CHAPTER 42: HUFFLEPUFF CARES

"Have you noticed that Sparhawk seems to be spending a lot of time by himself?" asked Warrick, of no one in particular. Hermione's eyes narrowed and she put down her quill. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Yeah" he went on, the others now crowding around, "I know Sparhawk is somewhat a silent type. I mean, the only person who speaks even less is Cullinan." Said boy nodded.

"So it can be somewhat easy to overlook him"

The others stared. Then snorted.

"Okay, maybe that was pushing it a bit. But you have noticed that he seems to wander off somewhere by himself a lot, don't you?" he asked, abandoning his homework in favour of far more interesting topics.

"Well," Neville ventured, "He does take an awful lot of time in the loo. And the shower sometimes. Not that I'm judging or anything" he quickly added.

"Well, he is at that age" a new voice, which turned out to be a passing Oakstaff added wistfully. The firsties stared at him in confusion. "Well, you see, when a young man reaches a certain age…" He cut off abruptly as Violet cuffed him on the back of the head.

"Hey!" he protested.

Violet just glared. "Okay, okay." Oakstaff sighed and moved on.

The first years stared amongst themselves. "What was that all about?" asked Hermione. Warrick shrugged. "Anyway," she went on, "I've noticed that too. He stays in the library just a bit longer. I mean, it's just a few minutes, but he does stay back once we've all returned our books and gotten out. We never notice because Sparhawk's sort of quiet that way. He can disappear before we're none the wiser."

"Think something's troubling him?" asked Neville, concerned.

The others thought about it a bit. Then they all shook their heads.

"This is Sparhawk we're talking about."

"Yeah, he goes off every morning to do all sorts of exercises on the grounds."

"He tops every class. Well, for now"

"He gave Malfoy the dishing his father should have"

They all looked at one another. Yeah, who were they kidding? Still, they were Hufflepuffs.

"Maybe," Neville ventured, "we tell Cedric about this. You know, just to be on the safe side."

Cedric frowned to himself as the little first years brought their concerns to him. Maybe it was just a case of early puberty, but then again, this was Sparhawk they were talking about. Puberty didn't seem very likely there. It probably wasn't anything major, but the firsties were clearly worried, so he assured them he would keep an eye on things and sent them off. What to do now?

He very clearly couldn't confront Sparhawk directly. He didn't think he was brave enough for that. But maybe, for now, he could just get someone to keep an eye on the lad. Someone easily overlooked and reliable. Someone who had reason enough to hang around the Hufflepuffs. Someone like… the fat friar.

Sparhawk stared as the Friar gave him this latest bit of news. They were meeting in the usual place, aka the restroom. Apparently, he wasn't giving his housemates the credit they were due. The little urchins had managed to notice that he was up to something, and had taken it to Cedric, who had taken it to the fat friar, who had taken it straight back to him.

"What do we do, young priest?" the friar asked, bouncing around in excitement. To be honest, it wasn't that very hard for the friar.

Sparhawk thought a moment. He needed something convincing which would also get them out of the way. Something which would give them a bit of a project. And then it hit him. His companions still hadn't managed to pilfer Snape's laundry.

"Tell them…"

"Yes"

"Tell them I'm agonizing over my lost memories."

"And that's what the Fat friar told me," said Cedric to a group of worried first years. He watched as guilt rapidly dawned on their faces and they shuffled their collective feet about.

"Well…we did sorta forget about that" conceded Warrick.

Shame hung thick like a fog over them, even though it was just a product of their tiny child minds. And then popped the other thought.

"Professor Snape's clothes!" Hermione exclaimed.

Cedric was baffled. "What?"

Hermione's words came tumbling out as she laid out their flash of brilliance previously attained in the year. "And so you have it! We need Snape's clothes to restore Sparhawk's memory."

Cedric looked skeptical. And rather apprehensive. "I dunno…"

"Come on Cedric!" Hermione reasoned, "If magical means could do something about this, don't you think Headmaster Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of his age, would have done it?"

"We have to help Sparhawk!" declared Neville, an unusual glint in his eyes.

Faced with a sea of "Ayes!" and "Well said!" and "Right on, old chap!", there was little Cedric could do.

"Oh, okay. But how do we go about it?"

That brought the little group up short.

"Er…"

"Um…"

"I've got it!" exclaimed Cullinan. And everybody huddled around him as he explained his master plan for stealing Snape's laundry. It was brilliant in its simplicity and suicidal in its audacity. If it would work, that is.

After the group dispersed back their respective ways, a deeper shadow detached itself from the recesses of the room they had been meeting in. Maybe the doggedness and perseverance of Hufflepuffs itself was some sort of bravery mused Sparhawk. Well, this should be interesting. If they lived through the experience.