Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff

Obviously, with Pucey now an ally, we had a lot of planning to do. Or rather, Fred, George, and I had a lot of planning to do to get Pucey to expose Quirrell without it being traced back to us. However, that would all have to take a back seat until after the Hufflepuff Vs. Gryffindor quidditch match. It's pointless to plot when your comrades are boys and there's a sporting event taking place. They won't be capable of paying attention. Especially since if Gryffindor wins this match, we would pull ahead of Slytherin in house points. Of course, Fred and George are on the Gryffindor quidditch team, so they couldn't use this time to plot anyway.

I also couldn't hold Pucey's inattention against him either. Not when this was not a usual game. Snape was refereeing, although I know it's a secret ploy to protect Harry from any more jinxes. Even more strange was the additional viewer sitting in the staff stands. It wasn't odd for students' parents to come and watch them play if they were on their house teams. But this legal guardian was Sirius Black. And the recently freed man's presence was causing a stir. Especially for Pucey. Unlike every other student watching the game, his eyes weren't on Snape giving the Gryffindors another foul. His grey gaze was fixed squarely on the gaunt but smiling person sitting between McGonagall and Jordan, who was commentating. "He looks thin," Pucey muttered to himself. "Regulus has no memories of him ever looking that thin".

I turned my head to look at my fellow third-year, pulling my attention away from Ron who was sitting in the front row with Granger. Only one row in front of us. My brother was getting more and more distraught every time Snape called a foul on Gryffindor. But I felt more empathy with Pucey's comment than I did with my little brother's sports anguish. "He's been locked away for a long time". I reminded him. "He's not going to be in fit-form right away". Pucey still can't bring himself to tear his gaze from the stands.

"I know", he muttered. But he was unsatisfied. And I was suddenly grateful that I wouldn't have to run into anyone from Jessie's life.

"Black will probably eat at the Gryffindor table with Potter after the match", I said softly. That is if he doesn't demand to take Harry off campus to eat. Though, based on what I've overheard from Ron and Harry, Dumbledore wasn't too keen on Harry leaving school grounds. "I could introduce you two". I offered.

That got Pucey to look away from the staff seating. Since we are sitting shoulder to shoulder, I have to tilt my head back and he has to tuck his chin down for us to make eye contact. Something indistinguishable flashes in his grey pupils. But it's gone faster than it came. "I", he starts to say but seems to think better of it. "Thank you", he finalized after clearing his head. "But the Pucey's have nothing to do with the Blacks". As he spoke a chilled wind blew across the pitch, causing me to hunch up my shoulders to protect my neck as I shivered. "You'd have no reason to introduce us, and therefore it would be impolite". Pucey finished his explanation, sounding regrettable. Though, after he takes note of my shivering, his tone changes to one of exasperation. "Why did you come out here without a scarf or gloves?" He asked, scolding as he reached up and started to unwind his green and silver scarf from around his neck.

I don't answer him. I have a question of my own. "Is it some sort of stupid pureblood rule that I can't introduce you to Black?"

Once Pucey had completely removed his scarf, his eyes hardened at my question, and he glared at me. "It's not a rule. It's etiquette". He sounded personally offended. And I suppose I shouldn't call other people's cultures stupid. "And you're a Weasley", he pointed out as he reached over my shoulders and started to wind his scarf around my bare neck. "A member of the sacred twenty-eight". He ended his point when he finished bundling me up like one would a stubborn child. The smells of mint and pine filled my olfactory receptors. I shivered once more as my body accepted the second-hand heat. This made it almost worth forgetting my scarf this morning.

"You say that as if it actually means something", I said as Pucey retracted his hands. Growing up, I had heard the phrase, sacred twenty-eight, before. But in the Burrow, it didn't mean anything, and us Weasleys didn't care for social niceties. It's hard to care about such a thing when we live in close quarters.

Pucey sighed and bowed his head. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he said more to himself than me, "Mother was right. You are going to be a full-time job".

Did I hear that right? "Come again?" I asked, placing an edge in my voice. I slid closer to Pucey so that his shoulder was pressed against the very end of my collar bone. I got my face close to his to apply pressure. Personally, I don't know what he meant by that comment. But a part of me feels like I should take offense.

Releasing his nose, but keeping his head bowed, Pucey peers down at me. His expression is one of competitive intrigue. Pucey now knew something that I didn't. He was motivated by keeping it from me, but also curious about how far I would go to get it out of him. "Don't worry about it", he said with a smirk. If we were any closer, the tips of our noses would be touching. "It will make more sense to you in the future".

I wrinkled my nose and squinted my eyes as I studied the boy with great scrutiny. What, in Merlin's name, did that mean? But I wasn't afforded the chance to continue our game. Not with the loud exclamation of "Gross!" pulling our attention away from each other.

Almost as if we had forgotten that we were in a public place, Pucey and I swivel our heads to look at the row in front of us. Both Ron and Hermione had turned around in their seats. Why? I have no idea. Maybe Snape's refereeing skills finally became too much for them and they needed to look away. Or maybe it was something else. Either way, both of the first-years were staring at Pucey and me with different expressions on their faces. Ron looked like he was about to have an aneurism, with his face pained and upper lip curled up in disgust. While Hermione was blushing so red that she was matching Ron's hair. She seemed to be unsure if it was okay to be looking at Pucey and me, but unable to quite look away, as she kept glancing back and forth at us and her shoes.

"What?" I asked, befuddled by the dramatics of my little brother. What could I have possibly done to deserve such a response at a quidditch game? As I stared Ron down, Pucey discretely put distance between my face and his. Although, our shoulders remained pressed together. I could feel him shaking. But I was unsure if it was because I have his scarf, or because of something else.

"Do you have to kiss where everyone can see?" Ron asked in response to my inquiry. He said the word kiss as if it was the mother of all profanities. I gaped at him, as words escaped me. What would have given him the impression that Pucey and I were kissing? I, as in Holly, haven't even had my first kiss yet. I was only thirteen, for Merlin's sake. Ron takes my lack of a rebuttal as permission to continue. "If Mum and Dad knew you were snogging a bloke in public- '' Ron started to say, playing the parent card.

But I found my tongue and interrupted him. "I would assume they would prefer it to making out in a broom closet", I said in a matter-of-fact way, using the American version of the word snogging. What can I say? In some ways, Jessie is still alive and well.

"Weasley" Pucey scolded short and sharply in a low growl. I had probably just broken another pureblood etiquette rule.

But I ignored him in favor of staring down my brother, who was now blushing hard enough to match Hermione's flushed cheeks. "Ron," Hermione whispered to my brother, although Pucey and I could clearly hear her. "I think we're intruding on a personal moment". She said it like she had walked in on something taboo. And I suppose, with Pucey being a Slytherin he is, in a way, taboo.

Ron practically sputters as he responds to Hermione. "They're in public! There's nothing to intrude on". He waves his hands at us as if that would prove his point.

"Your right, Ron" I agreed, trying not to snicker in an effort to keep my straight face. "There is nothing to intrude on". I placed emphasis on the word 'is'. After all, we really hadn't been kissing.

Ron purses his lips, but he isn't silenced for long. "And he's a Slytherin" He digressed, sounding personally offended. Hermione wrinkled her nose at the comment but held her tongue on that one. It seemed, that even as a first-year, she was picking up on the discrimination facing her from a common Slytherin viewpoint.

I shrug and wave my hands as if to say, 'what would you do?' "What? Would it be better if I was kissing Lee?"

"Weasley!" Pucey admonished again. I can feel his eyes boring into me as he sends me his displeasure. But it has no effect. If anything, it just makes the urge to laugh grow. I refuse to apologize for being myself.

Hermione had decided the best course of action was to not look at anyone. Not at Pucey's irritation, or my amusement, or Ron's revulsion. Instead, she slowly turns back around to watch the game. Leaving Ron to process his feelings in front of us third-years. Ron seemed to be oscillating between the need to agree that anyone would be better than a Slytherin, and to the repulsiveness of his sister kissing anyone at all. I was grateful that I was born two years older than Ron. I don't think I could put up with Ron's attempt at protectiveness if I was Ginny's age. I should probably intervene before he actually hurts himself from thinking so hard. Though, Hermione gasps. Reaching back, she starts tugging on Ron's cloak until my brother feels compelled to turn around. "Harry's seen the snitch!" She declared, drawing all our attention to the sight of a lithe figure flying in the midst of a dive, hurtling towards the ground. Silence engulfs us as we watch the first-year seeker catch the golden snitch. It isn't as dramatic as his first game; meaning that he actually caught the ball with his hand this time. But the game is still one for the records. "Potter has caught the Snitch, Gryffindor wins!" Lee's voice booms across the pitch as most of the spectators celebrate. The Hufflepuff Vs. Gryffindor game lasted a total of five minutes; preventing Snape from giving Gryffindor any more unjust fouls. The funny thing is, I think I only watched about a minute of the game, having spent the other four minutes talking to Pucey.

Unfortunately, Ron hadn't been the only student in the stands to notice how close Pucey and I had gotten during our discussion and had also misinterpreted it. Though, I wouldn't know this until the next day, Sunday. Fred and George had crashed from their quidditch high the day before, so we had a bit of a lazy start, as Dad would have described it. At noon, we ended up lounging in the damp grass by the lake. The sunlight flickered as clouds flew by. They were white clouds, so we weren't worried about being rained on. Fred lay sprawled on his back with his arms spread out wide. His eyes were closed, and he was lightly snoring as George and I quietly conversed next to him. We weren't talking about anything of importance. It is Sunday after all, the best day to let the mind rest. Instead, George sat cross-legged with his back hunched as he constructed a little house out of twigs and blades of grass. I was lying on my stomach, with my legs bent behind me. I watched what he was doing as we talked about specific dishes that Mum made that we were missing. I was craving Mum's cauldron stew. While George was missing Mum's roasted chicken with rosemary. Us Weasleys weren't spoiled when it came to material possessions, but we were very spoiled when it came to the quality of our food.

We had decided to forgo school uniforms today. Luckily, they are not required on the weekends. I had on a pair of jeans for a second-hand shop, a plain black T-shirt I had nicked from one of my brothers (though I couldn't remember who), and had one of Bill's old button-up plaid shirts tied around my waist in case it got cold. Considering that we are lying in the slightly wet grass, I'd probably have to wear the button-up properly pretty soon. George and Fred had each chosen to don their Christmas sweaters over a cotton shirt and paired it with a pair of Jeans that they had gotten from Charlie. Except Fred was wearing George's sweater and George was wearing Fred's sweater. Gred and Forge decided to make a reappearance today. The population of Hogwarts had been none the wiser. Except for Lee and I, who simply knew better. All three of us wore our Sherlock Holmes hats. It wouldn't do to be caught unawares. "Remember that time when mom tried to make eggplant parmesan?" George asked as he tried to fix the little grass roof of his house. He was recalling the one-time Mum had tried to make something that turned out to be terrible. The eggplant parmesan recipe had come from a muggle magazine Dad had brought home. As such, the directions weren't written for magic users and Mum had used too much salt.

Though, I didn't get a chance to respond. A loud disruption drew our attention away from our conversation and up the hill, a ways away was a group of first-year Slytherins surrounding two familiar third-year Slytherins; Pucey and Stimpson. It wasn't Pucey or the first-years making a fuss, but Stimpson, unsurprisingly. She was standing with her back hunched as she sobbed into her hands. We weren't able to make out what she was saying, but we could hear her wailing. If it were anyone other than Stimpson I would assume that they had just received news that there had been a loss in the family. However, this was Stimpson. I think she is more capable of grieving a broken nail than the loss of life.

George and I exchanged one look as if asking each other, 'are you seeing this?' But we quickly looked back to the scene that was playing out. We'd have to wake Fred if things got more interesting. Pucey was standing next to Stimpson's left shoulder. Despite being so close to a wailing banshee, he wasn't backing away from her or even looking at her. Instead, he was biting his lip, staring down the first year in the center with clenched fists. Indicating that the first-years are probably the instigators. Three guesses to who these first-years are. "Isn't that Malfoy? From Ron's year?" George whispered; his little house forgotten.

I nod in response, too engaged with the scene to answer verbally. It is odd for a first-year to talk with a third-year. I mean, we only talk to Ron and his friends because Ron is related to us. Outside of sibling connections, there's not much of a reason for upperclassmen to talk to the first-years. Maybe this is another quirk to Slytherin house? Though, based on Stimpson, It's probably something more. The first-years, with Crabbe on the left, Malfoy in the middle, and Goyle on the right stood in front of our classmates with their arms folded across their chests. Their backs are to us, but I can't help but get the impression that Malfoy is a bit too pleased with himself. "So, what are you going to do Pucey?" Malfoy said, raising his voice in order to be heard over Stimpson's crying. "Such relations can't be good for your family's business". What did Pucey's family do for a living? It is something that has never come up in conversation before. "My family is your largest account, right?" Malfoy goes on to ask, not giving Pucey time to retort. "What will your father say if we have to end our business with the Pucey's due to their son having less than satisfactory friendships with the wrong sort".

Half of me wonder who the wrong sort is. While the other half of me already knows. "Careful, Malfoy '', Pucey growls; also talking louder than normal in order to be heard over the distraught Stimpson. Someone should really get that girl on a regular prescription of calming draught. "Given the nature of my father's products, I wouldn't recommend commenting so openly that your family are regular customers". There's a dangerous lithe in Pucey's voice that has me flinching and George tensing even though we are a good distance away.

His voice has an immediate effect on Malfoy. The blonde boy steps back before he can restrain himself, uncrossing his arms in the process. Whatever Pucey's family business is, it sounds like it might not be the most humanitarian-friendly of professions. But Malfoy recovers quickly. The signs of a boy who has never known humility and desperately needs to. "It isn't like it's a secret," Malfoy said, placing his hands on his hips as if to say he had knowingly uncrossed them from their original positions. "I'm trying to do you a favor", Malfoy said with more conviction than his little body is capable of. "Weasley may be a pureblood, but blood traitors aren't welcome in our circles", he said very matter-of-factly.

George nudges me until I look at him. "What did you do?" He whispered. Because I am the only Weasley Malfoy could be referring to. I am the only Weasley Pucey has regular contact with. Unless Fred and George's pranks can be considered as friendship.

I shrugged at him to indicate that I didn't know. At the same time, Fred let out an obnoxious snore. George and I look back over to the Slytherins up on the hill in time to see Stimpson pick her face up out of her hands. "That's right," She declared in a weepy voice. Thick lines of black run down her cheeks, smudging in certain areas She turned until her whole front was facing Pucey, and clasped onto his arm. "Your family won't approve". She said it as if she had been granted a miracle. "You can just write this off as a passing fancy and move on," she said forcefully, leaning into Pucey at the end of her sentence. Pucey shakes her off by snatching his arm out of her possession, but he doesn't look away from Malfoy and his goons.

"My family is already aware of who I choose to spend time with", he said, staring Malfoy down. "The Weasleys are a part of the sacred twenty-eight, and my parents see no issue in associating with a family that has such old ties". Pucey has his eyes squarely on Malfoy. He can't be bothered to spare a glance at Stimpson, or Crabbe and Goyle. "And for the record, Malfoy, your father is not our biggest client". In a way, it is a diplomatic answer. Pucey stated the value of my family (the one we don't care about in the slightest) to Malfoy, who only cares about value. All the while stating that he couldn't be swayed from his current position. In conclusion, it was a statement that couldn't pin Pucey as being sympathetic to anyone's opinion.

But Stimpson would not be ignored! "Please, Adrian!" She begged, reaching for his arm again. But Pucey sidesteps her, causing her to scramble to save her balance. "You can do so much better", she urged.

Finally, Pucey turned his eyes to the girl beside him. With the distance between us and the Slytherins, George and I are unable to see the look that he gives her. But whatever it was it must have been ugly, because Stimpson retreated as if she had been confronted with a rabid dog. "I don't know what you are implying, Stimpson. Frankly, I don't care. But please refrain from following me around". Pucey sounds like he is at the end of his rope and I marvel at his self-control to not yell at the girl.

Malfoy, however, decides that he needs to have the last word. "I think you know exactly what she's implying" the little snot piped up. "We all saw it". Malfoy said, making a wide gesture with his hand to himself and his goons. "You were snogging the Weasley girl in broad daylight for anyone to see at that quidditch match". Suddenly I started choking on air, as I sputtered. It seemed that Ron had something in common with the heir to the Malfoy family. Both of the boys had very active imaginations. "It isn't decent. Not for people like us". Malfoy spoke with far more confidence than a first-year is entitled to.

Feeling obligated, I turned to George, who was watching all of this with his mouth hanging open. "I promise", I whispered. "That didn't happen".

But, at my words, George composed himself. The git shrugged as he said, "We've told you before Holls, you have terrible taste in men". I frown at him, but ultimately, I am grateful that he didn't take Malfoy's comment at face value. Good to know that our sibling trust is stronger than schoolboy gossip.

However, Malfoy's comment has an escalated effect on Stimpson. Erupting in another bout of wailing sobs, Stimpson points a finger at Pucey, seemingly unaware that the three first-years were snickering behind her back. Except it isn't Pucey she accuses. "It's her," she said contemptuously. "Isn't it? She did something to make you like this?"

Grinding his teeth Pucey said, "Stimpson, no one is capable of making me do anything". His voice rises at the end as a bit of his ire slips through.

Blowing hot air out of her mouth and nose, Stimpson turns away from Pucey. But in the middle of that action, she catches sight of her audience. Her audience being me a George. Her eyes widen, and for a moment she freezes, and the little gears in her mind turn. "Oh, hell" I muttered as I started to move my legs under me so I could stand up. It would appear that witnessing a Slytherin fight isn't a spectator sport; in the sense that spectators will be pulled in so that they are no longer spectators.

"I know she did something to keep you from me!" Stimpson roared as she turned her accusing finger in our direction down the hill. Causing all the Slytherin boys to look at us as well. Malfoy looked almost gleeful as Stimpson pushed past him and Crabbe as she stomped down the hill, fumbling to get something out of her robe pocket. George shifts next to me as if he is bracing for impact. I should probably do the same, but all I manage to do is sit up. I don't stand. I don't pull out my wand. The thought doesn't even occur to me after I make eye contact with Pucey. He looks tired with dark circles around his eyes and there is a sort of heaviness in the way he is holding his shoulders. But more than anything else, he looks like a lawyer who had just lost a good rapport with a jury.

Me studying Pucey is the reason why I don't notice Stimpson stopping a couple of feet away from me and my brothers with her wand pointed at us until it is too late to do anything. "You did something," Stimpson yelled; spit flying out of her mouth. In combination with her makeup running down her face, it gave her the impression of a deranged lunatic. "You did something to keep Adrian from consorting with the right sort!" Still, Fred remained asleep. George, on the other hand, had stood up. I could feel him looming over me. But I didn't turn around to see if he was going to do anything. It's hard to turn around when there is a wand pointed at you. "First Hogsmeade and now this!" Stimpson practically exploded as she aired all her grievances. To be honest, if this girl's only complaint is that she didn't have a date to Hogsmeade she must live a very charmed life. "Someone needs to put you in your place. Aguamenti!" As a jet of icy cold water shot out of Stimpson's wand like a high-pressure fire hose.

I jump up to my feet as I am drenched within seconds. My hat goes flying off my head and falls onto the now muddy grass. Fred and George's hat meets the same fate. George is in a similar situation as he tries to block the water from hitting his face with his hands. and his little house is swept away. It seems neither of us were fast enough to draw our wands. Fred gets the worst of it, however. Awoken by the sudden onslaught of water he yelped, "Bloody Hell!". Scrambling to his feet as he frantically tried to figure out what was happening. He shook his head in all directions trying to take in anything that may be relevant to the situation he had awoken to. But all that achieves is making him look like a wet dog who is trying to shake his fur dry. Once Stimpson's spell ends, the three of us are sputtering as we cough up a mouthful of water each. And we're shivering as water drips off us. I'm glad that I reached for a black t-shirt this morning instead of a white one. Stimpson lowers her wand with a satisfied smirk on her pouty lips. "That's a much better look on you, Weasley ''. She said as she places her hands on her hips in an akimbo style. "The guttersnipe should never leave the gutter. Sometimes it's important to remind slags of their place". Behind Stimpson, the Slytherin first-years were howling with laughter. But they were the only ones laughing. The sudden display of magic had garnered the attention of other students as a small crowd was starting to form a healthy distance away from us. So, a lot of people saw as Fred lunged in Stimpson's direction with his hands balled up into fists.

"What did you call my sister?" He demanded to know as George stepped forward to haul Fred back. At the same time, I turned around to push Fred away from Stimpson. Even though Stimpson is a pest, there are too many people around to let Fred go off on her. Even in the wizarding world, repercussions tended to be worse when a male showed aggression towards a female. Besides, we are Weasleys. We always get the last laugh in the end. Fred's face changed to a vibrant red color despite how chilled he must have felt. Glancing over Fred's shoulder, I can see that George isn't doing much better. Chivalrous Gryffindors these two are. I never doubted it.

"It's okay" I whispered to them, as I tried to gain control of the situation. On the inside, I was fuming too. But Jessie had experienced a lot of adolescent grudges during her childhood. Her memories had made me determined to avoid as much drama as possible. "We know the truth, and that's all that matters". I think Jessie read that in a book somewhere. Though I can't recall which book that was. Probably a book that didn't exist in this world.

Both Fred and George take reluctant deep breaths. It helps that the three of us know that this is not over. Not when we have an arsenal of pranks at our disposal. Stimpson won't get off scot-free for this.

"You heard me" Stimpson answers Fred's rhetorical question, incapable of keeping her big mouth shut. I rolled my eyes but stopped pushing Fred back in favor of pulling my wand out of the back of my jeans. It's tempting to use the stinging hex on Stimpson, but I settle for casting a drying spell on Myself and my brothers. With time, Fred, George, and I can come up with a much more creative way of getting back at the petty girl. "She's a slag. Always sniffing after Adrian". She said all of this with her nose up in the air. "She isn't even defending herself". As if that proved that I was guilty of all the things she accused me of.

George opens his mouth to interject, but someone beats him to it. "Weasley's not saying anything, Stimpson" Pucey began to say. I turned around to see him walk down the hill, leaving the still laughing first-years behind. He walks past Stimpson and stands in the middle between us and her before finishing his sentence. "Because you haven't said anything that deserves a response". He spoke lowly with his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Adrian" Stimpson complained, her eyes growing watery.

"It is the wizard that peruses the witch," he said as if that was supposed to remind her of something. And who knows? Maybe it does. "And Weasley's place is wherever I wish it to be". Yeah, I definitely never agreed to that.

"Like hell, it is," George mutters, and this time Fred has to hold him back. All three of us bore glares at Pucey as he turns around, blocking Stimpson out entirely. Pucey and I will be having words about that last statement. If I can get to him before Fred and George tear him to pieces. What can I say? Through our time spent together growing up, I taught Fred and George to be feminists. Which they succeed at… about 85% of the time.

Looking directly at us but ignoring our angry eyes, Pucey said, "I apologize for my housemates". He bows at the waist, acting way too formal for someone who is planning a conspiracy with us to discover Quirrell's dark secret. He holds the position for a few seconds before straightening his spine. "We'll talk later," he said, ignoring Stimpson as she bristled when she overheard him. Pucey turns and walks away, and soon the other Slytherins depart as well, taking the onlookers with them.

"Merlin, Holly" Fred complains, ruffling his hair in agitation as George bends down to retrieve our hats. "You have horrid taste in men".