A/N:  Canon tells us nothing of Zacharias Smith’s blood status or family background.  We gather that he plays Chaser on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, but have no information regarding Cedric Diggory’s successor as captain.  I have therefore invented freely, as it suited me, and am deeply grateful to J K Rowling for the privilege.

 

 

 

ANGELS

 

 

God, I miss Cedric.

 

Practice is over, and I’m finally alone in the changing room.  Poor Summerby wouldn’t leave for ages – he still hasn’t stopped apologising about that sneeze.  It makes no difference however many times we tell him it doesn’t matter, we won anyway, he couldn’t help having a cold…that kid’s been constantly in need of one of his famous ancestor’s Cheering Charms (old Felix Summerbee, and normally he never shuts up about him) ever since.  He so badly wanted to get the Snitch in memory of our best ever Seeker, and who can blame him?  Sophie Roper coaxed him away, eventually.  She’s that rare thing - a female Beater - but surprisingly gentle when her feet are on the ground, and she always takes charge of anyone who’s hurt or upset.  And then two reserve Chasers kept on asking me questions; only second years, but they’re so keen that it’s a job to keep up with them.  Girls, too – half the female population of Hufflepuff developed a passion for Quidditch after Cedric became captain and then Hogwarts champion – but they’re mostly still playing out of respect for him, and some of them are very good.  But now it’s quiet at last, and I can think, in some sort of peace.  I nearly always talk too much when there are other people around, and a lot of the time I end up wishing I hadn’t said a word.

 

I’m the captain now, for my sins, but often I can’t quite believe it.  There’s simply no replacing Cedric.  So, we beat Gryffindor on Saturday, but only just, and their team is so much worse than it used to be.  No Wood, no Potter, no twin Beaters…I have to say, it’s a relief to have seen the last of Fred and George Weasley on the Quidditch pitch.  Sometimes, though, I wish they were still playing and that our roles were reversed; I’d love to be able to whack a few Bludgers in their direction for a change, after everything they’ve done to me.  I wouldn’t wish a Quidditch ban on my worst enemy, and it must be hard for them to sit and watch that useless pair who’ve taken their places – but for a while it was pure joy for me to send all those goals whizzing past that sad excuse for a Keeper. 

 

Still, I’d give anything to have Cedric back.  It sounds terrible, but I’m almost glad Summerby didn’t get the Snitch this time – it would have felt like trespassing on holy ground.  He feels such a fool, though, letting in the Weasley girl like that, and it certainly is a bit much that she got the better of us in the end, but at least she seems to be the nicest member of her family (honestly, you lose two Weasleys, you gain two Weasleys…how many of them are there?).  Playing Seeker after Cedric must be every bit as difficult as succeeding him as captain, and I know all about that.

 

He was like a brother to me, and the team he led felt more like my family than my own.  I think I lost my real family when I discovered I was a wizard.  My parents are Muggles and, more importantly, they’re devoutly religious; there was no way they were going to be able to cope with what happened to me.  They’d already lost a daughter, my twin, who died when we were babies, and although my younger sister had come along to comfort them by then, they still had so many hopes pinned on me.  They wanted me to be a missionary when I was old enough, in some far-away country beginning with the same letter as my name; and I’d thought I wanted that, too.

 

My life-before-magic was serious; quiet and strict.  Lots of Sunday school, Bible-reading and prayers, without much laughter or fun, and I grew up in such a remote area that I never had a very good idea of what was going on in the outside world!  But I was warm and well-fed (and now I so often feel cold and I’m hardly ever really hungry), for a long time the only child, and although I occasionally felt bored and hard-done-by I was usually content to go along with my parents’ wishes.  Above all, I knew I was loved.  But when Abigail arrived, all hell broke loose.  I resented her terribly from her very first scream, and it was then that I discovered just how much trouble I could cause even when I didn’t mean to.

 

There must always have been signs that I was different, but naturally no one recognised them for what they were.  And what would they have done if they had?  Who knows?  But for as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to fly.  I got a few bumps and bruises at first, trying to jump down all the stairs in one go, but magically I never did myself serious injury, and before long I realised that it wasn’t going to work properly just then.  But I’d stand at open upstairs windows, or climb up onto the garage roof or into trees, and imagine how it would feel to take off and soar away like a bird.  I think I always knew there’d be a way to make it happen one day. 

 

Surprisingly, at that time my parents thought they understood.  They’d told me that my twin had become an angel, and my mother at least always thought I wanted to fly off to heaven and visit her, just as she longed to do herself.  My father’s view was that, whenever I stared up at the sky, I was striving for the better life to come, looking beyond this dark world to the place Zoe had found!  Zoe.  It’s equivalent to Eve, and means ‘life’.  What sort of life would that be, I wonder?  She only had a few months here on Earth, so I hope she’s having a good one, where she’s gone… 

 

Although I never really knew her, I’ve always missed her.  I’m not sure how that’s possible, but it’s true.  I wish she were still here, anyway.  I often feel as if I’m talking enough for two (and Mum always said I did), saying all the things Zoe might have said if she’d been around.  I like to imagine her being as argumentative as I’ve become, and the two of us being able to have a real go at each other without upsetting anyone else.  Somehow I know she’d have understood me better than most other people do, and I’m almost certain she’d have been a witch and so would have come to Hogwarts when I did.  (Knowing my luck, though, she’d have been in Gryffindor - but any family is better than none!)  It was awful when it first hit me that wizard Healers might have been able to cure what killed her.  Time and again I’ve wondered whether I should have told our parents; it’s far too late for Zoe, of course, but it might just have encouraged them to take a better view of magic.  Healing is something they believe in, after all…but they’d never have agreed, anyway.  They’d always consider death preferable to a magically extended existence.

 

Sometimes I wonder how I ever made it to Hogwarts at all.  Most of the credit for that must go to someone called Ted Tonks, who works in Muggle Relations and had the misfortune to turn up on our doorstep with my Hogwarts letter.  My father didn’t want to believe a word of it, of course, and still doesn’t.  True, weird things had been happening, some of them harmful to Abigail, but he wanted to keep me at home and stamp it all out of me.  He thought the magic must be some kind of curse, and that I could be ‘healed’ of it!  But my mother was more aware of how close she’d come to losing a second daughter.  I was jealous, of course, but not so jealous that I’d have hurt a baby deliberately – well, not badly, anyway.  I simply couldn’t control myself; I only had to think ‘I wish she’d stop crying!’ or ‘I wish she’d never been born!’ and some object would fly up and hit her in the face.  So my mother listened very carefully, and agreed, when Ted said that it would be better for everyone if I went away to learn how to deal with the magic.  She was probably relieved to be rid of me for a while, but at least she was willing to let me go – and I’m not sure my father’s ever quite forgiven her.

 

We still see each other when we have to.  They consider it their duty to have me home for the holidays, but it’s always a relief when term begins again and we can stop pretending.  I can’t talk about Hogwarts or Quidditch or anything at all to do with the wizarding world – Mum turns deathly pale and Dad flies into a temper – and I’ve come to understand why Abigail brought out the worst in me.  She’s a horrible child.  I shouldn’t say it, but it’s the truth.  I suppose it must be our parents’ fault, but honestly, she’s even worse than they are, if that’s possible – unenlightened Muggle through and through.  Perhaps they’re all just frightened, but I’m sure she spies on me; one day she saw me polishing my broomstick and ran off shrieking: ‘Witchcraft!’  I’d have liked to point out that I’m her brother and not her sister, but for once I decided in advance that to open my mouth would do more harm than good. 

 

I’ve been thinking:  Harry Potter grew up with Muggles and still has to stay with them sometimes, and he once said he hates them.  He must know what it’s like to be the odd one at home that everyone’s scared of.  I couldn’t quite say that I hate my family, but it’s hard not to when they mostly seem to dislike me so much.  It’s so unfair - Justin and Hannah are Muggle-born, and so’s Ted Tonks, come to that, and other people I know a bit, like Hermione Granger, but I never hear any of them talking about their families with loathing.  Mind you, I don’t talk about mine all that much, so who’s to say, really?  But I do know that Justin’s mother thinks he’s God’s gift, especially now she’s well and truly over the Eton disappointment.  I wonder if she really thinks he’s God’s gift.  Mine thought the same of me, once…

 

Sometimes I wish I could stay at school for the holidays, but I never would.  If I did, I’d miss out on one of the best things that’s ever happened to me – my little brother.  My parents thought they’d have a go at replacing me as well as Zoe, and they’ve done a better job than they could ever have imagined!  Aaron’s only four and he’s already trying to fly down the stairs just like I did, bless him.  Mum and Dad refuse to accept it, of course.  They pretend they don’t notice, but they keep him away from me as much as they can.  He’s a great kid, though.  He’s the only person at home who ever seems pleased to see me.  When I’m there he wakes up really early and comes and talks to me while everyone else is still asleep, and then he sneaks back to bed so that no one knows he’s been up.  I suppose I shouldn’t encourage him, but often he’s the only thing that keeps me going, and especially last summer when I could hardly be bothered to get out of bed for weeks on end.  He even found me crying once, and never breathed a word to anyone.

 

(And whenever I feel especially embarrassed about that, I try to remember – although it hurts like hell – how Mr Diggory insisted on meeting Cedric’s friends and all the Quidditch team the day after his son had died, even though he’d obviously been in floods of tears for hours and hours.  No one could say much but it meant the world to us, and somehow it was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen.) 

 

I really want to take Aaron up on my broom.  I just know he’d love it, but he’s too young yet.  We live in the middle of nowhere and I think we’d get away with it at night, but he’d have to keep quiet about everything afterwards, and that’s too much to ask of a four-year-old.  And it’s probably far too dangerous these days anyway.  Oh, how I hate all this!  I’d love my brother to be a wizard, but with nearly twelve years between us we’d never be at Hogwarts together and I wouldn’t be able to look after him.  I don’t want him to have to face all the fear and danger, and the loss:  I want him to fly free and not to have to worry about a thing, and now I’m afraid that he might actually be safer in the country beginning with Z.

 

When I first discovered I was a wizard, I thought it was going to be fun.  Exciting.  An escape from my dull, restricted life, with magic taking care of all the boring tasks and providing a bit of entertainment now and then.  And no problem at all about having to go away to school, not as long as I could spend every spare moment flying, as Ted had promised.  But somehow I never properly considered an Enemy, or that wizards could be evil.  I was told about You-Know-Who, of course, but since Harry Potter had defeated him I let myself believe that I’d be leaving the Devil behind forever - although I knew it would take a while to work out where God fitted in to this new scheme of things.  But, nearly five years on, I still haven’t worked it out; in fact, I’m more confused than I’ve ever been.

 

He Who Must Not Be Named is getting stronger all the time.

 

And my friend was killed because he got in his way…

 

Harry Potter wasn’t the only one who had no family to see him off at King’s Cross, that first term.  I was lucky, though.  Ted came with me, and he also looked after a couple of others whose parents couldn’t face it either.  His wife was there as well.  She told me that she knows how it feels when you have to leave your family behind and they don’t seem to care.  I still see Ted and Andromeda sometimes – they’ve been good to me.  And then I found myself sitting on the train with some of the boys who were later Sorted into Ravenclaw, and somehow we’ve looked out for each other ever since.  Anthony Goldstein has a religious background too, and we’ve had some interesting ‘discussions’ (often during Care of Magical Creatures), although we seem to have lost our appetite for them this year.  We’ve put all our energy into the DA instead (at least, he has; it’s taken me a long time to get going…)  But I’ve never quite managed to make one really good friend in my year and in my house, although Hufflepuffs are mostly so nice.  I think it must be me who’s the exception!  And then there was Cedric…

 

At our first flying lesson, I was one of the few whose broom jumped into their hand straight away, and as soon as Madam Hooch allowed it I was off above the treetops.  No spectacular dives like Potter’s, though – I and the whole school heard about that – I wasn’t nearly so eager to land!  I was always going to be a Chaser; from the start, if I concentrated hard enough, I could always control the oldest, jerkiest school broom while tossing a ball from hand to hand.  But Quidditch was a bonus.  To begin with I was happy just to be flying at last.  It was easy, and it was wonderful, and no one had to teach me anything!

 

Madam Hooch spoke to Professor Sprout, and I was invited to join the house team for training, although I wouldn’t be allowed to play in a match until my second year at least.  Almost everyone on the team at that time was in fifth year or above (Cedric was the exception, and he was a Chaser then), but Hufflepuffs have always been good about encouraging promising youngsters and building up a reserve side.  (Our results don’t do us justice!)  They even club together, often with their families’ help, to buy broomsticks for people whose parents are unable or unwilling - which is how I got mine.  Anyway, that’s how I met Cedric, and from the very first practice he was the best friend I’ve ever had.  He was so disciplined, and I was the exact opposite, going off into a dream and zooming away into the distance, completely forgetting about Quidditch.  It all still seemed like a miracle, and it was ages before I could keep my enthusiasm under control.  The older team members laughed at me, kindly, and left me to my own devices for a while, but Cedric offered to help with extra practices; he said someone had done the same for him and he hoped I’d pass on the favour when the time came.

 

I’ve never seen anyone work so hard!  Even last year, when there was no Quidditch Cup and he had the Triwizard to occupy him, he had us out there training every week.  He said there was no point in getting rusty, and that it would take his mind off being a Hogwarts champion and he’d be grateful if we’d help.  And he told me he was sure I’d be captain after he left and that I might as well get used to the idea while I had the chance.  Thank God he did.  It’s hard enough as it is, but without all that extra work I don’t think I could have handled it.  We thought we’d have him for another year, of course…

 

(And now his broom is enshrined in the Hufflepuff common room, waiting, at his parents’ request, for the next promising young player to come along and claim it.  I know that’s the right thing to do; I know it, but it doesn’t make it any easier.  I don’t want anyone else to fly on his broom.  I want him back.)

 

I’m still not sure how I managed to overhear Hermione Granger talking to Ernie and Hannah, back in the autumn, about her plans for a secret Defence group.  The more I’ve seen of her, the more certain I am that she wouldn’t normally have been so careless.  So I can only believe that I was somehow meant to know.  I didn’t relish the prospect - DADA isn’t my best subject, even with a good teacher - and the last thing I wanted was to make a fool of myself in front of all those Gryffindors and have to put up with the ‘poor, stupid Hufflepuff’ glances which were bound to come my way.  It wasn’t so bad for the others.  Ernie and Hannah, as prefects, were getting a bit more respect at last, Susan has her family history and her aunt high up in the Ministry, and as for Justin – well, unlike me, he’s charming to everyone he meets, and they’re usually charming back.  But I owed it to Cedric to seize any opportunity to find out more about what had happened to him, and Potter was quite right to assume that that was my main reason for showing up at the Hog’s Head.

 

I still feel like I’m boiling over inside, even now that I’ve got the information I wanted, when I think about how the Weasleys treated me.  I might have been a gate-crashing Slytherin!  (I didn’t actually mind Potter so much; he was reasonable enough, up to a point.)  Those twins are so - so blessed.  They have each other, and they’re both alive.  And Quidditch players, for God’s sake!  You’d think they’d…oh, I don’t know.  Sympathise?  They wouldn’t know the meaning of the word.  I know I must have seemed like a complete pain in the neck, but what else was I supposed to do?  I wanted answers, and Potter wasn’t obliging; no one seemed to care that I’d lost my friend and my Quidditch captain, and was really nothing worse than a hopeless-feeling Muggle-born who’d only recently discovered the true dangers of the wizarding world.  Learning to deal with those dangers, though, was what the meeting was meant to be about, and in the end I had to shut up; I don’t like to remember what I was threatened with, and I even signed Hermione Granger’s list!  But I did hang about for a while afterwards in the hope that someone might say something to show that they understood.  Daft idea, of course - all I got was an extended glare from Potter’s Weasley sidekick and the distinct impression that all the Gryffindors were glad to see the back of me.

 

Still, at least none of my housemates had tried to stop me, or apologise on my behalf.  Before the end of the day, in fact, Ernie had muttered, ‘I don’t know if I should be saying this, but well said!’ as he sat down beside me at dinner; Hannah had given my arm a squeeze and whispered, ‘Are you OK, Zach?’; and Justin had shaken my hand and told me to keep trying but to watch my manners next time!  Susan only smiled, but then she’s usually quiet, and I know she meant to be encouraging.  They’re a good crowd; they know me well after more than four years, and usually they even tolerate my endless arguing in class.  I’m so glad to be in Hufflepuff, and it’s great to have been able to give them another Quidditch victory to celebrate (even if we did only win by ten points!).

 

(Good Lord - much more of this, and I’ll end up like Cho Chang.  She visits our common room sometimes and stares at Cedric’s broom for a while, but she’s often crying and can’t talk much.  I reckon her reasons for joining the DA are more or less the same as mine, and that now she’ll have read the Quibbler article she might just stop gazing longingly at Potter.  I wish she’d look at me instead.  She’s beautiful, and I could talk about Cedric - and Quidditch - for as long as she wants.  But perhaps she only likes Seekers…)       

 

I was talking to Anthony yesterday morning during break, when I saw Luna Lovegood drifting towards us.  I thought it must be him she wanted – he’s a prefect, and I’ve hardly ever spoken to the girl, even at meetings – but she said, ‘There’s something here I think you should read,’ and handed me a copy of Quidditch Through The Ages!  I was just about to tell her that I’d read it hundreds of times already, when she whispered: ‘It’s a new edition with a few extra pages at the back.  Only read it when you’re alone, to begin with, and be careful who you show it to.  I’ve put in a note explaining what to do, but you must burn that as soon as you’ve looked at it.’  And then she wandered off, humming to herself!

 

Anthony and I looked at each other, and then he burst out laughing and asked what was going on between Luna and me!  I said I hadn’t a clue, and was she always like that – and he said, pretty much, but there’s a lot more to her than meets the eye.  Too right.  I can hardly believe that she, of all people, understood what I needed and could be bothered to give it to me when the chance arose.  But she must have done, or how else would I be sitting here mulling over Harry Potter’s Quibbler interview, as I’ve been doing in every spare moment since? 

 

But that information I wanted?  It’s exactly what Dumbledore told us.  Cedric strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort and was killed by him.  I’d like to try saying that name out loud, but nearly everyone else gets in such a state about it that it seems pointless.  But I won’t shrink from the name of that murderer, and if I can’t speak it, at least I can think it. 

 

I’ve been wanting to hear the truth from Potter, who was there, and after all these months of refusing to talk he’s finally seen fit to open his mouth.  If only he’d done it sooner!  I’ve come so close to hating him for denying me the knowledge I needed, every part of me resenting the fact that I had to learn Defence from him when I couldn’t shake off the feeling that he’d somehow left Cedric to die.  If it hadn’t been for Harry Potter, Cedric wouldn’t have been in any particular danger from Voldemort.  But Potter must know that, only too well, and I wonder how it makes him feel...

 

God forgive me, but I’ve never really liked him.  I suppose I’ve always resented his Quidditch success.  (And what happened to Justin in second year, even though that wasn’t really Potter’s fault.)  And then even when we managed to beat Gryffindor two years ago, Cedric could never properly enjoy his triumph because Potter had fallen off his broom!  Talk about stealing the champion’s glory – which of course is precisely what he did last year, too.  Not just by becoming a second Hogwarts champion, but also with that showy display against the Horntail.  It hurts to admit it, but he’s seriously good.  I’d love to be able to say that I could have done every bit as well, but it wouldn’t be true.  I know he warned Cedric about the dragons, which was very decent of him, but I had a sneaking suspicion that he was hiding something – and then when he appeared outside the maze with the trophy in one hand and Cedric’s body in the other…well, who could blame me for my first thought, that he’d killed to win?  I’ve had nightmares about that moment.  But I’ll never think like that again.

 

Potter didn’t put his name into the Goblet of Fire.  Cedric believed him in the end and now, finally, I do too.  I’ll never understand how that Tournament was allowed to go ahead when the rules were broken right at the start.  I don’t think Dumbledore’s ever been quite as much in control as he appeared to be, and he certainly isn’t now – but the group that exists because of the Ministry’s interference at Hogwarts bears his name.  It’s strange, this hold he has over us.  Not that it really matters what it’s called.  I turn up to each meeting with my old Support Cedric Diggory badge pinned inside my pocket, and still glower at Potter and disagree with him as often as possible.  But I’m already working harder than I used to, and I think I’m going to find it a lot easier from now on.  I suddenly feel as if I’ve come a long way since that first proper meeting, when Potter almost floored me by saying that he’d used Expelliarmus against Voldemort.  If he could use it, then why not Cedric?  But at last I understand.

 

I’m doing some serious thinking about Harry Potter.  I don’t really have any idea what it’s all about with him, but my guess is that he has a pretty miserable life.  He often looks completely exhausted, and he’s even thinner than I am, which is saying something.  I’m actually beginning to feel rather mean about that remedial Potions business.  It was honest of him to admit what he was doing, especially to me, and then I go and laugh – but I’m not bad at Potions, and I couldn’t help feeling smug.  (The stuff in my cauldron is usually the right colour, and Snape once said of an essay of mine that it was better than might be expected of a Hufflepuff!  Obviously I resented the insult to my house, but I suppose it was praise of a sort.)  Perhaps it’s time to think about apologising for a few things, especially since Potter’s turned out to be such a brilliant DADA teacher (and that’s something else I haven’t cared to admit before).  That Quidditch ban must have been a terrible blow, too, and his Firebolt’s even been confiscated; if I’d ever been lucky enough to have one, losing it would have seemed like a fate worse than death…

 

You can still fly, can’t you, Ced - where you’ve gone?  You must be able to, or you wouldn’t be you.  But perhaps you don’t need a broom any more!  Zoe’s never needed one – she just flew straight up to heaven and stayed there.  Or did she?  Isn’t that just kids’ stuff my parents told me to make themselves feel better?  Are either of you really anywhere at all?  And are you in the same place?  What happens to wizards when they die? 

 

Oh, God, please let them both be somewhere. I want to see them again one day.  Zoe can be an angel if she likes, as long as she’s still my twin and will recognise me if I ever get there - but not Cedric.  He was enough of a saint when he was alive, God knows, but if only he could be a ghost instead…he could haunt the Quidditch stadium; I could talk to him sometimes instead of missing him all the time, and ask his advice about tactics for the Slytherin match, and get him to give poor Summerby a bit of encouragement…

 

But it’s no good thinking like that.  Some of Cedric’s friends even went and asked the Fat Friar about it, and he said that very few wizards choose to remain behind after they die.  If Cedric had chosen to, he’d have been here as a ghost straight away, and the past few months might have been very different.  I’d have known what really happened to him a lot sooner, for a start.  And whether it hurt – but according to Potter, it was all over in a second.  I don’t know what I’d do if I thought he’d been tortured…beat someone up, probably, and that’s not like me.  I only fight with my mouth, and the Quaffle, and my wand when I have to - and the Weasley twins should be grateful…

 

But I still don’t know what’s happening to him now.  I wish someone would come and tell me – an angel, maybe?  Zoe!  Oh, that sounds so stupid…but I’ve been brought up on the Bible, and my almost-namesake Zechariah was visited by the Angel Gabriel.  He was foolish enough to doubt what he’d been told, and was struck dumb as punishment until his promised son was born.  You wouldn’t catch me losing the power of speech.  I’d believe every word, if only someone would tell me something.  Anything…

 

Strangely enough, I think I’m beginning to understand my parents a little.  Or maybe they really did understand me, all along, when they thought I wanted to fly away and visit Zoe and get a glimpse of Paradise.  If only I could actually do that:  head off to heaven on my broom and catch up with Cedric, meet Zoe properly for the first time, see what might be in store for me…and I could take Aaron, too!  What could be safer?  Mum and Dad might even find a way to come after us, and bring Abigail with them; then maybe we’d discover that we’re all in fact on the same journey, only on different roads, and in the end it simply won’t matter that anyone used to be a wizard…

 

After all, wouldn’t the existence of Heaven be even more of a miracle than the existence of Hogwarts?

 

I’m almost falling asleep.  It’s dark, and cold, and Ernie will come looking for me soon if I don’t go in.  It wouldn’t be the first time he’s found me here on my own so late, but all he’ll say is that I’m setting a bad example to the younger team members.  I’m sure he’s right.  It’s time I stopped all this missing dinner and neglecting my homework and going to bed in the middle of the night (and feeling sorry for myself).  I need to be fit - the very best thing to do in memory of Cedric would be to win the Quidditch Cup!

 

 

 

THE END

 

 

 

This story would never have seen the light of day without the involvement of many!  My warmest thanks to:

Elanor Gamgee, my new beta-reader, for taking me on at such short notice and taming my punctuation;

Coquillage and Mudbug, two fantastic friends who have been so helpful and encouraging right from the very first idea, making excellent suggestions, understanding my obsession and feeling Zach’s pain with me;

Grace has Victory, whose wonderful essay Secrets of the Classlist and many insightful comments have done so much to clarify my thinking (religious discussions involving Anthony Goldstein, amongst other things, are definitely her idea!);

Whoever posts as Zacharias Smith on the Forums, for inspiring me with his avatar, comments on the Unmasking thread and even a PM!  This may not be quite what you were expecting (but at least you don’t exactly fall into a hole…);

and SQ’s Birthday Attaché ZoeSmith, whose name gave me the idea for Zach’s twin and which I have borrowed, gratefully and with her permission!

 

And finally, if they’re reading, a friendly wave to Lorelei Lynn and Jim McGuffin.  Go Hufflepuff!