Luckily by Saturday night the excitement over the upcoming Quidditch match on Sunday between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, as well as the return to relative normal with the visitors gone, served to outshine any gossip left about the new student. When I exited the common room Sunday morning, ready for what was sure to be a long day ahead with the game and the inevitable evening after party, the Weasley twins were there on the stair, cheery as ever.
“You didn’t have to walk up all these stairs,” I said, stepping past them to start down the enormous five flight spiral stairway.
“Couldn’t risk you vanishing on us,” George chimed as they followed me down the long stone curve.
“Yeah, you might have some passageway up here that we don’t know about,” added Fred. I raised an eyebrow.
“That leads out of a tower?” I replied quizzically. The twins looked at each other before smacking a hand to their foreheads. I smirked amusedly as we headed down to the Quidditch pitch. Just as we were about to enter the courtyard, a sort of quad with benches and arches and the like, where students often relaxed in their down time between classes, the twins stopped short.
“The game doesn’t start for two hours,” said Fred. I shrugged, my common response to everything. “George reckons he’s found a route past the dungeons,” he continued. The two looked over at me expectantly. I sighed.
“Let’s see it then,” I challenged, and we detoured back inside the school through the great oak doors that meant for every student, big and small: ‘Welcome’.
“She only said yes because she thinks we’ll get lost and end up missing Quidditch,” George whispered audibly as we tucked behind a tapestry just across the portrait of the Fat Lady, which I knew led up to Gryffindor Tower. She was mercifully not practicing her high notes, trying to shatter a crystal glass, but humming to herself busily.
“I never turn down an opportunity to find out something no one else knows,” I answered. Fred guffawed. He knew that was more Iris talking. Spending three years living and going to classes with somebody tends to rub off on you.
“What about that time we wanted to show you the Gryffindor common room?” he said.
“A highly privileged offer, that is,” George added proudly.
“I’d already seen it,” I said, breezing past them through the chilly corridor. The twins laughed loudly, but I caught their disbelief. I had, in fact, been to the Gryffindor common room before, and even empty the energy that mirrored the students’ personalities was too much for me. Blaring red walls; absolutely everything gilded with gold. I had left promptly, stepping out of the portrait instead of leaving back through the hidden passageway from which I’d came.
When we reached a dead end in the long, cold corridor Fred and I waited patiently while George pulled the Marauder’s Map from his robes. An object they’d stolen from Filch in their second year, it quite mysteriously detailed much of the goings-on in the school, including many of its secret passageways. None of us knew where it had come from, or who the manufacturers really were, for all it said atop was: Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. The damaged looking piece of parchment had a secret incantation you had to mutter to make the map appear and disappear, otherwise in gentle scrawl, it insults you instead. They had asked me to try to reveal it with a charm the first time I’d seen it, but it only told me that I should keep my stubby little fingers away from it. I was actually kind of impressed with this.
George studied the map for only about five seconds, dragging his finger along the passage to where we were, looked back up at the wall, then nodded.
“Right,” he said, rolling up the map and stowing it away again. He brandished his wand and took a step back, his eyes lighting upon the west wall. He made a long, wide curve in the air, and just like that, a doorway appeared.
“Well done,” I beamed as Fred and I let him in first. Sometimes the atmosphere around Ravenclaws can get a little competitive, and the Weasley twins were too, with Quidditch and drinking games and such, but unlike my fellow housemates, Fred and George were always willing to share their discoveries. It was part of what made them special to me, and probably the reason we got on so well. We were there for each other to share this secret hobby of ours.
Through the doorway, which we closed steadfastly behind us, was a long stone staircase, not unlike that of Ravenclaw tower, but much narrower and with a very noticeable lack of windows. We were headed into the depths of the castle, definitely toward the dungeons.
“Suppose this leads to Snape’s office?” I mumbled quietly, not the least bit as brave as they were. As I thought about the imminent danger of losing the potion master’s favour, which would limit me from learning all I could about the brilliant and cunning professor, I walked absentmindedly right into the back of one of the twins, I couldn’t tell which.
“What? What’s the matter?” I whispered, trying to see past their tall forms blocking the way. They seemed to be frozen; rooted to the spot. I briefly considered running the other way lest it be Snape, but my curiosity got the better of me, and I pushed my way between the twins, whirling around to look annoyedly at their faces. They were positively beaming. Before us was a small porthole, bolted like that of a ship, looking down onto the Slytherin common room. The Weasleys had started whispering excitedly; finishing each other’s sentences in the way they are won’t to do.
“Greatest thing in Hogwarts history-”
”-never believe this-”
”-of all time!”
“Thank you Marauders!” the two shouted in unison. I turned my attention back to the porthole. The spacious common room was decorated rather lavishly in the house colours, a watery light from the Black Lake (which we were now beneath) illuminating the elegant furniture. It was wide and not the least bit cramped, I thought, like those of us in towers and turrets, or even the Hufflepuff basement, which I’d heard was a sort of rabbit hole under the kitchens.
“But can’t they see us?” I whispered back to the twins, who were still chattering excitedly to each other.
“Must’ve been enchanted by someone,” Fred said.
“Yeah,” added George. “I reckon this was created by one of the Moony folk from the map,” he said. The common room was mostly empty as students had already headed to the Quidditch match, but a few lounged on elaborately decorated armchairs, chatting. Someone wearing a dark set of plainclothes was sauntering toward the entrance, most likely on their way to Hogsmeade. I instantly recognized him as Sergius Moonblood. “Alright, Twyla, let us have a look,” they said, jostling me out of the way.
“This is too good,” they mumbled.
“We’ve gone four years without knowing this was here!”
After a few minutes of anti-climactic spying, we rushed out of the passageway, erasing the door, and walked briskly out to the courtyard. There was already a flood of students down on the pitch, clamboring for seats up in the sky-high stands. I caught sight of Sergius Moonblood out of the corner of my eye, standing nonchalantly atop the hill, but was too distracted by the argument I’d instigated with the Weasleys over how much Transfiguration homework I just remembered I still had to do. They began to forcibly pull me down the slope toward the throng of students.
“And miss your own house game?” said Fred. “You’re mental.”
When we managed to climb our way up to the stands through the old, rickety, and seriously claustrophobic stairwell, we spotted Lee Jordan, the twins’ best mate, in the front row. He was commentator for most of the matches, and Professor McGonagall was seated on his right hand side to ensure he didn’t step a toe out of line- which he often did with bias and jokes. There were two empty seats on his left side, but I’d already spied one farther away for myself.
“Go sit with him,” I nodded, “you lot are cheering for Hufflepuff anyway.” I shrank to the back row among some other Gryffindors and waited for the game to start. I would be quizzed on it later no doubt. Just as I was wishing I’d brought my Ravenclaw scarf, as it was pretty chilly at this high altitude, and the wind had picked up to make the game interesting, I saw someone standing directly beside me.
Then I heard someone’s throat clearing and a familiar voice ask, “Is someone sitting here?” I shrugged and shook my head as Mr Moonblood sat down. A lot of the other students were staring at him, if not because he was recognized as the new kid, then because he was in plainclothes. He seemed unshaken by the attention as if he didn’t even notice it.
“We’re not supposed to be out of uniform unless we go to the village,” I leaned over to whisper to him, hoping he wasn’t too embarrassed.
He was unfazed, replying loudly back, “I was on my way to the village, then I noticed there was a big game. Didn’t want to miss it.” The half-glancing crowds seemed rather placated by this and they turned their attention back to the pitch.
“Did you play for your team at Durmstrang?” I asked, not even sure if they had one.
“No,” he answered back. “I don’t care about sport.” I raised an eyebrow and turned to face him for the first time. “I saw you come here, so I came too,” he said, a small smile on his lips. Poor guy, I thought, he hasn’t made any friends yet. I’m the only person he’s talked to. Those Slytherins must be treating him horribly. I wonder if I could persuade Snape to help him out, I’m sure those two must get along. I know the Durmstrang Headmaster Karkaroff and he at least know each other-
“Who is your favourite?” he asked suddenly, his eyes still fixed firmly on my face.
“Professor?” I asked back, still attached to my train of thought. “Well they’re all really different and brilliant in their own ways,” I started, “but if you want to know who I get on with best or who will spend the most time on after school tutorials with you then-”
“No, no,” he interrupted, shaking his head, “which player?” I looked dumbfounded for a moment, which I knew was embarrassing for a Ravenclaw, until I remembered we were watching the warm up of a Quidditch match.
“Oh, uh, uhm…” I looked out at the blue robes hovering over the field. He laughed.
“I don’t think you like the game much either. Do you want to go to the village with me instead?” I was caught off guard at this offer and at how good it sounded. It was bold and sudden, but just in time before the game started. I wouldn’t have to dedicate my Sunday to Quidditch! My gaze shifted down to the twins (who were absolutely engrossed in fanatical Quidditch conversation with Lee) guiltily. I thought about how miffed they’d be when they noticed I’d left, but I was more concerned what would happen when they found out why.
“Come on,” Sergius Moonblood said, and I followed him down the stands. We exited the pitch just as Madam Hooch blew her whistle and the quaffle was released into the air. I kept my eyes on the ground and didn’t look back up at the stands. We walked silently together back up the slope to the other side of the school, giving me enough time to stealthily study his smart black jeans, boots, and deep purple pullover. I wished I was in plainclothes too, he looked so effortless. And my robes would make me stand out as a student in the village. As we approached the tunnel leading to Hogsmeade he broke the comfortable silence.
“So,” he said, “tell me something.” It was the typical air of a Slytherin but without any of the malice. I determined he was genuinely interested.
“What would you like to know?” I asked, thinking of the array of questions I could fire at him about Durmstrang and the wizarding world of the north - not to mention any knowledge he may have accumulated as technically, a student three years my senior. I shook the idea from my head when I remembered Fred and George were a year my senior too, and they didn’t have too much to offer by way of academics. Nevertheless, the curiosity continued to burn within me. He shrugged but looked over at me imploringly. When I didn’t say anything he sighed and asked if I was more talkative with my redheaded friends. My cheeks burned and I suddenly wished I hadn’t decided to go off castle grounds with a Slytherin. I shuffled along slowly. He turned around confusedly.
“What happened?” I realized he might actually not have meant any offence by that and told myself to calm down. This is why I was better off alone.
We glided onwards to the other end of the tunnel, and I tried to think of fun facts he might not have known about Hogwarts in general. When I exhausted my store of casually interesting comments surrounding the castle, such as how to dispel Peeves (his arch-nemesis is the Bloody Baron, the Slytherin house ghost) or the known contents of the Black Lake (mostly grindylows, some merpeople and the giant squid), I turned to Sergius.
“I’d love to know everything about Durmstrang,” I said meekly as we reached the rowdy streets of Hogsmeade, hoping he could hear me over the bustle and the din. He cocked his head toward a restaurant and pub, The Three Broomsticks, to our left, and then held the door open for me as we shuffled in. The warm, two-storey pub was alight as we maneuvered our way to a booth in a corner window upstairs, a coveted one I could never seem to snag before now. It had a beautiful view over the wizarding town and you could even see over the tunnel to the start of the castle grounds.
He quickly dismissed my order of a butterbeer and proceeded to place many orders of liquor shots and ales authoritatively. Madam Rosmerta, the owner, seemed impressed and gave me a conspiratorial smile. I leaned against the window and looked out at the shops below. The metallic purple moon above Zonko’s was gleaming mercilessly against the gray autumn sun and I had to search the cobblestone streets beneath it to avoid the glare. Sergius cleared his throat again and I looked expectantly up at him where he sat across from me. He laughed lightly and I felt I’d done something socially lacking, so I stumbled into conversation.
“So, uh, how was your first week of classes?” I asked. He nodded his head and leaned back across from me in the booth.
“Alright,” he said. I continued.
“What courses are you taking? Did your credits from Durmstrang transfer? Do you have different classes there? Do we have something you didn’t?”
“It’s different,” was his only response.
As the day turned into late afternoon he’d prodded me into spilling details about myself - my family, my favourite school subjects, my dreams. He made me laugh; he made me comfortable. But he still, unlike any Slytherin I ever knew, wasn’t so keen on talking about himself. Or he was too vague for my understanding in those areas, at least. Sergius Moonblood, I kept thinking, who are you?
When we exited the pub the sun was just threatening to dip behind the horizon, and my legs felt unsteady from the drinks. He took my hand to guide me down the steep stone steps and didn’t let it go. The rest of the night felt like a blur until I finally climbed all the way up Ravenclaw tower and flopped onto my bed in the girl’s dormitory, startling my cat, Binx, in the process. It took me a full minute to answer the password-riddle at the portrait (which came first, the phoenix or the flame?) and I decided, ashamedly, that I should stick to butterbeer if I don’t intend to forget that the answer, of course, is that a circle has no beginning. Trying embarrassedly not to wake the forms of my sleeping dorm mates I disrobed and crawled under the covers, wondering how lonely and friendless Mr Moonblood must be to have wasted so much of his time and effort with me.

The next morning I had no stomach for breakfast and instead opted to study in bed before my first class of Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall at ten thirty. I realized, to my stupidly unexpected dismay, that I was hung over. I couldn’t manage to unscrew the half-sick look on my face well into the afternoon and it showed. I received many shocked, disappointed looks from my teachers. I skipped yet another meal at noon to lay outside the courtyard on the cool grass; feel the blades between my fingers; try to keep my eyes cracked open at the blue sky. Then two tall, bright figures loomed into view, and they were grinning.
“Oh, not you,” I moaned, covering my face with my arms. The Weasley twins gave a chuckle, clucked, tutted, and shook their heads.
“She can’t even look at us,” one of them said.
“Your hair makes my eyes hurt,” I mumbled in return.
Before I knew it they’d sprawled on the ground next to me, one on either side, and began pointing towards the sky as if they were picking out shapes in the clouds.
“Look, Fred,” said George. “That one looks like Twyla sneaking off the Quidditch pitch before the match even starts,” he shouted, holding a hand over his eyes for shade.
“That one over there looks like someone who can’t hold their ale,” Fred added maliciously, and the two burst out laughing. I covered my face in my hands and groaned. “Ah, cheer up Twy,” said one of them. “I see a cloud over there-”
“-looks tall, dark and handsome,” the other sniggered.
I staggered up, taking all my energy to swing my book bag into the stomach of the twin on my right, before dragging it away as I stomped off into the school. I was just inside when I had to sit down and catch my breath again. The queasiness subsided. Thank Merlin I didn’t have potions on Mondays, I’d never have been able to do it. All those jars of weird beastly body parts in preserves lining the walls of Snape’s classroom was hard enough to think about, and I couldn’t risk making a spectacle of myself or drawing any attention in front of him. Severus Snape was indifferent, at best, as long as you stayed out of his way.
I stood up and headed toward the second floor for my next class just as the damn Durmstranger himself rounded the corner of the corridor.
“Hey,” he said coolly, frowning at my blatant look of exasperation. He pivoted to walk back around the bend beside me. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah,” I muttered, “Charms starts in-” I was interrupted by a passing Slytherin student who greeted Sergius and quickly shut my mouth. He nodded back to them as we passed.
“Were you at breakfast this morning?” he asked as we shouldered past a group of older Gryffindors who also greeted him warmly. I found myself quite annoyed by this and the way it seemed to increase my curiosity in the new student. He’d made so many friends already? What was he still doing hanging around me?
“I didn’t feel so good,” I spat, perhaps a bit harsher than was necessary.
“Oh,” he said, sounding a little crestfallen, “I’m sorry.” My cheeks flamed with embarrassment and I brought a hand up to hide the pinkness there.
“No, I just,” I stammered, “I’m a third year. I usually just stick to butterbeer.” He seemed to be brooding now, and his brow furrowed over his eyes. I looked away from him as a new shudder of sickness overtook me. He was obviously unimpressed I couldn’t hold my liquor, or angry at me like the twins were. This is why I shouldn’t have friends.
“Forget about it,” I said, backing towards Flitwick’s Charms classroom. I left him standing in the hallway to take my seat next to the Slytherin student who was my practice partner.

That night I was feeling much better, like my usual self, before all this new student affair started. Back to normal. Phoebe Chang, one of my Ravenclaw roommates, saved a seat for me at dinner in the Great Hall and I was ready to put the events of the past month of term behind me when I glanced up from my pumpkin juice and saw Sergius two tables over with the Slytherins, staring directly at me. It looked like he hadn’t touched his food. I felt my cheeks flush again and began busying myself with piling my plate higher with biscuits and veg. I was starving, after all. But as I stuffed Yorkshire pudding into my mouth all I could think about was how stunning he’d looked in his plainclothes; the way he looked at me like I was actually there instead of through me like everyone else did.
When I stole a glance back up at him he looked sad. Perhaps it wasn’t anger that had him brooding earlier, I thought. Maybe it was guilt. But before I could catch his eye the Bloody Baron had floated up and started a conversation with him. It seemed he was rather popular with the undead, too. I loitered around the Great Hall after the meal, still trying to cram in as much food as possible after a long day of fasting, clutching a jug of butterbeer to keep it from vanishing. Soon the hall was clearing out, and Hagrid gave me a wink from the head table; I supposed he was usually the only one still eating this late.
Sergius Moonblood had left with the rest of his house.
The next day at lunch an unfamiliar boreal owl dropped a parcel into my lap. It was addressed to me in yet again an unfamiliar scrawl. I opened it to find a small chest of my favourite sweets from Honeyduke’s: sherbert lemons, powdered petals, lollies and rainbow taffy. I looked over at Darwinnia, perplexed, but she simply shrugged her shoulders. I popped a pepper ball in my mouth before tapping the chest with my wand, muttering a shrinking charm I’d mastered in after school tutoring with Flitwick second year.
“Verumtamen Vane Conturbatur!” I said forcefully, albeit under my breath to avoid detection or getting in trouble for practicing magic outside of the classroom.
The charm was kind of my specialty. I slipped the now tiny chest into a pocket of my bookbag for safekeeping and then continued on with my day.
Throughout the week I kept more and more to myself than usual, drifting loftily between classes, often missing meals in favour of conjured snacks and candy. I didn’t see the twins and I didn’t see Sergius Moonblood.
Finally on Thursday afternoon, after a rather anxiety-inducing episode of Snape’s fury in potions class after someone had dropped a perfectly good bezoar into a jar of pickled salamander tails, I headed outside early to catch some fresh air on my way to double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Professor Sprout.
As I stood taking in deep lungfuls of the crisp autumn air I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Mr Moonblood looking apprehensive, glancing from my face to the ground and back up again. I waited for him to speak.
When I didn’t say anything he prompted, “What’s up?”
“Herbology,” I replied, motioning toward the greenhouses down the hill. He nodded vigorously.
“Cool, cool.” I tilted my head up to see his crystal blue eyes, like the sea after a storm. They looked more grey than I’d remembered today. He seemed to be having a hard time looking at me, which was bafflingly unusual.
“Received anything in the mail lately?” he asked casually.
“No,” I answered, befuddled by this random attempt at small talk. “You?” I returned politely. Suddenly I remembered the little treasure chest I’d been carrying around with me.
“Oh!” I exclaimed, hiding an embarrassed smile by digging for it in my bag. With the miniscule package clasped tightly in my palm I looked gleefully up at him. He’d taken on that old heir of calm; that signature coolness, but his eyes twinkled.
“I-I didn’t recognize your owl,” I implored apologetically.
“I borrowed her,” he whispered conspiratorially in a way that conveyed that his definition of ‘borrowed’ certainly meant something different than mine.
I pursed my lips to keep back a grin, then became confused again and asked, “How did you know? About the sweets, I mean...Wait, you didn’t skip class in only your second week to sneak off to Hogsmeade, did you?” My concern seemed to affect him and he puffed up proudly.
I looked at him in shock, then he laughed and said, “No, a couple of your Gryffindor friends who shall remain anonymous were very eager to do that for me.” I thought of the last time I’d seen Fred and George. I thought they were mad at me.
I squeezed the parcel tighter in my hand as I fought back the urge to throw my arms around his strong frame in a hug. He scratched his scruff and smiled meekly at me.
“So, uh, are you angry with me?” he asked, glancing down at the ground again.
“What?” I replied, my attention wavering between my class gathering outside the greenhouse and this boy that seemed too cool to be talking to me. The look on his face was laughable; priceless. He thought that I had some sort of authority to be mad at him? For what? Showing me the most exciting afternoon of my life; rescuing me from Quidditch; treating me like I was someone important? I had no words to ask him this and realized I didn’t want him to know how low rung I was on the social ladder or what I felt whenever I thought of him.
As the bell rung for class I stepped forward and gave him a brief, friendly hug before hurrying off down the hill, sliding the shrunken sweet chest back into my shoulder bag. I glanced back up the slope before entering Greenhouse number three and saw him standing at the top with his hands stuck nonchalantly in the pockets of his robes. We stood watching each other for a moment before I vanished into class for the second time. We worked with Fanged Geranium in Herbology that day, and as I studied with Darwinnia, Phoebe, and Iris in our dorm that night, I finished all the sweets Sergius Moonblood had bought me from Honeyduke’s.