Harry Potter: The Heir to Hufflepuff

McGonagall led me through the bustling platform toward the entrance of the train. All around us, students were saying their goodbyes to their families, heaving heavy trunks onto the train, and wrangling an assortment of pets ranging from owls to cats to, in one case, a very disgruntled-looking toad. I noticed more than a few curious glances in our direction, but thankfully, none lingered for long.

Twig, ever the clever one, had shifted into his new favorite form—a small golden earring dangling from my left ear. I wasn't sure if it was his attempt at being inconspicuous or just his own way of showing off, but either way, it worked. No one batted an eye at the peculiar little creature that had been perched on my shoulder just moments ago.

As we reached the train, McGonagall turned to face me. "You seem to have everything you need," she said, her sharp gaze flicking briefly to the small leather pouch hanging at my side. Thanks to the enchantments on it, all of my belongings—clothes, books, supplies—were safely tucked away inside, leaving me with no bulky baggage to haul around. I nodded, grateful for the convenience.

She hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to say something more, but instead, she straightened and gave me a small nod. "I'll see you when you arrive at Hogwarts, Mr. Hufflepuff. Do try to stay out of trouble until then."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. "I'll do my best, Professor."

McGonagall's lips twitched, almost as if she wanted to smile, but she simply gave a curt nod before turning and walking away, her robes billowing slightly behind her. I watched her go for a moment before turning my attention back to the train.

With a deep breath, I climbed aboard. The narrow corridor of the train was packed with students—some leaning out of compartments to chat with friends, others hauling their luggage into the small spaces. The air was filled with chatter, laughter, and the occasional screech of an owl. It was chaotic, but there was an undercurrent of excitement that was almost contagious.

I started making my way down the aisle, glancing into compartments as I passed. Most of them were already full, groups of students clustered together, some laughing loudly, others already deep in conversation. I wasn't sure where I'd sit—or who I'd sit with, for that matter. I hadn't exactly planned this part out.

Twig shifted slightly, the small weight on my ear a comforting presence. "Well, Twig," I muttered under my breath, "let's see where we end up."

The train gave a sharp whistle, signaling its imminent departure, and I quickened my pace.

Time to find a seat.

--

After weaving through the crowded corridors of the train, I somehow managed to stumble upon a small miracle: an empty cabin. I slid the door open and stepped inside, shutting it behind me and letting out a small breath of relief. The muffled chaos of the corridor was replaced by a relative quiet, save for the steady hum of the train's movement.

I slid into the seat on the left side of the cabin, letting the soft cushion of the bench take some of the tension out of my body. Reaching into my enchanted pouch, I pulled out one of the books I'd grabbed from Flourish and Blotts—A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot. A fascinating read, really, though its tone sometimes bordered on a cure for insomnia. Still, I was eager to devour its contents.

No sooner had I cracked the book open than I felt a familiar shift on my ear. Twig, ever the opportunist, decided he'd had enough of being subtle and reverted to his usual Bowtruckle form. He scurried up my face and perched himself on my head, curling his golden, leaf-like appendages lazily over the edges of my hair. I didn't even bother protesting. At this point, it was easier to just let him do his thing. Besides, his presence had become oddly comforting.

Minutes passed in peaceful silence, save for the occasional rustle of paper as I turned a page. But then, the peace was interrupted by the sound of the cabin door sliding open.

I looked up, expecting to see someone simply looking for their friends or perhaps passing through, but instead, there stood a girl, lingering hesitantly in the doorway.

She was around my age, with a bushy mane of brown hair that looked as though it had a mind of its own. Her front teeth were slightly larger than average, giving her an almost bunny-like quality, and her brown eyes were wide and curious, taking in every detail of the cabin—and me—with an intensity that was slightly unnerving. She wore the plain black robes of a first-year, her tie still slightly askew, as though she'd spent more time trying to figure out how to tie it than actually wearing it. She clutched a stack of books tightly to her chest, the top one being Hogwarts, A History.

"Hello," she said, her voice prim and clear, with a slight edge of nervousness that she was clearly trying to mask. "Do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else seems to be full."

I blinked at her, caught slightly off guard by her formal tone. Twig, ever the dramatic one, peeked down from my head to get a look at the newcomer, his golden leaves shimmering faintly in the light.

"Uh, sure," I said, gesturing to the seat across from me. "Go ahead."

She smiled, a quick and polite expression, before stepping into the cabin and shutting the door behind her. She placed her books on the seat next to her before sitting down directly across from me, smoothing her robes as she did so.

"Thanks," she said, setting her hands neatly in her lap. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. And you are?"

I hesitated for a split second before answering, remembering my newfound identity. "Cassius Hufflepuff," I said, closing my book and setting it aside.

Her eyes widened slightly at the name, and I could practically see the gears turning in her head as she connected the dots.

"Hufflepuff? As in the House Hufflepuff?" she asked, her tone somewhere between awe and curiosity.

I nodded, leaning back against the bench and crossing my arms. "Yeah, apparently. Long story."

Hermione's expression shifted from polite curiosity to full-blown intrigue, and I had a feeling this was going to be a very long train ride.

--

Hermione barely even gave me a chance to settle back into my seat before she launched into a barrage of questions and information. It was like a floodgate had opened.

"Did you know Helga Hufflepuff was one of the four founders of Hogwarts? Of course, you'd know that, being her heir and all, but it's just so fascinating! And she valued loyalty and hard work above all else, which I think is really admirable. What's it like being her descendant? Do you have access to any secret family magic or artifacts? And your wand, is it made from anything special? Oh, wait, what are you reading? Is that A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot? I've read it cover to cover—it's fascinating, isn't it? Did you get to visit the Hufflepuff family vault? What was it like?"

I could barely keep up with her, let alone get a word in edgewise. She hardly seemed to breathe between sentences, her questions and comments tumbling out in an endless stream of enthusiasm.

I had expected this, of course. Hermione Granger was precisely as I remembered her from the movies: an insatiably curious know-it-all with a thirst for knowledge that bordered on obsessive. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, just... a lot to handle all at once.

"I—uh—yeah," I managed to interject at one point, though I wasn't sure what question I was even answering.

She barely noticed, her attention now firmly fixed on the book in my lap. "A History of Magic is such an essential read. Did you know that Bagshot's work is considered the definitive text on magical history, but some historians argue it's a bit biased toward British wizarding culture? Oh, and did you read the section on the founding of Hogwarts yet? It's absolutely fascinating!"

Meanwhile, Twig—perched comfortably on my head—was growing increasingly restless. I could feel his agitation bubbling beneath the surface as my "peaceful" reading time devolved into a relentless Q&A session. His tiny feet shifted around, and I felt his leaves twitching against my hair as if he were trying to signal his displeasure.

I tried to keep calm, but it wasn't easy. As much as Hermione's enthusiasm was slightly annoying, I could deal with it. But Twig? Not so much. I could feel his frustration mounting like a brewing storm, and it was only a matter of time before he did something dramatic.

Hermione, of course, didn't notice Twig's mood. She was too busy rattling off facts and theories about Helga Hufflepuff and the intricacies of wandlore.

Finally, when I felt Twig was on the verge of leaping off my head and tackling Hermione, I decided to intervene. Reaching up, I gently plucked him from my hair and wrapped my hand around his squirming little body.

"Easy there, Twig," I murmured, holding him in front of me.

Hermione's stream of words came to an abrupt halt as her eyes locked onto Twig. Her mouth fell open slightly, and for the first time since she entered the cabin, she was speechless.

"What... is that?" she finally managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

I sighed, already bracing myself for the inevitable deluge of questions. "This is Twig," I said, holding him up a little higher. "He's a Bowtruckle."

"A Bowtruckle?" Hermione's voice rose with excitement, her eyes wide with wonder. "I've read about them in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them! They're incredibly rare, and they usually guard wand trees, don't they? But... wait, why is he gold? Bowtruckles aren't supposed to look like that!"

Here we go. I could practically feel the flood of questions coming.

"It's... a long story," I said, trying to sound nonchalant as Twig shifted in my hand, his tiny golden leaves shimmering faintly in the light.

Hermione leaned forward, her curiosity practically radiating off her in waves. "I've never seen anything like it. Did you do some sort of magic to him? Is it connected to your family lineage? Can I—"

"Breathe, Hermione," I said, cutting her off gently but firmly.

To her credit, she blushed slightly and sat back, though her gaze never wavered from Twig. "Sorry. It's just... he's incredible. Can I—can I hold him?"

Twig shot me a look that clearly said, Don't even think about it.

"Uh, probably not a good idea," I said quickly. "Bowtruckles are... not exactly fond of strangers. And Twig's got a bit of a temper."

As if to prove my point, Twig crossed his twiggy little arms and gave Hermione a glare that was surprisingly expressive for a creature without an actual face.

Hermione looked a bit disappointed but nodded in understanding. "I suppose that's fair. But... if you ever change your mind, I'd love to study him. He's so unique."

I chuckled softly, setting Twig back on my shoulder. "I'll keep that in mind."

Twig settled back down, his earlier agitation fading now that the attention was off him. I, however, wasn't sure I'd survive the rest of this train ride with my sanity intact.

{Word Count - 1927}