It was early morning at Ilvermorny, and the atmosphere at the dining table wasn't exactly harmonious. The young wizards from Hogwarts were huddled together, whispering amongst themselves.
Tomorrow was match day, but the Slytherins, who had the largest numbers, showed no intention of offering their support.
After all, it was the Hufflepuff Quidditch team that had defeated them and taken the championship. Naturally, that meant they were starting off with a serious disadvantage in terms of likeability. The loss was still fresh, and expecting the Slytherins to forgive and forget, to turn around and cheer for the team that had humiliated them, was as likely as teaching a troll to speak proper wizarding English.
"Let bygones be bygones" might sound nice on parchment, but in real life? It rarely worked out. Most of the time, those inspirational little stories were just that, stories. The fact they were remembered as exceptional only proved how rare such forgiveness really was. It's not news when a dog bites a man, but when a man bites a dog? Now that's a story.
Slytherins had a tradition of respecting strength, but to them, Hufflepuff's win was nothing but a fluke. The game had barely started before the Seeker caught the Snitch. Who would be satisfied with that? Slytherins admired power, not luck. So as far as they were concerned, those so-called "blessed by luck" could get stuffed.
Because of this, the Hogwarts exchange students, already few in number at Ilvermorny, found themselves split into two camps. Ironically, the Slytherins' open hostility had brought the rest of the houses closer together. If nothing else, that was a small victory in the face of misfortune.
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
It was a bright, sunny day. Still cold, but there was no wind or snow, perfect weather for a Quidditch match.
Theoretically.
Because theory and reality often diverged, especially when unpredictable variables came into play, like sabotage, or interference.
Hogwarts had brought their own brooms and uniforms, all high-quality and magically enhanced, thanks to a generous grant from the Ministry of Magic. It really showed the importance of having a rich sponsor behind you.
But people were much harder to control, especially when you were playing away from home.
Sportsmanship demanded fairness and honor, but even Hogwarts' own four house teams weren't above playing dirty before a match, sabotaging opposing players was not unheard of.
After all, the best way to take out an opponent wasn't on the field, it was before the game even started. There was a well-known incident in the Muggle world where an away team was secretly given high-proof alcohol by the home crowd, causing them to be too hungover to play properly the next day.
In theory, experienced houses would assign guards to protect their players. But all the experience in the world didn't mean much when you were on unfamiliar ground.
The Hogwarts delegation had limited personnel to begin with, and with Slytherin refusing to cooperate, they were critically short-staffed when it came to protecting their team.
As for Ilvermorny's response to Hogwarts' protective measures? They didn't just target the players, they took out the guards as well.
It happened so fast that by the time reinforcements arrived, the damage was already done. Three players and their assigned protectors were covered in boils and suffering sudden bouts of shivering fits.
The curses weren't fatal, but they were impressively disgusting. According to the professors, it would take at least a full day to treat them and bring them back to normal, which meant they'd be missing tomorrow's match.
Naturally, Professor McGonagall wasn't about to let this go quietly. She immediately contacted Headmaster Charlier to discuss the matter.
The result?
The Ilvermorny students responsible for the attack would be facing long-term detention. They were also ordered to stand outside the Hogwarts camp holding water buckets and wearing shame signs around their necks.
It was an incredibly humiliating punishment, at least, by modern standards. Short of bringing back corporal punishment, there really wasn't anything harsher.
But in this moment, that "shame" didn't seem to land at all.
Allen and the others could clearly see it, the Ilvermorny students who passed by acted like they weren't even noticing the punished group. Not out of scorn, but admiration. Their eyes gleamed with the kind of respect usually reserved for heroes.
And those being punished? Not a hint of remorse. They stood tall, heads high, buckets in hand like they had just saved the wizarding world.
Disgusting? Absolutely. Effective? Even more so.
They had effectively crippled half of Hufflepuff's Quidditch team.
If Allen and the others didn't have a reserve squad ready, this match would've already been forfeited. With Slytherin refusing to help, pulling together a whole new team would've been downright impossible.
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
In a makeshift infirmary inside the castle, the rest of the Hufflepuff players gathered in a circle.
The room had been temporarily cleared out, and since the injuries weren't life-threatening, the patients hadn't been ordered to rest quietly.
"Those dirty bastards, I took down three of them myself! They only won because they had more people!" barked a seventh-year, famous not just for his excellent steaks in the dining hall, but also for being the most cursed among the victims, he'd taken seven hexes.
"Hey, kid." He clapped a smaller boy beside him on the bed, his substitute, a heavy-hitting Beater.
"You've got your shot now. I want you to slam a few Ilvermorny bastards down for me! And if you don't hit with the same strength you used to knock me off my broom in practice, I swear I'll tie you to the Whomping Willow with a ribbon and let it play with you!"
"Alright, alright, pipe down already," someone muttered with a laugh. "You only got hit with the most curses because you couldn't shut up. As for those scumbags, if they don't each take a tumble off their brooms tomorrow, I'll eat a whole bowl of live doxy eggs!"
…
Laughter broke out across the infirmary.
Hufflepuff knew they had a reserve team ready to go, and they trusted them. Their mood wasn't grim or defeated; it was full of confidence and battle spirit.
Knock knock knock, a polite knock came at the door. It was the students from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.
Worried about the match, they had come together to offer Hufflepuff their support. But what they found inside wasn't the anxious or somber mood they'd expected.
Instead, the room radiated confidence, and fierce determination.
As they listened to the conversations, they quickly realized what Hufflepuff had done, and while they felt reassured, they also couldn't help muttering to themselves about how cunning those badgers were.
"If it weren't for this exchange trip," one whispered, "who'd they have pulled this off for? Sneaky bastards..."
Just before leaving the castle, the group of supportive Hogwarts students came across another group, Slytherins, with dark expressions on their faces.
As they wondered what the Slytherins were up to, a new figure stepped forward, one recently chosen to replace their former prefect as the house's de facto leader.
"I don't know how strong you lot really are," he said flatly, "and we still don't like the result of that last match.
But, " He grimaced, clearly struggling to find a suitably elegant Slytherin-like way to phrase what he wanted to say.
In the end, he gave up and barked out a crude but effective phrase:
"Wreck them. Break every damn one."
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