The Fearsome Name of Riddle

Slug Club

Huntley Avery let out a heavy sigh as he slumped over his arithmancy homework, the numbers made no sense to him. How was seven more important than eight? What did any of the triangles mean? He couldn't wrap his head around it but he knew if he didn't at least beat the muggle borns his father would be furious. 

Avery’s blonde hair was so dark it was closer to brown, each time he tried to brush it back into its slicked back style the soft strands fell back into his face. He let out a frustrated growl when he saw the black ink that had soaked into his sleeve. 

"You can't be struggling that badly," Tom chuckled as he kept his eyes on the game of wizards chess he was playing with Obsidian, "it's actually quite an enjoyable class when you really listen." 

Watching with a smug smirk, the black rook charged across the tiles and crushed a white pawn into pieces. Obsidian Lestrange's expression twisted in concentration as he reevaluated his strategy. 

"We can't all be slug club material," Mulciber huffed with a mocking tone, throwing his quill across his parchment, "damn this number nonsense. Avery, come out and throw a quaffle around with me?" 

"I am slug club material," Avery grumbled, looking up from his parchment with an insecure expression, "I can't show my family up cause I can't do maths. Am I just thick?" 

"I am slug club material," Mulciber repeated in a nasally, mocking voice, "Nott, what about you?" 

The boy with brown curly hair glanced down at his half finished essay and then back up at his friend. He seemed to consider his responsibilities for a moment before he answered. 

"Alright then," he shrugged. 

Enoch Nott stood from his seat, leaving his things on the table as he stretched his arms above his head. The two boys grabbed their coats on their way past their friends. 

"You can pack up our stuff can't you, Cuntly," Enoch said, buttoning his overcoat as Huntley blinked harshly as he processed the name he'd been called. 

"Excuse me?" 

"Good man Avery," Friedrich smiled, clapping Avery on the shoulder before leaving with Nott. 

As Tom destroyed one of Obsidian's rooks, he looked up to follow his chess mate's eyes to the girl with long, painfully straight pale blonde hair, held out of her face with a silver snake pin. She was reading some kind of Russian novel that he'd never heard of, she would probably ask him to read it once she was finished so they could talk about it. Obsidian's eyes traced over her profile in a way that made Tom have to restrain himself from kicking the Lestrange boy under the table. 

"You must be seething, Victoria," Obsidian smirked, brushing the smashed rook pieces off the board. 

"About what?" she asked innocently, without looking up from her book. She turned the page and leaned her ear closer to the boys. 

"The slug club," he said, making it seem like he had only just started looking at her, "all that promised prestige from Slughorn and it turns out to be a boy's club. You hate that kind of thing, don't you?" 

Tom rolled his eyes. Their head of year had the bright idea of inviting students to his office for special dinners after the new year. Professor Slughorn collected a roster of talented and rich students to surround himself with in a vain display to make himself look like some great teacher. 

"It's not a boy's club." Victoria spoke simply as she turned to look at him. 

Her face barely moved but Tom could see her eyes widen ever so slightly with excitement at Obsidian embarrassing himself. The way she reacted to Lestrange settled Tom's rage in an instant. That malicious excitement at the idea of Obsidian shooting himself in the foot was like watching an attack without even giving the order.