Disclaimer: 'Taint mine.

It was, perhaps, fortuitous that Harry Potter was sorted into Hufflepuff. No other house could have restrained their curiosity about 'the Harry Potter' long enough to get to know him. Certainly, he wouldn't have been given the space Hermione had asked for.

But, well, he was Hufflepuff, and Hufflepuff took care of it's own.

Breakfast began badly.

The first thing Harry noticed, was that the enchanted ceiling showed an overcast sky, and the moving clouds were creating shadows on the flagstones. The second thing he noticed was the sudden lack of noise, as almost everybody in the hall turned to look at him.

The silence only lasted for an instant, before boiling over, in whispers, pointed fingers, even shouting, as people began to stand up for a better look, and he stood there, frozen-

Hermione rested a hand on his shoulder, coming up behind him, an infusion of courage, of confidence, because she believed in him, loved him, and it would always be enough.

Then there was a sudden infusion of noise, as a black and yellow clad wave of pointedly chattering and laughing students broke over Harry. In the confusion, Hermione grabbed his hand and plunged into their midst, pulling him alongside, and suddenly there were people around him, and he was being jostled, and Hermione's hand was his anchor, and none of them were paying much attention, shielding him from the invasive stares of the Hall.

It was sudden, unexpected, and the brief anonymity, in which no one looked at him, and he was just one of many Hufflepuffs, was like a breath of fresh air.

They reached their long tables, and the wave splintered, devolving into individuals, not just a mass of people, and Hermione pulled him to one end of the table, dragging him to sit next to her, settling as if she had done it a thousand times before.

He looked around, noticed that the table had been almost empty before they had all entered, also noticed that most other houses received students in two's and three's, trickling in at different times. He carefully didn't come to a conclusion.

The hall's level of noise slowly returned to normal. For a while they were alone, and for a moment those around them seemed to hesitate, before a short, blond, slightly self-important looking boy approached, his face set determinedly. He set his tray besides Harry's with a decisive thunk, and offered his hand.

"Ernest Macmillan." he said. "Call me Ernie." The clouds parted for the first time, and their table was lit by the sun for a brief instant. That could have been why Harry's answering smile was so brilliant.

And ended well.

The first years took their duty seriously, crowding in at one end of the table, distracting him from the rest of the Hufflepuff table, all but physically shielding their little hero from the inquisitive glances thrown his way. Soon enough, he was smiling, and cautiously joining in the general chatter. The table, as a whole, felt viciously accomplished.

Every look that lingered too long at that end of the table was met with concerted glares from the rest of it. They looked away.

Every person who stood as if to walk over, found that three or four students from the higher years also stood up, every so casually, as if to put away their breakfast, or something. They sat back down.

Covert implied threats were sufficient for most. Only one boy was so foolhardy as to actually attempt to talk to their Potter. A first year, arrogant, and as usual, overestimating his own importance, and underestimating Hufflepuff. He was intercepted by a seventh year prefect as soon as his intentions became obvious. A short, intense conversation later, he ran out of the hall. The prefect returned to his table to the tune of quiet clapping, and shook hands all around.

The hall watched, wide-eyed. The Hufflepuff first years carefully made sure Harry didn't notice.

The clouds shifted, roiled above them, as if mimicking the undercurrents within the room. Sunlight was momentary, brief flashes of blinding light, before the darkness crept in again. The air felt expectant, as if a storm lay on the horizon.

Hufflepuff had closed ranks around Harry Potter.

Harry learned the names of his fellow first years, a little late, but better then never. Ernest 'Ernie' Macmillan, a little pedantic and solemn, but genuinely nice; Susan Bones, sweet and outgoing; Hannah Bones, a little shy and already Susan's best friend; Megan Jones, 'yes that Jones, no I don't like Quidditch'; Oliver Rivers, with a tendency to block his view of the rest of the table, and a way of talking really fast, when he did talk; Leanna Rivers, his twin, who talked slower than him, but still faster than normal, and seemed really really observant; and Wayne Hopkins, who spent the entire time leaning way back in his seat across from Harry and glaring past him.

Harry had chanced a look behind him, it was only Ravenclaw. He wondered what Wayne had against them.

The conversation flowed, if not without halts, then still relatively smoothly, and if Harry talked a little less then the rest, or Hermione occasionally gripped his shoulder for an instant, or Susan sent Harry one of those absurdly awed glances occasionally, and if, every time it happened there was a pause in which the rest of the hall's noise filtered through in what should have been companionable noise, but was, somehow, incredibly lonely, well, they mutually and silently agreed to ignore the incidents.

And as time passed, Harry started, if not speaking, then at least smiling, more, and Hermione simply rested a hand on his shoulder, and Susan stopped looking at him as if he was a god, or- or a hero, or something.

When he got up from the table, the entire group rose with him, and if he had bothered to look back, he would have seen that several of the older students had also risen, and were shooting glares across the room.

Coincidence, of course.

Hufflepuff took care of it's own, especially it's newest and youngest.

In normal circumstances, all it meant was that no Hufflepuff first year ever got bullied.

But in these circumstances? Harry Potter was theirs. He had their loyalty, their protection. Not that they would tell him, of course. But no one hurt one of theirs.

He was Hufflepuff, and in the end, Hufflepuff took care of it's own

Is severe writer's block a sufficient excuse? It took me forever to get the will to write this, after getting an idea of what I wanted to write about (Hufflepuff) in the first few days after the last chapter.

Then I finally decided. And it took me three days of writing and re-writing and re-re-writing, 'cuz I couldn't get the mood right. I still don't like it, but well, I can't write it again. I just can't. And it's still too short. 1086 words.

Sorry for the wait, guys. I love you?

Edit: Thanks for catching that, Guest, and isn't the royal prat (Zack Smith) a year younger than Harry? I always thought so...

Hija