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We Gryffies by gryffindorseeker
Chapter 21 : Lupus in Fabula
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 77

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Amor, ch’a nullo amato amar perdona,

mi prese del costui piacer sì forte,

che, come vedi, ancor non m’abbandona.

Love, which absolves no beloved one from loving,
seized me so strongly with his charm that,
as thou seest, it does not leave me yet.

-Dante’s Inferno

‘I think I just had a blonde moment,’ I said, sitting forward in my chair. ‘You’re quitting what, exactly?’

‘Quidditch,’ said Arlie Shacklebolt, the Gryffies’ star Chaser and unofficial team mother.

I stuck a finger in my ear and started digging for earwax. ‘No, I misheard you again. You’re quitting what?

‘The Gryffindor Quidditch team,’ she said, sounding ever so slightly irritated.

‘WHAT?’ I said. ‘And you have the audacity to say something so heinous in the middle of the Gryffindor common room?’

Arlie blinked. ‘There’s hardly anyone here, James. Except for that second year who likes to burn things.’

‘Don’t you bring Pepe into this!’ I said.

Pepe the Pyromaniac looked over at us, shrugged, and went back to throwing more newspaper in the fireplace.

‘Look, I’m genuinely sorry, James,’ said Arlie, ‘but everyone is saying that Snorky will end the strike any day now and I wanted to let you know that I don’t intend to return to the team.’

‘So you’re quitting?’ I grumbled.

‘I have N.E.W.T.s coming up,’ she said. ‘Again, I’m sorry, but I really need to prioritise my time—’

‘No one quits the Gryffies!’ I exclaimed. ‘You’re fired!’

‘James, there’s no need to be childish—’

‘Redundancy for you!’

Arlie rolled her eyes. ‘I know you don’t respond well to change, but I need to focus on my ten-year life plan, and it unfortunately does not include Quidditch. I need to do well on my N.E.W.T.s so that I can get a lucrative job within the private sector, away from the auspices of my father, the Minister for Magic, and I need to be hired straight out of school so I can have a career before I get married in five years and have children in ten, in order to have a sense of self-fulfilment that my mother never had. Plus, considering all the problems Drystan and I had in our relationship before the strike, I want to—’

‘Drystan?’ I said. ‘Drystan Davies, Ravenclaw Quidditch cap’n?’

‘Yes,’ said Arlie, not skipping a beat. ‘Things worked out so much better for us during the strike that I’m willing to make the sacrifice and give up Quidditch. Now, I can cheer for Ravenclaw during matches, not the Gryffies.’

‘You’re marrying Drystan Davies?

‘If my ten-year life plan works out, then yes,’ she said. ‘We’re not engaged, or anything…he doesn’t even know that we’ll be married in four to six years’ time, but I think it’s kinder to let him live with the delusion that he has any choice in the matter.’

I sat back and watched Pepe throw some chess pieces into the fire. ‘Bloody hell, Arlie! You’re quitting my team halfway through the school year and secretly plotting to get the Ravenclaw Quidditch cap’n to marry you?’

‘You better thank whatever deity really exists that you weren’t born a woman, Potter,’ said Arlie. ‘This is what we must resort to doing to survive in a man’s world. And I know I’m a good Chaser, but is it really that big of a deal to tell the alternate that they actually have a purpose in life now?’

I buried my face in my hands. ‘We don’t have an alternate.’


‘We don’t have a sodding alternate!’ I said. ‘We never needed an alternate before! The squad was perfect!’

Arlie raised an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t it a bit irresponsible of you to go without an alternate, in case someone got really injured? And the squad was far from perfect, Potter…didn’t we lose a match, once?’

‘I don’t remember,’ I said. ‘Quidditch seems like it was so many chapters ago.’

‘Look, I’m sorry to leave you one player short,’ she said with some degree of sincerity, ‘but I can’t go back to Quidditch. I need to move on with my life. Hopefully you’ll be able to find another Chaser before Snorky settles the strike.’

I glared at her with my Angry Face. ‘You know what, Shacklebolt? Moo.

She blinked. ‘Pardon?’

‘You’re a cow!’

Arlie was quiet for a minute. ‘And you’re a sad little boy.’ Then she stalked off.

I sank into a depression (in the seat cushion…apparently without Quidditch, I had developed a fat arse) for who knows how long, until someone tapped me on the shoulder and I opened my eyes.

‘Hey,’ said Tegan Llewellyn. ‘Pepe just lit his trousers on fire and I had to extinguish it. You didn’t hear him shouting? He could have died.’

She was like a mirage…all tall and lanky and shiny-haired and awkward-looking.

‘Teeegun?’ I said, sort of swatting her arm with my hand.

‘Sorry, I wouldn’t have said anything to you, but it’s kind of irresponsible to ignore second-year pyros when they’ve accidentally lit themselves on fire,’ she said, pulling her arm away. ‘I know it’s still…erm, tense between us. And weird and uncomfortable. Er, I’ve got to go, see you around.’

‘No!’ I cried. ‘Don’t leave me! I mean, where are you going?’

She looked at me funny. ‘The library, I just stopped in to get my History of Magic textbook from my dormitory. Oh, I dumped Miranda Matilda Melinda and the Shitforbrainses for some Ravenclaw friends.’

‘So you’ve been on quite the dumping spree as of late,’ I muttered.



Even though she was staring at me in that same sceptical, overwhelmed way she used to, Tegan looked…different. Not a bad sort of different—oh no, quite the contrary. She looked, dare I say it, downright sexy…not that I didn’t find her attractive before, because I did, but she was cute more than anything else. You know, like a cockapoo puppy with disproportionately long legs, soulful eyes, and non-shedding fur. But then something changed.

I didn’t get a good look at them, because I’d already far exceeded my Misogyny Quota for the day, but I’m pretty sure it was because Tegan’s breasts were larger. Or more prominent, or something.

‘Sooo,’ said Tegan, biting her lip, ‘how are you? Doing all right?’

‘Not exactly,’ I said. ‘Arlie just quit the team.’

‘What team?’ asked Tegan.

‘The Quidditch team.’

‘Hold on, she’s quitting? The what?

‘I tried to fire her, but I was too slow,’ I said. ‘Arlie Shacklebolt is quitting the Gryffies so she can be with Drystan Davies forever and ever. I mean, this is a non-issue unless Snorky settles the strike.’

What?’ said Tegan.

‘That self-absorbed seventh-year girl quit your team,’ said Pepe, who had just returned from his dormitory wearing a new pair of trousers. ‘She wants to have Drystan’s babies, whoever he is, and she wants to have more time to revise for N.E.W.T.s so she can get a good job in the private sector, so she’s quitting the Gryffies.’

I glared maliciously at Pepe. ‘Get the hell out of here, Pepe! And get some counselling!’

Pepe leapt through the portrait hole, muttering some sort of threat, I’m sure.

Tegan looked kind of frozen. ‘Arlie’s just quitting? I mean, she won Most Likely to Abandon Us at the first annual Gryffie Awards last year, but I never thought she actually would. Snorky could make the announcement that Quidditch is back on at any time! Matches could recommence within the month! Dammit, we have to train the alternate—’

We don’t have an alternate,’ I said morosely.

She looked at me…not angry, just serious. ‘While I don’t think that going without an alternate was a good decision, I’m not surprised. Right, then—we need to take action! We need to hold trials to find our new Chaser! We’ll post a sign-up sheet in the common room and hold them tomorrow or the next day after lessons! It’s a bit cold outside but it’s also February, and we would normally begin practices next week anyway…’

‘The pitch is out of bounds until the strike is over,’ I said. ‘Viridian’s orders.’

‘The strike practically is over, Potter!’ said Tegan. ‘They’re simply drafting the final versions of Snorky and all the other commentators’ contracts! We’re at a disadvantage cos we’ll be a man down coming back from the strike, and if we don’t act quickly we won’t have a shot in hell at the Quidditch Cup!’

She sat on the floor and extracted a parchment and quill from her bag, and began to scribble furiously.

Wanted,’ Tegan said aloud as she wrote, ‘one spectacular Chaser for a full-time position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Excellent flying skills a must, some degree of hand-eye coordination desired—

‘It has to be a girl,’ I interrupted. ‘No blokes. The oestrogen level of the team is dangerously low as it is.’

Tegan kept on writing. ‘I’m not entirely sure if that’s sexist, but it’s definitely bollocks so we’re not adding it. Second years and up are permitted to try out, but don’t waste our time if you’re rubbish. Bring own broomstick and meet on pitch Thursday at four o’clock. Contact James Potter, Sixth-Year Cap’n with any questions.

Then she drew up a list for prospective Gryffies to sign up, and handed me the parchment when she was done.

‘Will the strike be over by Thursday?’ I asked.

‘Doesn’t matter, but yes,’ said Tegan. ‘You’re good at Charms, so do something to make this look more colourful and eye-catching. Quickly, we want to post it on the wall before everyone comes back.’


‘You’re the artistic one! Make it sparkly!’

I took out my wand and charmed the ink red and added a glittery border. For your information, I briefly had a custom party invitation business when I was thirteen, for extra pocket money.

‘Perfect,’ said Tegan, grabbing the flyer and rushing it over to the notice board, ripping a piece of Spellotape with her teeth to secure it with.

‘Thanks,’ I said when she returned and sat on the chair across from me. ‘I mean, this seems a little premature since, y’know, we have no idea when the strike will be over, but I guess it’s good that you’re taking initiative.’

She sighed. ‘James, how can I make this clearer? The strike is ending and we’ll play a match against Hufflepuff in a fortnight.

I pouted. ‘I can’t believe it until it’s real, Tegan. I can’t handle any more disappointment. Also, I’d have to start speaking to Micah again, were Quidditch to re-enter our lives, and I really don’t want to.’

‘Yeah, I heard you two had a falling out,’ said Tegan. ‘What happened?’

‘Some things were said by both parties,’ I said brusquely, ‘and we’ll go on ignoring each other until we transcend our own egos and apologise. Considering the parties involved, that could take a while.’

Tegan was gnawing on her lip, and I knew that meant she was going to say something Important. ‘James—I’m sorry.’

Deflecting, I said, ‘What? Did you attend Micah’s Jimmy Potter Day festivities and burn me in effigy?’

‘I think what I did was a bit worse,’ she said dryly. ‘I’m sorry about Christmas Eve. And everything else, too. I handled everything wrong and—’

‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘Self-martyrdom does not become you, Tegan.’

‘Maybe it doesn’t, but I still fucked everything up,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I know you don’t like that word, but sometimes it’s the only appropriate one. So I apologise for the way everything transpired and I apologise for hurting your feelings. I care for you very much, you know.’

‘Honestly, it sort of feels like you stabbed me in the heart six weeks ago. And now it’s like you came back to push it in a little deeper, and twist it around to make sure that you nick all the little blood vessels and arteries and—’

‘I hate that I hurt you,’ said Tegan. ‘It sounds absolutely vile when I phrase it like that, but I really, really hate myself.’

‘Well, don’t,’ I said. ‘For Merlin’s sake, you didn’t wage a massive heist or kill a herd of Muggles for sport. You didn’t want to get pre-engaged because of your lack of faith in the institution of marriage, caused primarily by a lack of healthy marriages in your family, so here we are. Just two Gryffindors sitting in an abandoned common room, angry as hell with Arlie Shacklebolt for jumping ship.’

She smiled faintly. ‘I always secretly thought that Arlie was kind of a bitch, to be honest. But James, I truly am sorry, and I really care for you—I think I might l—’

‘Well, I’ve spent the last six weeks trying to stop caring so much about you, and I’m making splendid progress,’ I said. ‘No offence…it’s just that we want completely different things in life—I want marriage, and you’ll probably never get married—so I’m doing us both a favour by moving on, yeah?’

‘Right,’ Tegan squeaked. ‘Yes, good idea. Moving on, right.’

‘Indeed. It’s what people tend to do at the end of relationships—’

‘But we’re friends, right?’ she asked. ‘We can still be friends!’

I hesitated. ‘Sure. I have a rather short list of allies right now, so…sure. And I’ll tell J.D. and Freddie that they can talk to you again. Micah is outside my jurisdiction, however.’

‘Great,’ said Tegan apprehensively.

For a moment I considered whether excusing myself might be rude, but I really had to use the toilet. ‘Well, I should be going,’ I began, standing up.

‘No!’ she said, jumping to her feet. ‘I mean, how about a hug? A friendly hug? Between friends?’

I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to ignore her oh-so-slightly larger chestal region, and grimaced. ‘All right, let’s get friendly.’

Tegan shuffled over to me and threw her arms around my neck. She rested the side of her head on my shoulder, and I was a bit unsure of where to put my arms around her torso. How low was too low for a friendly embrace? I mean, I wanted to cop a feel and deduce precisely what developments had occurred in Tegan’s mammary area, but friends don’t do that. And Tegan was ever so concerned with our friendship.

So I just kind of stood there as she squeezed me tighter, which was weird—we never even really hugged all that much when we were dating. Another thing that was weird was that Tegan didn’t let go, not even after several minutes. It was oh so very awkward, and I am the Champion of Awkward Encounters: I was completely consumed by both the urge to run to the toilet and the urge to touch her tits, but Tegan just wouldn’t let go of me.

I wanted to yell, ‘If you’d accepted the sodding pre-proposal, you could’ve gotten this for free, dollface!’ But I didn’t.

In a way, though, she was still my little Tegster cockapoo puppy, but with a vice grip.

‘I really missed you, James,’ said Tegan, her voice muffled. ‘I forgot what you smelled like.’

‘What do I smell like?’ I asked, taking full notice of her own citrusy scent.

Tegan turned her head and literally sniffed my neck. (It was creepy.)

‘Kiwi,’ she said. ‘And pygmy puff. And…cedar?’

‘Lily bought me cologne for Christmas,’ I said. ‘Matraquage pour l’Homme. It’s got vanilla and cedar and blackcurrant or something, and it’s supposed to be very fashionable.’

Well, technically Lily bought it for me on Boxing Day to help me, as a newly single man, attract girls with my new metrosexual scent. It took a few weeks before I could wear it without feeling garish.

Tegan looked up at me. ‘Strange…but I like it.’

‘Thanks for your opinion…friend,’ I said, wondering if I could let go of her yet. She was so warm and soft and small…oh no.

No! I was moving on! Baaad road to go down, the road where you want to kiss her and touch her and—

But then Tegan pressed herself closer to me and kept on hugging.

Guhhhhhhhhhh, I thought.

It was almost ten more minutes before I finally excused myself to go to the loo.

Later that afternoon, after locating J.D. and Fred, I informed them that they were friends with Tegan again. Freddie admitted that the two had had clandestine chats on occasion, but I wasn’t as angry as he thought I’d be.

‘Oh,’ Fred said, ‘I actually felt really guilty, like I was betraying your cousinly trust.’

‘It’s really no problem,’ I said. It was almost dinnertime and we were in our dormitory, prettying ourselves up to go to the Great Hall.

J.D. was primping in front of his mirror. ‘So can we say that certain person’s name now?’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘We’re friends with Tegan. Just like before. Except she wants to eat dinner with her Ravenclaw friends tonight.’

‘How nice,’ J.D. murmured, picking at tufts of his hair so they fell in just the right way.

I finished tying my shoes. ‘Er…Freddie? J.Diz? I have a question. About girls.’

Fred shot J.D. a Look.

‘You’re not asking about…you-know-what, right?’ asked Freddie. ‘Cos I know your dad explained it to you a long time ago.’

‘Ew, no,’ I said. ‘I mean, sort of. It has to do with Tegan.’

‘Doesn’t it always?’ said J.D. wistfully.

‘Well, I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of getting over her,’ I said. ‘I actually think the problem is getting worse. Now that we’re just friends, I find her more…how do I say this tastefully?…more alluring.

‘You mean shagtastic?’ asked J.D. ‘Fuckable? Carnalagogo?’

‘Uh, sure,’ I said. ‘I don’t know if it’s a side effect of wanting what I can’t have, but she just seems…bigger, in certain areas.’

‘I think it’s a bit generous to imply that Tegan’s…er…chesticles are noteworthy, if you’ll pardon my candor,’ said Freddie. ‘But she might’ve had a growth spurt…of the outward, not upward, variety.’

J.D. was grooming his eyebrows. ‘It happens sometimes—girls get depressed, eat loads of chocolate and fattening foods, and the Puberty Fairy goes to work. Not that I’ve been looking at her—I’m taken, after all—but Tegan looks somewhat less like a pre-pubescent male now.’

‘I haven’t been looking, either,’ said Fred. ‘Teg’s definitely not my type. She’s tall like a sequoia.’

‘So I’m not imagining it?’ I asked.

‘Probably not,’ said J.D. sagely. ‘Some girls are still growing and it’s perfectly natural for you to take notice, J.S.’

‘Particularly since you’ve been infatuated with Tegan for so long,’ added Freddie.

‘But this is awful!’ I cried. ‘She doesn’t want me and I shouldn’t want her! She broke my fragile heart!’

‘Compartmentalise, J.S.,’ said J.D. ‘Put the physical attraction in one corner and the platonic attraction in the other. Separate your illusion of Sexy Tegan from the Bitchy Tegan who broke your fragile heart.

I crossed my arms. ‘Okay. I’ll try…after I consult with Dobby Longbottom, of course.’

‘You better get this sorted before Quidditch comes back,’ said Fred.

When J.D. was done primping, we three lads shuffled down to the Great Hall for supper. It was okay only having two friends, I guess…I sort of had Tegan back, but apparently on a part-time basis, and I didn’t want Micah back. He called me a ‘poofter,’ which is factually incorrect, considering my lingering feelings towards Tegan.

‘Oi, I’ve got more good news,’ I told Fred and J.D., who were arguing about plastic explosives or something.

‘What was the first piece of good news?’ J.D. asked, taking an entire bowl of mashed potatoes from the centre of the table and placing it beside his plate.

‘Tegan thinks my neck smells good,’ I said. ‘And we’re speaking again. I guess those are separate phenomena, so I have a third piece of good news.’

‘Pray tell,’ said Freddie after chugging all of his pumpkin juice in one sip.

‘Arlie Shacklebolt is quitting the team to follow her dream of marrying Drystan Davies!’ I said.

Fred blinked. ‘I think I just had a blonde moment. She’s quitting what, precisely?’

‘The Gryffindor Quidditch team,’ I said, irritated by my overwhelming sense of paramnesia. ‘The Gryffies. The only team any of us cares about. I mean, she’s quitting provided that Snorky Scamander is capable of transcending his own ego and ending this injunction, so it’s kind of up in the air.’

J.D. stopped eating that whole thing of mashed potatoes and blinked. ‘How is this good news?’

‘I think your sarcasm sensors are malfunctioning, J.Diz,’ I said, my voice dripping with you-know-what.

Arlie Shacklebolt?’ clarified Freddie. ‘Quitting the Gryffies? But she can’t! No one can! The only way out of the Gryffies is if you’re fired, and that is at the express discretion of the cap’n, provided there are unsavoury extenuating circumstances that would sully the Gryffie name, such as a drug trafficking scandal or involvement in an organised crime syndicate.’

I blinked. ‘It’s not like any of us signed a legally binding contract, Fred. Yes, you can quit, but usually bullying and manipulation are sufficient means to make everyone feel obligated to stay on the team.’

‘Oh,’ said Freddie flatly. ‘This must be one of those lies my dad tells to frighten me. You know how dads are!’

‘No, I don’t,’ said J.D., his voice dripping with mashed potatoes, clumps of which flew from his mouth and hit me in the face. ‘I mean, your dad has a dark sense of humour. My dad is clinically depressed.’

I wiped half-digested potato bits off my face and resisted the urge to be sick. ‘So, we’re holding tryouts on Thursday.’

‘Why?’ asked J.D.

‘To replace Arlie,’ I said.

‘What about the alternate?’ Fred inquired.

I was tempted to smack myself in the face with a thick, leather-bound book, but it probably wouldn’t have done anything about this fricking déjà vécu. Also, it was too much trouble to find someone who’d brought a thick, leather-bound book to dinner. The Ravenclaw table was almost twenty feet away.

‘Just be there, yeah?’ I said, close to tears.

Right then, I sensed someone walk behind me and whisper, ‘Bitch.

I turned ‘round and saw Micah walking away from me, so I shouted, ‘What, can’t think of anything cleverer, Whore? Oh-witz!’

But Micah kept on his merry way, and since he’d been very quiet while my volume had been somewhere around an 11, everyone within earshot (approximately 1000 students plus 20 teachers) went silent and focused their attention on little old me.

J.D. smirked. ‘Your and Micah’s catfight is certainly entertaining.’

‘I’m pretty sure he’s angry that I picked you over him, James,’ said Fred. ‘But he’s always fighting with someone and I always take his side, but you’re my cousin, you know? Blood is thicker than water, and Weasley blood is thicker than pudding.’

‘If Quidditch ever comes back,’ I said slowly, ‘which it probably never will, considering my luck, we’re going to have to deal with a hell of a lot of Horowitz hooey.’

What happened next was the biggest mindfrick that Hogwarts had ever seen.

Yes, I’m including the Chamber of Secrets Incidents, the Reign of Dolores Umbridge, and the Great Wassail Shortage of the Year Thirteen Hundred and Twain.

This was more mindfricking than all of those events combined.

The massive and heavy wooden doors of the Great Hall slowly and dramatically swung open, and a stringy young man by the name of Snorky Scamander emerged. His hair was patted down and his robes were soaked through—I don’t know why, it wasn’t raining outside (according to the ceiling). Anyways, Snorky the Dorky strode down the aisle in slow motion, shaking drops of water from his blond hair and holding up a piece of parchment in triumph. He had the attention of nearly everyone in the Great Hall, since the doors had creaked spectacularly when he opened them, and he did not stop until he reached the Ravenclaw sixth years. (Who, in addition to Beaters Ziv Berger and Hwan Kwan, apparently counted Tegan Llewellyn among their number, as that’s where she was sitting.)

Snorky jumped on the bench beside Tegan and stood up tall, ready to address his attentive populace. ‘Friends, Hogwartsians, fellow students, lend me your ears! I come bearing good tidings, for once!’

‘He’s got Ravenclaw robes on,’ said J.D. to no one in particular. ‘How’d he finagle that?’

‘Snorky Scamander has powers that we know not,’ replied Freddie.

All the other kids started whispering to each other too, until Snorky spoke again.

‘V.O.L.D.E.M.O.R.T.’s strike has been difficult on us all!’ He pronounced it like Voldemort, not each individual letter, but people didn’t really find it shocking anymore. ‘My fellow orators and I truly appreciate the support you have shown us over the past few months, both monetary and emotional! Through your sacrifices, you have honoured us and combated the oppressive and fascist policies of Hogwarts School and Wizarding Britain at large! You dared to fight for what I believe in, and if that is not the hallmark of a society based on freedom of thought, then I don’t know what is!

‘You gave up Quidditch, talk radio, and so much more in the interest of justice!’ Snorky continued. ‘I would not allow your sacrifices to be for nought, so I refused to accept Viridian and Shacklebolt’s shoddy deals—it was either all or nothing! I might never have conceded, due to my personal antagonism towards our Herbology master, but then a very special, compassionate young woman showed me the light.

‘Love is a very mysterious phenomenon,’ he said, smiling crookedly. ‘You can know a person for years and then without warning, like a bout of spattergroit, find yourself madly and ecstatically in love. I, for one, never thought myself to be capable of feeling such love…my father comes from a long line of German naturalists, and let me assure you, they are not the most romantic people. But without a doubt, I had fallen in love, and my beloved urged me to find a solution to the stalemate that I had engineered. Her passion is Quidditch, so I zealously sought a conclusion to my commentators’ strike, just to see her happy once again.’

‘Who’s he on about?’ J.D. whispered. ‘Hwan Kwan?’

‘No, can’t be,’ I said. ‘Her primary passion is illustrating pop-up books. Now Ziv Berger, her only passion is Quidditch.’

‘Who says she has to be in Ravenclaw?’ asked Fred.

‘Snorky would’ve switched to another house, then,’ said J.D. ‘Why switch houses if not for some girl?’

‘Maybe he moved out cos we’re a bunch of arrogant prats,’ I offered.

‘So now, I am pleased to announce an excellent bit of news!’ said Snorky. ‘From henceforth, I and all other commentators, announcers, and motivational speakers-for-hire within the jurisdiction of the British Ministry for Magic will receive pay raises of 20%, or a minimum of 10 knuts per word for previously uncompensated positions, and will no longer suffer from the oppressive censorship imposed by our employers, government, or international standards of decency!’

The crowd began to murmur, presumably because no one has ever given a care about the plight of the upper middle class orators of our fair nation.

Snorky frowned. ‘You get Quidditch back, plebs.’

There was a mighty roar, followed by much rejoicing. J.D. and Freddie were the first to leap from their seats and squeal with delight, quickly followed by representatives from the other three house Quidditch teams. There was hugging and jumping and tears shed by many an emotionally vapid young man. Soon, the more enthusiastic Quidditch fans joined in on the festivities, though more with cheers and catcalls than the shirt-ripping-off-and-swinging-around-gustily behaviour of Micah and the pouring-pumpkin-juice-over-head-and-sobbing-for-joy behaviour demonstrated by J.D.

Amid all the dancing and celebrating, I could still see Snorky Scamander, who was still standing on the bench and was grinning at the chaos he had caused. He looked down at Tegan, who was laughing at George DeJure III’s pitiful attempt at the moonwalk.

I couldn’t hear, but Snorky said something to Tegan and held out his hand. She looked confused and said something back, and Snorky might’ve repeated his original statement. Tegan said something else, and Snorky took her hand and pulled her up onto the bench beside him. Then, like something out of an irrational nightmare, or at least a contrived work of fiction, Snorky kissed her.

A/N: Sooo, who saw this coming? Before you storm the Bastille, remember that I don’t leave you with cliffhangers very often. =)

I would like to thank timeturner, Jay, and all the other admins who worked so hard to save HPFF from this little nuclear holocaust thing…it’s not like they read this silly little story, but I’m still eminently grateful for their efforts. It kind of stinks that we all lost our June thru September reviews (and the June 2 thru 14 review responses—I will try to find the time to re-respond to those, but I can’t promise anything), but it’s not so bad, because those dearly departed reviews live on in our hearts. ^_^ I’m not going to ask you to re-review for me, because what’s done is done, but if you read a story that lost ALL its reviews, please leave a review, particularly if they’re a newer author. Let’s all help each other out!

Thanks for reading, btdubs!

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