I have fuck all to do and I want to write despite having creative blocks for my other projects so I'm farting out a sequel to
this shitpost
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Black Lake is beautiful this time of year. The moonlight reflecting off the waters, fireflies lazily hovering around and throwing everything into warm orange hues. Almost makes you forget this is where the school dumps its sewage. There were a lot of people there, all Slytherin. They saw my yellow and things went to shit quick-they called me 'Huffer of Glue' and that I should 'piss off back to my badger cave' but the Malfoid chick was there and told them to fuck off. She seemed pretty happy that I actually showed up.
There were duels all around, and I got pressed by the others into fighting. People would say Gryffindors were the worst to duel, that they had an inherent skill in the dark arts and it was no fun to fight them 'cuz they'd always lose, but at least those guys were simple. They'd just charge forward and sling Expelliarmus, anything else deemed 'dishonorable'. And Ravenclaws would just sit there the first 10 seconds autistically analyzing you before doing anything. But these Slytherin guys, they're fucking underhanded. Half these guys didn't even say the spell, they just cast it. Nothing was above them. Dangling you upside down, conjuring snakes, blasting the ground beneath you, constant shit talking, hell, one of them even used Fiendfyre as a 'feint'. Still, I held my own, and it was nice seeing Malfoid cheer me on as 'the Slayer of Troonwick'. Gonna take a while for these bruises to heal, though.
Eventually I got enough respect from them that they stopped with the hazing and started talking about random shit. They didn't take much interest in me once the duels were over, preferring to speak amongst themselves, but Malfoid took me over by the lakes edge and started talking my ear off. Mainly about goblins. She
really doesn't like goblins.
"Well, they're pretty good with numbers," I said, "so it'd make sense they'd open a bank-"
"Yes, that's well and all, but why is it only their bank that's allowed to exist?", Malfoid interrupted me, "do you know how many attempts made by honest Humans to start up our own bank they shut down? And that's not even taking into consideration the shafting that Human smiths of all types get. More interest rates, bigger mortgages, while goblin smiths can seem to take money from the vaults without any type of financial worry!"
"Goblins are pretty good at smithing," I offer, "I wouldn't mind having a breastplate or sword made by them."
"I don't care how good their crap is, I want nothing to do with it," she hisses, "did you know their stupid views on goblin made objects? That it belongs to them, their 'people', that Humans who buy their stuff with hard earned cash are only 'borrowing' them. But Heaven forbid you point it out, then they start wailing and whinging about that fucking Goblin Slayer incident."
"But Malfoid, the Goblin Slayer was a horrific incident in wizarding history. Six million goblins died."
She gave me a look that one would give a paraplegic, or a man with the mental capacity of a vegetable, "I suppose it is the Slytherin's burden to educate those from simpler Houses. Don't worry, Huffie, I won't hold this over you."
That's what they call me now. Huffie. I told them my name like three times and they still call me that, on top of jeers about my House. I don't even wanna know what they'd do if they found out I was muggle-born.
Eventually, everyone started packing up, going back to the castle. I was dreading going back to the Hufflepuff Basement. The bruises I got duelling would pale in comparison to what the lads would do to me.
"You know...the Slytherin Dungeon is pretty roomy," Malfoid offered. "You could, maybe, stay there for the night, if you're that scared about the other Huffles."
"But Malfoid, I can't be seen in the girl's dormitories. I'd get punished."
"I-Wha-You'd be staying in the boys dormitories!", she punched me in the shoulder, "You pervert!", a second punch, "You lecher!", a third punch, "Do you think I'd do that type of thing before marraige?!", a fourth punch, "Shame on you, Huffie!", a fifth punch. She's surprisingly strong for a skinny girl. Or maybe she's just hitting the bruises.
She snuck me in. The Slytherin boys laughed at my suggestion that I sleep on an actual bed, pointed to a stack of hay in the corner. It kept poking and prodding, but sleep eventually found me.
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