Blurring House Lines

Year One: Busby's Chair

"Welcome to Slytherin, Arthur Kirkland," said the Slytherin prefect, extending a hand. Arthur shook it and sat down. Francis, across the table from him, smirked.

"We meet again, Sourcils," he said. Arthur nodded, glaring.

"Indeed, frog," he replied.

The Sorting ended with a boy named Vash Zwingli being sorted into Hufflepuff. As he headed to the Hufflepuff table, the headmaster - Albus Dumbledore - stood up to address the room at large.

"Welcome back for another year," he said, blue eyes twinkling over half-moon glasses. "While you're here I hope you learn something, whether it be new spells or to never mess with the Venomous Tentacula."

There were whispers amongst the other students. Arthur shot an inquisitive glance towards a relatively friendly-looking girl and she replied, "Some bloke from Gryffindor got on its nasty side and ended up at St. Mungo's last year."

"Is he alright?" he asked.

"He's a bit loopy still. There he is over there," she said, pointing to a boy over at the Gryffindor table who seemed to be drooling onto his plate. Arthur made a face.

"What did it do, eat his brains?"

The girl shrugged. "Good riddance, anyways. He was a mudblood."

~~

"I would like to introduce you to our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Wang. He has come all the way from China." At Dumbledore's words, a short man with long black hair stood up and bowed.

"He looks kinda like a girl, doesn't he?" someone at the table remarked snidely. "Wonder if he does all those crazy kung-fu tricks?"

"I just hope he teaches the subject right," Arthur stated, to no one in particular. The Slytherins didn't seem to be much of a welcoming group, mostly because everyone had an air of plotting around them.

"Our last teacher was a complete pansy," the girl added.

As the feast appeared on the tables, Arthur dug in and carefully avoided Francis's gaze.

~~

"Bah, you Brits do not know how to cook," Francis said disdainfully as he finished off his dessert. "At Beauxbatons the food was simply superb."

"How come you didn't stay there, then? And how could you be a transfer student from there in the first place?"

"At Beauxbatons we started earlier," Francis replied calmly. "Of course, the younger and older students were kept in separate wings of the castle, almost isolated from each other. And I couldn't stay there, my parents made me come here."

His French accent was driving Arthur crazy, yet he was the only other Slytherin Arthur felt comfortable around - in a loose sense of the word comfortable.

"The food's awesome! What'cha talkin' about, Frenchie." Gilbert scarfed down another tart. "Muggle food is even worse than this."

"You've tried Muggle food?" someone overheard their conversation.

"It tastes like shit, that's what it tastes like," Gilbert said arrogantly.

"It's not always horrid," Arthur said, feeling slightly defensive.

Francis sniffed. "I still hold to the fact that the cuisine of la France is much better," he said disdainfully, before turning to the quiet, obviously brooding Nataliya. "Bonsoir, mademoiselle."

She glared at him. "Don't you even dare, Bonnefois. I have a knife."

Francis blanched; Arthur laughed.

~~

The Slytherin prefect led them to their common room, which was down by the dungeons. It was dimly lit by a greenish glow, and furnished like the lair of a dark wizard. It was a perfect room for plots and murder.

"Boys to the left, girls to the right," the prefect said carelessly, gesturing to the archways that led into the dormitories. Arthur, Francis, Gilbert, the boy with the mask, and a boy who claimed to be Bulgarian went off to their dormitory. Inside, there were five four-poster beds made of a dark mahogany, with dark green velvet drapes and bedding. The entire room was not as freezing cold as it looked, and their school trunks had been brought up for them. Driscoll's empty cage was in a corner, the bird having been set free to go to the Owlery.

Francis and the others were sitting on their beds, chatting. Arthur watched them over the top of his book.

Could he get used to being in Slytherin?

Could he like it?

"What's on your mind, Sourcils?" Francis asked. Arthur looked over at him. The boy was sprawled out on his bed like a cat, and he was smiling - smiling, not smirking.

"Nothing," he lied. "Nothing at all."

~~

Dear Erin, Liam, and Peter,

I got into Slytherin. Don't get mad at me; it was the Hat's choice and I almost got into Gryffindor anyways.

Hogwarts is surprisingly not as imposing as I had thought it would be - sure, I could do without the homework, but all the teachers and subjects are interesting. I like Potions best; it's like cooking, only the results aren't very delicious and barely edible. My least favourite subject is History of Magic, and that's only because Professor Binns speaks in a monotone. History itself is fascinating.

I've been making acquaintances here. There's an extremely annoying American in Gryffindor; his name's Alfred and all he ever does is eat hamburgers and attempt to save people. There's also Francis, who's French and in Slytherin. He's... well, he's French. And Nataliya, who's from Belarus and is in Slytherin as well, she's pretty, silent, and violent.

In about a week there'll be a flying lesson. I'm looking forward to it.

Love,

Arthur

Arthur finished his letter and sealed it with a flourish, packing away his writing utensils. He got up and slung his bag over a shoulder, intent on heading off to the Owlery.

Someone dropped down from the tree he had been sitting under, beaming at him. "Hey Artie!" that person said excitedly.

"What do you want, Alfred?" Arthur's green eyes narrowed in suspicion. Alfred shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket - he was wearing it instead of his robes, and Arthur suspected that there may be a rule against that - and grinning.

"Nothin. What'cha got there? A letter?" Alfred eagerly snatched it from Arthur's fingers, causing the Brit to splutter and attempt to grab his letter back.

"Give that back, you ruddy Yank!"

"No I won't, you slimy Slytherin!"

"What do you think you're playing at, you gormless Gryffindor? What, you think I'm secretly corresponding with Dark Wizards? You think that letter you've got in your hands is a letter to You-Know-Who?"

Alfred held it above his head, out of Arthur's reach. "Well if it is, I've got to cut off your means of communication with him! It's the job of a hero!"

"You idiot! That's a letter to my family!" Arthur was livid once more. He made vain snatches at the letter while punching the American, not even caring if there were angry tears sliding down his cheeks.

Alfred's mouth opened as if to laugh, but he saw the tears. "Ooh, is Artie crying?" he asked.

Arthur made a face and attempted to wipe the tears from his cheeks. "If I am it's none of your business," he muttered sullenly.

Alfred's face grew more serious, and he handed the letter back to Arthur. "I'm - " he started to say, but he then turned away, shuddering.

"What?" Arthur said with a glare.

"I'm sorry."

~~

Arthur was flying.

Soaring above the trees, he felt the wind in his hair and he laughed wildly, not caring who heard.

The others in the class were up there with him as well - at least most of them were. Some had already went back down, and one even fell from his broom.

Francis glided along until their brooms were level. "Enjoying the view?" he asked.

"If I am it's none of your business, grenouille."

Francis laughed. "Well, I think it's rather nice for such a prepetually dismal and rainy country."

"Insufferable French git."

"You love it."

By now, Arthur and Francis had settled into semi-friendy bantering terms. Arthur didn't care to admit it, but he was starting to enjoy the Frenchman's company, when said Frenchman wasn't busy being an arrogant and perverted prat.

Nataliya flew up next to them. "I could get used to this," she said in her low, quiet voice. Arthur nodded.

"Hello Nataliya." The Belarusian girl nodded a greeting as well.

"Hello Arthur, Francis."

"Salut, Nataliya. Comment vas-tu?"

"I'm fine. A bit dizzy, but fine." She gave them a tight-lipped smile. "I'm off to find my brother. See you at lunch." With that, she was off to find the tall Russian Hufflepuff named Ivan.

"Ivan?" Francis asked, shaking his head. "Honestly, I do not see what she sees in him."

"Yeah, because you only have eyes for yourself."

"You lie, Arthur. I have eyes for you."

Arthur's cheeks flushed pink. "W-what?"

"I have eyes for you and many other people. I love everybody, but really, I do not see why Nataliya is so obsessed with Ivan. Mon dieu, he's her brother!"

Madam Hooch's whistle sounded, and Arthur and Francis descended from the skies.

~~

"Can anyone tell me what this is, aru?" Professor Wang asked as he pointed to a picture of a chair.

The class was motionless until a Gryffindor named Feliks Łukasiewicz raised his hand and said, "It's totally, like, a chair. Duh."

"Five points to Gryffindor, aru. But can you tell us what is so special about this chair, aru?"

Arthur raised his hand.

"Yes, Kirkland, aru?"

"It's Busby's Chair, the cursed chair of the murderer Busby. Anyone who sits on it will die."

There were murmurs throughout the room.

"Ten points to Slytherin, aru. Yes, this is Busby's Chair, aru, named after Tomas Busby. The Muggle story goes that Thomas Busby murdered his victim Daniel Awety with a club after Awety threatened to take away his daughter Elizabeth. But we wizards know that this is not the case, aru. Busby was a wizard, and he killed Awety with a gruesome spell that gave his corpse the look of a mutilated man, aru. The Muggles condemned Busby to hang and his body dipped in pitch, and as he was led to his execution he cursed his favourite chair in the inn where all of it had taken place, aru. So it goes to say, aru, that so far all those who have sat in Busby's Chair have met their deaths."

The class was listening with rapt attention, and Arthur could see, out of the corner of his eye, Alfred looking rather pale.

"Some people have even gone to say that perhaps Busby hadn't died, being a wizard and all, aru. Some even say, aru, that he came back and would be seen as a figure with no arms and an indistinct face. But still, aru, many say that the Chair is but a legend."

Arthur looked at the photo. The Chair sat there, looking innocent and harmless.

He shivered.