Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Slytherin Vs. Gryffindor

Hands were pinning me down; pressing into my shoulders as someone straddled my waist. A shadowed face loomed over my own. It was too dark to make out any discerning features. Not even gender. I was trying to wiggle out from under this person. Struggling to get the bottoms of my feet to press against the dirt floor so I could push up and throw the person off me. I am unsuccessful. The person releases one of my shoulders and strikes me across the face with his or her free hand. "Stop fighting me!" The person yelled; reaching to the side and picking up a large butcher's knife by the handle. "You did this! You did this!" The person continued to yell, poising the knife to be directly over my stomach.

"Stop!" I cried; vision blurred by tears. "It wasn't my fault. Please, it wasn't my fault". The knife plunges downward, piercing my stomach, searing hot pain engulfs me, and I start to gasp as air escapes me. The moment the person pulls the knife out, blood spurts out of me like a fountain with low water pressure. There is no respite before the person stabs me again. And again. And again.

I sit upright in bed. The word 'stop' silently formed in my mouth. Little beads of sweat run down the sides of my face, leaving sticky trails as I laboriously inhale and exhale. There's no knife. There is no knife anywhere near my person. My right-hand leaves the warmth of my blankets and slides under my nightshirt. My breathing starts to calm as I feel the skin of my abdomen. There's no blood. No gaping wounds. There aren't even any scars. I look to my left and see Angelina and Alicia blissfully asleep in their beds. I look right and see that two other girls who I don't care to know are doing the same. I am in the Gryffindor dormitories. I am in the dorms where there aren't any dirt floors. Closing my eyes, I remind myself that Jessie is dead. Jessie is dead and I am Holly. Holly, who is currently in a safe place.

Despite what I tell myself in an attempt to soothe my nerves, I still climb out of bed. On the balls of my feet, I stalk out of the third-year girls' dorm. The Gryffindor common room is empty, and the fire was reduced to smoldering ash. I don't linger. After one look around the common room, I head for the stairs leading to the boys' dorms. I'd been doing so well. At least a month had passed since the last time I felt the need to seek out my fellow triplets in the middle of the night. It had been beautiful. A whole month of uninterrupted sleep.

It's easy getting to Fred and George's dorm. I've done it so many times that I could probably do it with my eyes closed. Slipping inside my brothers' dorm, I see an image very reminiscent of the third-year girls' dorm. Five boys lie asleep in their beds. I know three of them, and there are two more that I don't care to know. On tip-toes, I make the quiet trek over to Fred and George. As usual, Fred is sprawled out on his stomach, so I choose George's bed. He doesn't wake as I climb under his covers. And in a way, I prefer it that he remains asleep. It's a reassurance when George or Fred sleep through a murder dream night. As if their slumber is proof that everything is fine. The world is still spinning and the ground isn't about to crumble out from under me. I don't go back to sleep. I don't even try. It would be impossible when my body is this wired.

Instead, I stare up at the ceiling and think about tomorrow. Or rather, today. The first quidditch game of the season is today. Gryffindor against Slytherin. Quirrell would try to throw Harry from his broom by magical means, and Hermione would set Snape on fire. It's okay though. Fred and George have a plan. And we really couldn't care less if Granger set fire to Snape's robes. The git has it coming. What I am more anxious about is the talk we have planned with Pucey before the game. In the days that followed after Halloween, we never found the time to hear Pucey out as we had promised. There was always something preventing us. From curfew to suspicious teachers. From Lee's presence to quidditch practice. It was proving difficult to find a private moment to talk things out with Pucey. The meeting of a Slytherin with Gryffindors was just too unheard of to pass unnoticed. Whenever the four of us tried to get together people would stare at us, waiting to see who would pull out their wands first. But we saw an opportunity today. No one would think it odd for a Slytherin chaser to head down to the pitch early. The same goes for the two Gryffindor beaters. Likewise, it wouldn't be strange for the beaters' triplet to join them. We are rarely seen without each other, after all. So, we thought we could hide under the spectator stands before the game started. Hell, before the rest of the members of the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams arrived. Better yet, even Lee would be too occupied getting ready for his commentary to notice our absence. This way no one would suspect us. No one would interrupt us. And hopefully, I'd finally know why Pucey decided to share his secret.

With bags under my eyes, I trudge down the slight muddy hill behind Fred and George as we head for the pitch. All of us were wearing our Sherlock Holmes hats, and it felt appropriate. In a way, we are on an investigation. I was ready to get some answers. But on the other hand, I was also ready to take a nap. "Remember", George said as we stepped into the shadows of the stands. "We're just listening".

"No decisions," Fred agreed. "Not until we all talk". We slide under one of the stands that are covered in Ravenclaw colors. Pucey is already there waiting for us as he stands underneath the rafters. He's leaning against a rectangular post but straightens as we enter. Wearing his green quidditch robes, Pucey is a stark contrast to Fred and George's red quidditch robes. We stand in a single file line, shoulder to shoulder. Fred on the right, George in the middle, and me at the end. For a while, no one says anything. Perfectly content with a stare-off as the boys size each other up.

"Weasleys" Pucey greeted us after a long moment.

"Pucey," Fred said in turn.

At the same time, George greeted him with, "Black".

I decided to throw something entirely different out. "Puck".

All three boys turned their eyes to me. "What?" George asked.

I responded with a shrug. "It's Pucey and Black combined".

George rolls his eyes and Fred hangs his head. "Please, Jolly Holly. Leave the jokes to us". Fred begged, before turning back to the matter at hand.

Pucey, however; sighs. "I suppose I like it better than Reggie" he drawled. Briefly, he looks me in the eyes, before turning to my brothers. "So, you two know about my past life?"

Fred and George nod. "I tell Fred and George everything", I said, affirmatively. "There are no secrets between us". Well, there haven't been any secrets between us since I let Jessie out of the bag last summer. And there is one other exception, which is a secret that occurs every month for a week. But that's a secret every girl has.

Pucey gives us a long, deep nod. "I figured you would". He said, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. When he was ready to continue, he sighed. "Alright", he said more to himself than to us. As if he was trying to prepare himself. "I am Adrian Pucey. Once, I was Regulus Black". Pucey used his most definitive voice. "My current self is my present and future. Regulus Black is just memories at this point". Pucey said, sounding very similar to how I would describe my experience. I guess that means there aren't two people inside his head. Which is always good news. "Regulus made decisions that he regretted at the end of his life. I still regret them now. One of them was ostracizing my… his older brother, Sirius. The other was taking the dark lord's mark".

With his regretted mistakes clarified, I find that I can breathe easier. "So, you don't think pure-bloods are better than everyone else?" George asked, doubt oozing out of his tone of voice.

Pucey breathes deeply through his nose. Which is our first clue that he is about to say something that we are not going to like. "Not Better," Pucey said carefully. "We're meant to be leaders. Gatekeepers protecting the magical way of life. Our culture, our heritage needs safekeeping. Generations are getting smaller and smaller. During my first education at Hogwarts, the Daily Prophet kept printing articles about the lack of magical births. I haven't noticed the same trend this second time around, but class sizes haven't increased so I can only assume that it is the same. As Regulus, I thought the solution was to follow the dark lord. To place the sacred twenty-eight in charge of the world and make sure that our culture remained as the majority culture. Even if we won't have the numbers". Pucey pauses and looks at each of us. Like he is trying to see if we are following him. If any of us agree. But he has a lot more to explain before we are swayed. "But the dark lord wasn't interested in preserving our way of life. He didn't care about half the things he preached. He wanted genocide. Absolute bloodshed. He didn't care who suffered as long as someone did. He chose the muggleborns and muggles because he knew that he could get people to do his bidding if he offered them a scapegoat. Especially after all the damage wizarding Britain took during Grindelwald's reign". It was like I was listening to Pucey telling us the wizarding world's version of World War Two. Though, based on Jessie's analysis of the Harry Potter series, I was. Pucey licked his lips before continuing. "He just wanted to watch the world burn. When I figured that out, I was in too deep to walk away. He hurt a friend of mine… Well, a friend of Regulus'. So, I … Regulus decided to do something to get even with him. And that led to Regulus' death."

"Nice story", Fred breaks in. "But that doesn't answer the question. What do you think about muggles and muggleborns now?"

Pucey exhales loud enough through his nose that we could hear it. "I don't care about muggles. I don't wish them dead or enslaved, but I wouldn't care if all of them disappeared tomorrow. As for muggleborns, I don't care if they're accepted or if they're second-class. But if they are in the same boat as the rest of us, I want them to be brought into the folds of our society. There's not enough magical blood anymore to cast them out. I want them to adopt our ways and customs. And leave everything non-magical behind".

And then it clicked in my head exactly what Pucey's philosophy was. "He wants assimilation over multiculturalism. For tradition to prevail", I muttered. Intending it only for my own thoughts, but they all heard me.

At a silence that I wasn't expecting, I break out of my thoughts and look at each of the boys. All are giving me blank stares. "Multiculturalism?" George asked, clearly seeking a definition.

Oh, right. That's a much more popular topic in muggle America than it is in isolated wizarding UK. I shrugged. "Don't worry about it" I said, trying to keep our focus on figuring out Pucey's intentions. Honestly, I'm surprised they know what assimilation is. "It's just a prevalent topic in America. Has been for many years, and probably will be for many more to come". Actually, I hope it is a topic that never dies. Because when people stop discussing ideas, concepts, or anything, error slips in and people tend to stop being open-minded.

Fred and George were giving me odd looks. They give me the same look whenever I say something that is more Jessie than Holly. Pucey, on the other hand, gained some new knowledge and rolled with it. "America?" He fathomed. "Your past life was in America?"

I nodded yes since that question was directed at me. "I was a muggle too," I said. Feeling safe to admit such a thing with Fred and George present. I also wanted to test the waters. I wanted to see if socializing with an ex-muggle would get under the ex-death eater's skin.

Pucey sighs, and looks down to the ground with a shake of his head. "Shame". He said, before looking back up at us. So far, I haven't liked his response, but there is no disgust in his eyes as he looked at me. If anything, he is as cool and poised as normal. "I was hoping your past life was someone who remembered the first wizarding war".

"Why?" Asked Fred, sounding offended on my behalf. "So, you would have someone to remember the good old days with?" Fred asked, sardonically.

Pucey's face hardens as he reflects inwards. "There was nothing good about those days''.

"So why tell me?" I broke in before Fred could continue his line of interrogation. "Why tell me about your past life".

Pucey answers my question with another question. "How old were you when you died?"

"Twenty-five". The dream I had last night flashed through my mind as I answered.

"So, you lived longer than I did". Pucey pauses to consider Fred and George, glancing at them in the process. But decides to rest his gaze on me. I am the only one who can understand his experience. "When I was Regulus, I died when I was eighteen. Doesn't it get annoying to know something, but not be able to say anything because there's no reason that you should know it?" I agree with a nod of my head. Yeah, it is really annoying. Especially when Dad goes on a rant about electricity, and I can't correct the parts he gets wrong because, in this life, I've never even flipped a light switch before. "I keep a list of spells and potions that we've learned". Pucey goes on to say. "Just so I know which ones I can use without raising suspicions. Regulus graduated from Hogwarts. I already know the curriculum from the core classes, and I am stuck repeating everything". Even Fred and George cringe in sympathy at Pucey's point. It's every students' nightmare to have to go through school twice. "Once I was sure you had been reborn too, I thought that if I shared my past life the two of us could have more", Pucey paused, and gave my brothers a shifty look with his eyes. It is a gesture that instantly has Fred and George's hackles raised. "More adult conversations than the ones we can have with anyone else".

Fred and George seemed to want to know exactly what Pucey meant by more 'adult' conversations. But I instantly knew what he was getting at. There have been many times I've wanted to swipe some of Dad's firewhiskey but couldn't because I have the body of a child. Or there have been times I have wanted to talk about the stock market or the economy, but can't because I shouldn't have any concept of those things. It's maddening. From under the stands, we start to hear the approaching feet of the student body.

Fred starts to usher George and me out of our hiding place. "We'll be in touch," George said, pushing me to walk in front of him, leaving Pucey behind.

"Welcome to the first quidditch game of the season" Lee's voice echoed across the entire pitch as he yelled into the magical sound system from the teachers' seating. Sitting by my lonesome in the Gryffindor seating area, I watch as my brothers and friends enter the pitch on their brooms and zoom up in the air. It is painfully easy to spot Fred and George. And not because of their red hair. But because they have their red and blue deerstalkers on top of their heads. How they ever got Wood to let them wear them, I'll never know. All around me, Gryffindors hoot and cheer as Madam Hooch sets the bludgers free, followed by the snitch. A brief moment later, Madam Hooch throws the quaffle up into the air and the chasers take off, squabbling for it. While the Keepers fly to their goal post and the beaters and seekers disperse.

I can't see Ron and Hermione anywhere in the stand that I am sitting in. However, I can't bring myself to worry. I am sure they're somewhere watching the match. And even if Granger doesn't set Snape on fire Harry will be fine. Fred and George have a plan after all. So, it's nothing I can worry about. Especially when I have other things on my mind. "And the quaffle is stolen by Angelina Johnson" Lee roars as he gives a play-by-play of the game. "What an amazing chaser Angelina is, and she's rather attractive too-".

"JORDAN!" McGonagall's disapproval is heard from all corners of the pitch.

"Sorry, Professor" Lee is quick to say. "Just stating a fact".

I want to give Pucey the benefit of the doubt. He's still not very accepting of muggles and muggleborns, but indifference is still an improvement from hatred. Maybe if he had more exposure to the outside world he would learn to feel differently. "Slytherin takes possession of the quaffle!" Lee declared. I refocused my eyes on the match to see Pucey zooming towards Wood with the quaffle under his arm. An aerial roll saves him from a bludger that George smacked in his direction. Pucey aims and throws the quaffle, but Wood prevents it from going through the goal post at the last possible moment.

Also, Pucey wasn't fully honest with us. He didn't lie either but he had talked around the Horcruxes and the locket he had died for. I can't say that I blame him. The fragments of you-know-who's soul isn't exactly something you can work into a conversation. Clearly, both Pucey and I have information that we don't trust each other with. And that's probably a sign that I should keep him an arm's length away, but I want him to be nearby. I like talking to him. And the chance of talking about past lives and what being reborn is like with someone who could actually relate is very appealing. I drop my head down and cover my face in my hands just as Lee announces that Slytherin has scored. What does it say about me if I like someone who is aware that he doesn't think everyone is equal and is perfectly okay with that? But Pucey is only fourteen. There's time, right? Time for him to travel down a different path.

Around me, my fellow students gasp in horror. One boy asked, "What's he doing?" Putting my boy drama on hold, I uncovered my face and looked up. In the center of the pitch, very high up from the ground, is Harry dangling from his broomstick. The broomstick jerks up, right, left, and down as it tries to get its rider thrown. While everyone is fixated on Harry, I turn to see the staff seating section. Sure enough, Quirrell and his turban are visible. He isn't blinking. Behind Quirrell sits Snape who is also not blinking. Here's another cannon event that hasn't been changed.

I look back at the pitch. As they had planned, Fred and George abandoned their beaters' bats the moment they noticed Harry's broom going haywire. In the book, they had tried to grab Harry and pull him onto one of their brooms. But we decided that we could do better this time around. Just in case Hermione falls short. Instead, Fred and George circled under Harry. They pull out their wands from inside their quidditch robes. It took a bit of research, but we were able to come across a catch me spell. A spell that is very popular with mothers whose children like to fly. Once cast, a green glowing magical net would appear. And if Harry were to fall, he would be just fine as long as Fred and George were under him. However, before they could even cast the spell the problem resolved itself. Harry's broom went still as it hovered in the air. I looked back at the staff seating. There seemed to be a commotion as Snape was standing up, and stomping his foot. I couldn't see Quirrell at all anymore. Good job, Granger. I thought as Harry swung himself back over his broom. And the game continued. Fred and George stored their wands away and flew off to retrieve their bats. Meanwhile, I was engulfed by my thoughts once more.

Should I use logic or my gut feeling to decide my Pucey problem? Of course, I haven't heard Fred and George's thoughts on the matter yet. Maybe the solution lies in their opinions. Harry takes off with accelerating speed. He must have seen the snitch. Logic is telling me to be wary. While my gut tells me to make room for Pucey. Suddenly, Harry is neck and neck with the Slytherin seeker. They point their broomsticks straight down as they hurtle after the tiny golden ball. Pucey and I have a difference of opinion. I don't agree with a caste system or tolerating only a homogenous culture. But I also don't think that a person shouldn't be excluded for thinking differently. If anything, that would exacerbate inequality instead of solving the problem. The Slytherin seeker loses his nerves and pulls out of the nosedive. But Harry keeps going. He pulls up at the last possible second. And soon he is flying only inches above the ground. Carefully Harry stands up on his moving broomstick and holds out his hand. But he can't quite reach.

Pucey said he wanted to do better than when he was Regulus. He proved that when he summoned Fred away from the troll. Harry starts to inch forward in order to extend his reach. But he misjudges the balance of his broom and topples over with his broom cartwheeling over his head. Pucey doesn't like Fred. Fred doesn't like him. And yet, Pucey had set aside their differences and saved Fred. Harry tumbles and rolls on the grassy part of the pitch before he comes to stop; lying flat on his back. He sits up and starts heaving as if he was about to hurl. However, when he opens his mouth out pops the snitch. Perhaps Pucey can do more. Maybe he just needs to be allowed the opportunity. I think… I think I want Adrian Pucey in my life.

"Gryffindor wins" Lee uproariously celebrates over the magical sound system. And I couldn't agree more.