The Cursed Position

"Excuse me, make room." Halfway through the feast, Pete carried his plate over from the older students' end. This was not uncommon at the Hufflepuff table; by contrast, it would have been impossible in the rigidly hierarchical Slytherin.

"I can't believe it." The moment Pete had settled down, Pomona began complaining. "You didn't even come to see me off?"

Pomona herself had nearly forgotten their argument from half a month ago, but Pete had been petty enough to refuse to see her to the station. He had not even come to visit her after she boarded the train. Even if other people's siblings could not come in person, they would at least ask a prefect to offer their regards. Pete had acted as if she had vanished.

"Don't be a child, Pomona," Pete said flippantly. "It's just a train ride to Hogwarts. I'm sure you can manage it."

She viciously stabbed the pie on her plate with her fork, pretending it was Pete's face.

"Look at the High Table." Pete leaned close to Pomona's ear. "See the man on Dumbledore's right? That's Quentin Trimble, our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year."

Pomona had heard of him. He was the author of Dark Forces, and Flourish and Blotts sold an introductory book called Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. But Madam Sprout's study held more advanced books. He looked every inch the scholar, his head of curly hair almost entirely gray. He wore a deep blue wizard's robe covered in stars and was chatting merrily with Dumbledore.

"When Tom Riddle graduated, he asked Dumbledore for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but Dumbledore refused him. Rumor has it he put a curse on the post—no one has lasted more than a year." Pete deliberately lowered his voice to frighten her. "Remember the crying Myrtle in the girls' lavatory on the second floor that I told you about? She was the Muggle-born witch who died."

"What did you hear?"

"The first-year sitting beside me just told me that someone asked about it at the dock earlier. That person seemed to be called..."

"James Potter."

"That's right, him. He's the Potter boy. If I were you, I'd stay as far away from him as possible."

"Why?" Pomona could understand staying away from Sirius Black, but James Potter?

"An only child from a wealthy family, his parents died early, and he lives with his grandparents. Do you know what that means?"

Pomona shook her head.

"He's a spoiled young master, and he's rather good-looking too. I hope you won't go circling around him like some foolish girl."

"Get away from me before I smash this pie in your face," Pomona warned darkly.

"I hear he's very good at Quidditch, just like his father. Quidditch is how he became close with the Black family's eldest son." Pete forcibly turned her head toward the Slytherin table. "Remember those faces. If you see them in the corridors next time, keep well away, especially Bellatrix Black. Slytherin boys might not do anything to girls, but the girls will. Last year, they forced a Muggle-born Hufflepuff girl to drop out. I can't always rush over to save you."

"I'm not Muggle-born."

"But you're half-Veela. Rubeus Hagrid, the half-giant accused of killing Myrtle, had his wand snapped by enraged students. People who lose their reason are terrifying. I hope you never suffer that kind of harm."

"Why didn't you tell me this when we were at home?" Pomona put down her fork. She had lost her appetite.

"Oh, and who was it that kept telling me she wanted to attend Beauxbatons? You can't keep your disguise magic on all the time, at least not while you sleep. I've already arranged your dormitory. The girls sharing your room are all the younger sisters of my friends, and they can be trusted. But you need to rein in that willful temper of yours. Merlin's beard, where did you pick up that terrible habit?"

"How am I willful?"

But Pete merely shook his head, completely unreasonable. "After dinner, the first-years will leave with the prefects. I can't go with you. The female prefect is Angie Diggory. Do you remember the sixth rule of Hufflepuff conduct that I told you about?"

"Keep smiling. If you're truly angry, keep a blank face." Pomona and Pete recited it together, her face utterly expressionless.

"Show me a smile."

Pomona forced out a fake smile.

"Very good." Pete pinched Pomona's cheek. "Don't forget, adapting to our surroundings is our specialty. Four people share a dormitory. Besides you, the other three are Mary Locke, Susan Turpin, and Jane Weasley. They all love flowers. If you can keep flowers blooming in the dormitory, they'll be very happy."

"Why?" Pomona felt wronged. Why did going to school make her seem like a House-elf?

"Tolerance is our trait, playing dumb is our method, and taking a small loss brings a great gain." Pete flicked her between the brows. "Aren't you quite skilled with plant magic?"

Pomona touched the spot he had flicked and lowered her head in silence.

"Remember, don't test a badger's sharp teeth. If they bully you, tell me. Until I graduate, I'll protect you."

As they spoke, the feast came to an end. The food on the tables quickly vanished, and the Great Hall returned to silence. Then Dumbledore stood up.

"All right, I believe everyone has eaten and drunk their fill. I have a few more words to say. First-years, take note: the forest on the school grounds is strictly forbidden to all students. Also, Quidditch tryouts will be held during the second week of this term. Anyone wishing to join their House team should contact Madam Hooch. Finally, I must tell you all that studying at Hogwarts will be an unforgettable experience in your lives. I hope you will cherish this wonderful time and not bring conflicts from outside into the school. Now, before everyone goes to bed, let us sing the school song together!"

With a flick of Dumbledore's wand, a long golden ribbon floated out and curled above the high tables, forming lines of words.

"Everyone choose your favorite tune. Ready, sing!"

The entire school began singing, and it sounded like wolves howling at midnight.

Pomona was beginning to understand why Hogwarts ranked at the bottom among the three great academies.

Once everyone had finished the school song in a scattered, discordant manner, Dumbledore announced that they were to return to their dormitories. The older students all left, leaving only the male and female prefects behind. Both wore Hufflepuff dress robes beneath their wizarding robes. Pomona studied Angie Diggory carefully. She was a tall girl with rosy cheeks and sleek, straight brown hair. Though she was not as beautiful as Slytherin's female prefect, Bellatrix Black, she gave off a very gentle impression.

"Are you all full?" That was the first thing she said. The first-years looked at one another, and quite a few chose to shake their heads.

"Then let's stop by the kitchens before returning to the common room, George," she said to the male prefect. "It's on the way anyway."

"Whatever you say," the male prefect agreed good-naturedly.

Watching their interaction, Pomona suddenly understood. Women truly held power in Hufflepuff. What was that saying again? Happy wife, happy life. And the House rules explicitly stated that they were to "cherish women."

Ah, being a Hufflepuff girl was truly fortunate.

She sincerely felt that in her heart.