Lake provides. "Pardon?"

"Jupiter has eighty moons, but only fifty-seven of them have been named. You said eighty-three. That's Saturn."

She blinks. She refers back to the textbook, hoping that he's wrong, just to rub it in his face.

Nope. Jupiter has eighty moons; Saturn has eighty-three.

As she scratches out her answer with a bit more ferocity than necessary, Draco says dully, "You're welcome."

"I"m not even sure why you're staring at my assignment," Regina says. "Don't you have better things to do?"

"You very confidently stated the wrong answer in Defense Against the Dark Arts yesterday. I'm simply trying to help you and uphold the reputation that Slytherin's students are smart."

Regina's cheeks flush pink. She was the only one to put her hand up in the room besides Draco. Then, she mixed up the Impediment and Inhibition jinxes, which led to a very stern reprimand from Professor Moody about how her carelessness would be the death of her, followed by a smug correction from Draco.

"Better get started on Crabbe and Goyle, then." She's no longer close enough to refer to them as Vince and Greg. No, they're relegated to surnames now, just like Parkinson is.

He chuckles. "Both of them are a lost cause, and you know it."

That makes them both have a brief fit of laughter, interrupted only by Warrington asking them - no, telling them - to shut up.

They comply, mostly because Warrington is large enough to use his fists instead of his wand in a fight.

Regina continues to work on her Astronomy coursework; Draco seems to be penning his hundredth letter of the term to his father. Eventually, he moves from sitting across from her at the table to sitting on one end of a couch, reading the fourth-year Potions textbook. There's a wave of calm that washes over the common room - as calm as it can be, what with the soft chatter of other students who are milling about.

Yes, they comply.

For a bit, anyways.

Until she decides that Astronomy is, without a doubt, the most useless class that she is required to take.

"Salazar's dying breath, any other class is preferable to this," she huffs, taking care not to toss her quill onto the desk as she's so tempted to do. Even at Durmstrang, this was her worst subject (besides Dark Arts, of course). "I am never going to use any of this in my life."

"You never know," muses Draco, "you might uncover an ancient power that lets you see the future from the position of the stars."

She rolls her eyes. "Slim chance of that."

"You might decide to take up a career in astronomy. Who knows?"

They know. They both know damn well. If she becomes anything more than a housewife, it'll be a minor miracle.

But before Regina can say something particularly snarky, Pansy fucking Parkinson shows up.

"Draco!" she squeals, sitting beside him on the couch.

"Pansy," he says in return, wrapping an arm around her waist.

They're - Regina's not entirely sure what Pansy and Draco are, to be honest. According to Daphne, Pansy's the likeliest one of them to be engaged to Draco, so she supposes they're just trying each other out before it becomes official.

Which, ew.

"Are any of you going to Hogsmeade this Friday?" Blaise asks, sliding easily into the chair across from Regina.

The upcoming Hogsmeade trip is sorely needed. Regina wants to see what the only entirely wizarding village has to offer. She's heard the Quidditch store there is brilliant. Not to mention, even with the expansive school grounds to explore, she's been feeling cooped up since she had to retire her broomstick for the season.

"Of course," Pansy says. "Draco needs to take me to Madam Puddifoot's!"

"How fascinating," intones Theo, who in the course of the last five minutes has slithered his way into the room. There's a glass of pumpkin juice in his hand. "I'm sure you two will just adore the way everything in there's coated in pink. Do tell, Draco, what is your opinion on obnoxious amounts of frills?"

Draco looks as if he very much would rather not go into Madam Puddifoot's, but he doesn't speak out against it. He likely resigned himself to the idea as soon as Pansy first mentioned it to him, whenever that was. "If Hogsmeade would just open up better places for dates, we wouldn't all be relegated to one place."

"Shut it," Warrington growls from one corner of the common room. From the pinched look on his face, he likely finds it too difficult to read unless there's complete silence.

"Well, you don't have to go there to have a date at Hogsmeade. For example - Regina and I are going to Spintwitches, then to Honeydukes."

She turns to look at Blaise, who's smiling slyly. "Since when?"

"Since now, if you'd like."

"You're dating her?" Pansy asks, wrinkling her nose as she casts a dark look towards Regina. She looks more like a pug than a witch.

"You're dating her?" says Draco, eyes suddenly wide.

"It's just one date," Regina clarifies, then immediately wishes she hadn't spoken at all when Blaise's smile grows just a tad wider.

"You never told me you two were dating," Draco says, voice a tad louder.

"We aren't dating," she says firmly.

"You just agreed-"

"OI! DIDN'T I TELL YOU LOT TO SHUT IT?"

Warrington's booming voice compels them all into silence much more effectively than Madam Pince ever does.

"You goin' to Hogsmeade?" Hannah says.

Magnus blinks as he looks up from his book. Hannah snuck up on him. He hadn't even realized he wasn't the only student in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom anymore, not until she spoke. They've still got another twenty minutes until class begins.

He hasn't even thought about Hogsmeade since he arrived at Hogwarts. Durmstrang has no real equivalent; everything a student could want or need is relegated to the confines of the castle.

"I suppose I am," he replies.

When Mother had filled out the permission slip, sometime in the summer, she spoke of Hogsmeade fondly. Apparently, Father had taken her on many a date there in the final half of their Hogwarts experience.

The week before the Hexberg children were due to go to her alma mater, she handed him a small pouch filled with coins. There was that smile on her face, warm and loving, more Hufflepuff than Slytherin. "Some spending money. Every child needs to be spoiled. Don't tell your father."

Don't tell your father. The mantra of his childhood.

"Good! Good! I'm glad you are. You need to see it, it's fun."

She tilts her head a bit, glances at the cover. "'Breaking the Boundaries-?'"

"Not so loud," Magnus hisses through gritted teeth, quickly stuffing the book back into his bag.

He's been reading it, more out of spite towards his father - at least in the beginning. That spite has cooled down, though, and now…well, now he's reading it because it's interesting.

Maybe. Just a tad. All his other books, he's read a million times.

At least this one is new.

Hannah's voice is a few hairs quieter. "Ah, right, don't want anyone to know you're actually capable of being a decent person." She smiles. The badge on her chest has not changed from SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY. Susan slipped him one at breakfast, but he hasn't worn it.

"It is not that simple," he says. "I - it's not that simple."

"Y'know, that's the first time I've ever heard you use a contraction." Hannah's eyebrows are raised.

"I am - I'm trying to use them. Apparently, they make me sound more…approachable."

"Approachable," she snorts, sitting into a chair in front of him. "So, finally realizing your family is made up entirely of prats?"

Magnus rolls his eyes.

"You don't have to tell me now, but eventually, I want to probe your mind on this," Hannah says ominously. "Anyways - what're your plans? For Hogsmeade? I can show you 'round, if you'd like."

With the way Draco looked at him, after that fight between him and Susan…Magnus hesitates to go anywhere alone. He's certain that his best friend - former best friend - would be all too happy to get back at him. That's how Draco's always been: he has to get the last word in.

"It would be appreciated."

Hannah's face lights up. She must see this as a major improvement from the last time she invited him anywhere. "We can go to Honeydukes, you have to see Zonko's - and Tomes and Scrolls! You'll love it there, the books are all from Africa and Asia, some of the magic they do is fascinating…"

"It sounds...kjølig," he says, eyes widening at the thought. Perhaps they have some books he's been trying to order from Flourish & Blotts…

"I don't know what that means, but considering the look you're giving me, I'd say it's good."

"Yes, it it - it's good." Students are beginning to trickle into the classroom, now, and he's glad he put his book away.

Hannah flashes him a warm smile before she and Susan start talking in low whispers, Merritt and Megan leaning over from the desk ahead of them.

What those girls talk about all the blasted day, he'll never know.