Ambiguous

1. Badgered

*There really are advantages,* thought Moon as he lazily picked a table to sit at. *They’re few and far apart, really, but there are advantages.*

Like being able to go anywhere, talk to anyone. No interhouse rivalry for him; nope, none at all. He could talk to both Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy within an hour and nobody thought it strange. It was, Moon supposed, almost like being a Hufflepuff: he just tended to get overlooked.

Feeling comradely, Moon sat with them. “Hey, Ernie, what news?”

“No news, my good man,” boomed Ernie. “None at all. Just an ordinary, flat, uninteresting day, full of revision and grand speeches.” Ernie beamed, immensely pleased with this dull life. “Just the way I like it.”

“Oh,” said Moon, gesturing for Hannah to pass him the cheesy potato-bake. “That’s good, then. Anyone else got anything to share?”

“I got a letter from a pal who went to Eton today,” Justin proclaimed.

“Oh,” said Moon. “That’s good, right?”

“Yeah, I love hearing from him.” Justin bobbed his head and gestured with his pumpkin juice. “And you? Did you get a letter from Eton?”

“I don’t know anyone who goes to Eton,” Moon replied firmly.

“Aren’t you a Muggle-born?” asked Susan.

“No,” Moon said. “I’m not.”

“Are you a pure-blood, LIKE ME?” enquired Ernie.

“Nope, not a pure-blood, either.”

The Hufflepuffs fell silent as they tried to get their brains around this information. Moon wished he had sat with the Ravenclaws; at least they made for intelligent conversation.

“Are you a Muggle-born, then?” Hannah asked, severely puzzled.

“No.” Moon sighed, and finished his meal. He really should have sat with the Ravenclaws. He glanced over at their table. They, then, would have the pleasure of his company for breakfast tomorrow.

---

2. Scratched

“So, then, like, I said to her, like, that’s really annoying, like? Can you, like, stop it? But she doesn’t, and it just goes on and on and on…” chattered Mandy, talking about something or someone that Moon had long ago lost track of. So much for intelligent conversation. But at least they didn’t think in boolean pairs.

“But what was the square root of e?” asked Terry desperately. “You didn’t finish that part of the story.”

*She hasn’t finished any part of the story,* Moon thought irritably. *I’m not even sure there is a story.*

“It’s one-comma-six-four-eight-seven-two-one-seven-two-one, etcetera, etcetera,” said Moon, draining a glass of pumpkin juice, which was really the most horrible drink known to wizarding kind, at least in his opinion.

“Hey! He’s right,” exclaimed Mandy. “Oh, like, I guess, like, the rest of it doesn’t, like, matter now.”

“No, finish the story,” insisted Lisa, flicking long brown hair off her shoulder. The long brown hair wasn’t hers; it was Anthony’s, who happened to be sitting next to her, his waist-length locks completely out of control.

*Some people should just get a haircut.* Come to think of it, Moon had a pair of scissors in his pencil case. He took them out and thoughtfully passed them to Goldstein.

“What are these for?”

“To cut your hair,” Moon explained patiently.

“Define ‘cut’,” barked Su, and Moon did so out of fear for his life. She was a big girl.

“‘Cut’, as in to sever one part of an object from another, or to make an incision.” Su glared at him for a long moment, but the short definition passed her inspection.

“My hair?” wailed Anthony. “But I only just got it to grow past my ears!” He ran from the table and out of the Great Hall, screaming in terror. Lisa watched him go blandly.

“He really shouldn’t be running with scissors,” she told Moon. *At least she’s normal,* he thought.

“It’s a very bad omen for candlelight to hit any kind of metal blade.” Moon studied Lisa’s cutlery. Sure enough, all the knives in her vicinity had been Transfigured into plastic.

*And I wondered why I couldn’t cut my bacon.*

Well, at least he could be certain the Slytherins would have metal knives.

---

3. Outfoxed

“You’ll be supporting Slytherin in the upcoming Quidditch match, naturally,” Draco barked. “Despite your” – he sneered at Moon’s tie-less uniform – “recent wardrobe issues.”

“No,” said Moon casually.

“WHAT! How dare you not support Mighty Slytherin house! How dare you not bow down and worship me, as all in our house do! Kiss my feet! This INSTANT, Moon!”

“I’d really rather not.”

“WHAT! How dare you display such insolence! How dare you…” Moon, used to Malfoy’s tirades, tuned out.

“So then I said to her, it really is a pity, I mean, like, think of all the bloodshed…” Moon, thinking Mandy had somehow slipped over to the table, looked around. Nope, it was just Pansy nattering away to Daphne.

“…We could wreak havoc in this school, but noooo, we have to wait until next July, when no one’s at school. How boring!” spat Pansy.

Moon wasn’t too keen on diabolical plots, so he tuned back in to Draco. There wasn’t much choice, really. No one else in Slytherin ever said a word. Crabbe and Goyle took strategic turns at grunting offensively, but that was about the limit.

Draco, however, had also fallen silent. When Moon turned back, Draco was staring – very, very intently – at Moon’s naked neck.

“What house are you in?”

Moon did a runner. That was not a question he wanted to answer.

---

4. Weirded Out

He wandered the halls, devoid of buddies. Not that he really had any buddies anyway. Not concentrating where he was going, valiantly attempting to recall that certain stubborn memory, he bumped into the back of someone.

*Oh, no. Not Harry Potter.* Moon almost groaned out loud.

Harry, however, failed to notice, bent on having a whinge to his sidekicks: the Bushy and the Tall.

“It’s just so unfair. Why me? Why is it always me?” he whined, oblivious to everything and everyone else except his own lament.

“Because you’re the Boy Who Lived,” Hermione stated practically as she unbuttoned her blouse a little further.

“Because…oh, um, I can’t think of a reason; Hermione, just give me some of that!” cried Ron. Hermione promptly flung herself at Harry’s feet, staring up at him beseechingly.

“Oh, Harry, my darling, my love, my heart-of-hearts, please take onto thee thy virgin sacrifice…”

Moon sidestepped carefully around the kneeling Mess, who was now licking a distraught Harry’s trouser-leg while the Beanpole wailed that his best mate got all the attention, all the girls, all the…

The Trio were so weird. Moon liked to keep far, far away from them. Forget candlelight on metal blades. Bad things happened to those who hung with Gryffindors.

Ginny Weasley came barrelling out of a broom closet. “Hi. Will you be my next date to annoy my brother with?”

“Um, no, I think he has enough problems to deal with right now apart from a smutty little sister, and I don’t think you’ve quite finished with that one.” Moon pointed past Ginny to Vincent Crabbe, who had his hand significantly below his own waist. Moon left there, too, in rather a hurry.

Upon hearing a crash up around the next corner, Moon paused, listening. It was either Peeves or Neville Longbottom up ahead. If it were Peeves, he would brave it. If it were Neville, he would brave the gauntlet of the Trio and the Smut once more. He risked a peek back over his shoulder.

Oh, NO! Draco Malfoy had not given up after Moon ran out of lunch, fancy that. The lad really had some steel, evil, almost albino freak though he might be. Draco was now approaching the Trio, and Moon’s mouth dropped open as Malfoy shoved Potter against the nearest wall, proclaiming for the world to hear that all that anger was, in truth, just unresolved sexual tension, and then snogging Potter something fierce. When Malfoy took a breather, Harry responded, rather typically, with “Er…what?”

Granger replied, “Don’t worry, Harry, I’m taking notes.” Indeed, the scroll was nearly down to her knees. Ron’s eyes were following its progress with interest.

Moon looked the other way down the corridor. Longbottom. Damn. He would just have to make a run for it.

But alas, the whirlpool of bad luck surrounding Neville sucked Moon into it, and he was drawn inexplicably upwards by a pair of super-sized Cornish Pixies. *Pixies have a thing for Neville,* Moon realised as he approached the chandelier. Maybe they were actually minions of Longbottom’s horrendously scary grandmother, who was partial to wearing dead carrion eaters on her head.

Lisa came into the hall. “I told you the scissors were bad luck.”

“Help me, will you.”

“Um, no. I’m currently running from Terry, who wants me to tell him the indefinite integral with respect to Y of six thousand, eight hundred and twenty.”

“That’s just six thousand, eight hundred and twenty-Y plus an arbitrary real constant! And furthermore, you’re not running! You’re just standing there!” yelled Moon as he was abandoned on the lighting fixture.

“Hi, Moon,’ said Neville glumly. “It’s a nice day out.”

“Argh! Lisa! Help me!”

She looked up at him sadly. “I can’t. I’m just a side character.”

“At least you have definitive gender and a first name! Get me down! Or get Potter to do it, I don’t care!”

“Oh, I can’t do that either. He went up to the dormitory with Malfoy. They were talking about something I really don't want to repeat. But I’m not allowed in there.”

“Neither is Malfoy!”

Lisa looked around. “There’s Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Does that make this the first floor or the second floor?”

“Who knows? Who cares? Oh, stuff you, Lisa, don’t be a hero. I’ll rescue myself.” With that, Moon performed a tricky little Self-Levitation Charm, subsequently rescued Neville, Stunned the pixies, and decided to go see Minerva McGonagall and demand that she answer his question once and for all.

---

5. Clued In

There was a line-up to her office. “Hi, Fred, George. Didn’t you finish here last year?”

George, or maybe it was Fred, frowned at him. “Aren’t you that guy who doesn’t have a house or a first name?”

“Or possibly girl,” Moon supplied helpfully. “I’m more ambiguous than Blaise Zabini – oh, until recently, that is.”

Fred, or maybe it was George, tilted his head. “So Blaise was a girl?”

“Nope. Blaise is a boy.”

“Wow. I never knew.” Fred/George raised his eyebrows at George/Fred.

“So, did it transpire that you two have independent personalities?” asked Moon, just making conversation.

“Oh, yeah, we decided I was the nice one.”

“And I’m the ruthless businessman. If you read carefully, there were hints even from Book One.”

“Oh,” said Moon, beginning to feel a bit like Harry with his ‘ers’. “Anyway, mind if I jump the queue to speed this little anecdote up?”

“Go right ahead,” said George/Fred, waving him on.

“But you owe us,” called Fred/George.

“No, he doesn’t.” “Yes, she does.” The twins began to argue.

Inside McGonagall’s office, Moon took a seat nervously. McGonagall lowered her spectacles a fraction and glared at him. She was a little bit scary, really. A little bit, as in a lot.

“How can I help you, Moon?”

“Oh, well, I just really seem to have forgotten something.”

“What is it? Hurry up; I don’t have all day. I’m very important, you know, protecting the Headmaster and running around after Potter and joining secret organisations and all that.”

“Oh, well, yes, I’m sure you really are, Professor, but, oh, I forgot what house I’m supposed to be in.” Moon hung his head, ambiguously coloured hair of ambiguous length (possibly) hanging over his eyes, which changed colour with his mood and energy level.

“Well, that’s no surprise.”

“It isn’t?”

“No, none at all. After all, the Sorting Hat did go a bit haywire when we put on your head.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It tried to shout out the names of all four houses at once. Technically, you were Sorted into Glyencluff.”

“Glyencluff?”

“Yes. Glyencluff. Now if that’s all, do be off with you.”

“Where are the Glyencluff dorms, Professor? I’ve been sleeping in a sleeping bag in the Great Hall for the last five years, and I’m getting sick of purple.”

“Now, that was a bit silly, wasn’t it? If you paid a bit more attention in my classes, you could have Transfigured it into a bed. Besides, I believe purple is your house colour.”

Moon wandered out into the hall once more. Fred/George and George/Fred had mysteriously vanished. Retracing his footsteps, he found that Neville was once more attached to the chandelier, Lisa had not moved, Ron Weasley was sobbing heartbrokenly in a corner, and the other five were nowhere to be seen.

Without warning, a hand clapped onto his shoulder. Moon bit back a yelp as he jumped as high as his namesake.

Blaise Zabini whispered in his ear, “It’s okay, love. There’s hope for you yet. Follow me.”

Wondering what he had gotten into, he followed the burly Slytherin down the hall, and entered –

---

6. Welcome to H.Q.

Without warning, a hand clapped onto his shoulder. Moon bit back a yelp as he jumped as high as his namesake.

Blaise Zabini whispered in his ear, “It’s okay, love. There’s hope for you yet. Follow me.”

Wondering what he had gotten into, he followed the burly Slytherin down the hall, and entered a small room. Tattooed across the far wall was a banner, reading in big blue-and-pink letters:

Sitting in the corner were two nameless Gryffindor girls who Moon had only ever encountered once before, in third year. They were sobbing on each other’s shoulders.

Three Hufflepuff boys formed a tight knot, sitting on a pile of cushions. After a good, long thought, Moon managed to identify them as Stebbins, Summers, and Summerby.

Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein occupied two recliner armchairs. “We’re not sure if we’re Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs,” Michael shouted defensively in response to Moon’s questioning stare. Anthony covered his hair with his hands and glared. Two other Ravenclaws, Bradley and Chambers, were playing Exploding Snap. Half the cards were not going off; Moon found this rather appropriate.

“You’re the only Slytherin,” he said to Blaise, who looked proud.

“I founded this little club. It is a place for us to come when we’re feeling not quite ourselves – or not quite anyone, really. I’m the only Slytherin because Slytherins and Gryffindors tend to be quite definite about these things. Except for those two” – Blaise pointed to the two unnamed girls – “and now you. If you’re a Gryffindor or a Slytherin, that is. Do you know yet?”

“I’m a Glyencluff,” he informed the boy miserably. “Anyone know where I could get a purple-striped tie?”

“Striped with what?” Bradley enquired.

Moon shrugged. “More purple?”

Bradley considered. “Is it a prettier shade?”

Blaise banged his gavel on his magical, portable, No-Stains, All-Usable podium that he had pulled out his pocket, and called Hogwarts Ambiguous to order. “Welcome to the – oh, actually, we don’t seem to be keeping track of how many meetings we’ve had, let’s just assume it’s the pi-th –”

“The pith?” Stebbins wondered.

“No, no, the pi-th.”

“I do believe pi’s an irrational number, and therefore invalid for use as an integer. I would expect you have completed meetings to an integer value,” Moon pointed out.

“No, our meetings always finish irrationally,” Anthony informed him.

“Ahem,” said Blaise. “If we may continue? I would like to welcome a new member, Moon, of – What was your house called again?”

“Glyencluff.”

“What a wonderful name,” sighed Gryffindor Girl #1. “I move that we adopt it as the new name of our club.”

“You can’t make a motion!” Blaise wailed. “I haven’t opened the meeting officially yet!”

“Who cares?” asked Stebbins in a bored tone. “I second that motion.”

Blaise sighed. “Are you getting this, minute-taker?” Gryffindor Girl #2 nodded over her clipboard. “All for?” Pause. “All against?” Pause. “Motion carried. We shall now be known as Glyencluff.”

“Yay, I have housemates!” Moon cheered.

“Where’s our common room?” wondered Chambers.

“I sleep in the Great Hall.”

“Really?”

“Really. It was fun that night that people slept over.”

“You mean the one where Stubby Boardman broke into the castle to find his missing guitar pick?”

“Off the topic, people,” warned Blaise. “Now, on to planned business. What’s on the agenda, Gryffindor Girl Number Two?”

She checked the clipboard, looking very official indeed. “‘Plan move to become un-anonymous’.”

“Oh, this sounds like fun,” Michael said, Anthony nodding along with him.

“I don’t know,” Moon argued dubiously. “I just found out what house I'm in. Do I really want to find out my first name on the same day? That’s a big move.” Everyone stared at him in disbelief. “Oh, come on, you know what I mean. Of course I know my own first name.”

“Go on,” Blaise acknowledged.

“But do I really want everyone else to know my first name?” This speech sounded vaguely inspirational, so Moon stood up. “There is safety in anonymity! Do we really want to be associated with the likes of Harry Potter, Voldie, and Stubby Boardman? I say we take a stand!”

“That was my idea,” whined Blaise.

“Yeah!” yelled everyone else.

“I say we revel in our anonymity! Let us take advantage, people! And, er…” – Moon cast around desperately for some grand gesture or statement – “…let us leave this series, for once and for all!”

“I don’t know if I can,” Michael wondered. “I dated Ginny Weasley.”

“Yeah,” agreed Anthony, “and I’m a prefect.”

Moon pointed to the door. “Get out.”

“And I’m a Slytherin,” Blaise pointed out. “A Slytherin in the same year as Harry Potter. I’m bound to be important, even if it’s just as a supporting part of Draco Malfoy’s clique.”

“Out,” Moon ordered. They went. He turned to the Gryffindor Girls. “And we probably would have met you by now if you actually existed. I think you should go, too. Likely the Boggart was just confused – you know, like Lupin said it would become?” With a wail and an unsettling, unearthly pop, the pair vanished.

“Hmm,” said Moon, considering his small army: Bradley and Chambers (Ravenclaw), and Stebbins, Summers, and Summerby (Hufflepuff). “How do you five feel about the whole issue?”

“Well,” Summerby began, “I’d really rather stay in the series. I mean, what with the fame and everything…”

“What about the literary value?” Chambers pointed out in concordance.

“So, you two are going, then?” They went. “Summers, Stebbins, and Bradley?”

They looked at each other and shrugged. “Two of us are Hufflepuffs, so they work as one vaguely anonymous unit anyway,” Bradley pointed out. “Ravenclaws don’t appear much. My entire house is fairly ambiguous.”

“Except Luna Lovegood and Michael Corner,” Moon reminded him.

“Yep. And even Michael was a bit of a filler,” Stebbins put in.

“Oh, he’ll probably turn up again in a later book. They usually do. He dated Ginny, besides,” Summers countered.

“Whatever. Are you going or not?” Moon asked impatiently.

Again with the shared looks. “Yeah,” Summers announced. “See you round, Moon.”

“Or not,” the Glyencluff grumbled as his remaining comrades disappeared to their respective, and very definite, houses. He looked around the empty meeting room. The banner was drooping, there were burnt Snap cards everywhere, and there was the distinctive scent of singed eyebrows lingering in the air. He sighed. “At least it’s an improvement over the Great Hall as a dormitory. Not quite as pretty, but it’s got to be a whole lot warmer.” It was getting late, so he went to fetch his sleeping bag.

In the deserted mess, he found the usual squishy purple sleeping bag, but on top of it lay a rare gift. His very own purple-and-purple diagonally striped tie, a patched purple-and-purple scarf, and a few iron-ons of his house shield for his robes. His mascot was a pure white unicorn.

“If I'm a girl, I'll be excited,” Moon grumbled, vaguely delighted that McGonagall had finally noticed he existed, carting the items up to his new dorm and wondering which portrait he could swipe as his hair length and eye colour went haywire.

As an afterthought, he pondered, stealing the portrait of Sir Cadogan from the seventh floor (expecting no one would miss that much), “I wonder what my house traits are?”

“Ambiguity!” declared Sir Cadogan. “Indeed, fair Sir, er, Lady, er, foul being…it is a noble trait, for you shall make for our side a brilliant spy!”

“You really think?”

“Indubitably!”

“I’m not so sure,” Moon mused reflectively.

“Perhaps,” added Sir Cadogan, “indecision is also a trait of your noble house.”

“You know, I think you might be onto something there.”

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