Mudsnake (Harry Potter Muggleborn!Slytherin!SI)

[Fulcon]

The following is a fan-based work of fiction. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling. Please support the official release.

---

I need a place that will teach me Occlumency and Legilimency.

Step, step. Reach the end of the hall and turn around. Step, step.

I need a place that will teach me Occlumency and Legilimency.

Walk forward. Keep going. The room had better be listening.

I need a place that will teach me Occlumency and Legilimency.

When you're doing something wrong, you need a way to keep it secret.

I need a place that will teach me Occlumency and Legilimency.

Imagine my surprise when I was dumped straight onto the Hogwarts express.

I need a place that will teach me Occlumency and Legilimency.

Will this thing just open up already?

I need a place that will–

The door to the Room of Requirement appeared.

Finally.

I stepped inside and found myself in a cramped room. Before me stood a crystal ball, held in a golden, four-legged frame. Its insides swirled with shimmering white sparks. It sat on a small table like a crouching toad, the maroon covering at its feet languidly reaching all the way down to the floor. On the wall directly behind the table hung a massive portrait which held an impossibly old man, dressed in robes you'd see in the Middle Ages.

"Who are you?" I asked him.

"I am Merlin," the old man replied, stroking his beard. "And you want to learn Occlumency and Legilimency. And at such a young age, too!"

I frowned. Deeply. "That's right. And that's why."

"Oh, relax." The old man waved me off. "The room told me what you need. I'm a portrait; I couldn't do that even if I wanted to."

"Don't you need to be able to cast Legilimens on me?" I asked.

"That would be the most effective method of teaching," Merlin replied. "But we can make do. The crystal ball, you see. My picture frame is linked to it. Gaze into it, and you'll be able to practice."

I took a seat, got comfortable and…

"Not yet, boy," Merlin replied. "First you must answer my questions."

Slowly, I closed my eyes and inhaled through my nose, then exhaled. "If I wanted to share information, I wouldn't be trying to learn how to protect my mind."

"It will take but a moment," Merlin replied. "It will help me to know what to expect. Now, why are you trying to learn this?"

I hissed my answer through gritted teeth. "I'm a muggle-born in Slytherin."

The painted wizard had the audacity to just hum and stroke his beard.

"And I don't want it getting out."

"Nor should you," Merlin replied. "Who is the head of your house?"

"Professor Severus Snape."

He just hummed. Again. And stroked his beard. Again.

"I assume he's aware," Merlin idly asked.

"Yes."

"Good," Merlin replied. "Now, why do you want Legilimency?"

"I told you."

"You told me why you want Occlumency," Merlin rebuffed. "Why do you want its counterpart?"

Rubbing my forehead to try to massage away the headache, I answered. "I want to get into girls heads and figure out what makes them tick."

His laughter echoed horribly in the small confines of this room. "Oh, that's the truth, isn't it? But it's not the whole truth. What else are you after?"

"And how do you know that?" I asked.

Merlin just pointed at the Orb I was sitting in front of. "As I said, it's connected to my frame. I've been using it."

I groaned.

"Marvelous invention by the Room of Requirement, is it not?" He asked, smiling a half-smile while looking down at me with those painted brown eyes. "In truth, I hadn't known it possible, but the room always finds a way."

Ugh. "Fine. I want to see into my professors' eyes and glean magical secrets they won't tell us."

"Which is the other reason you want Occlumency," Merlin replied.

I gritted my teeth. "Yes."

"And what are your goals in that area, hm?" Merlin asked. "Immortality?"

"The Philosopher's Stone exists."

"Quite right. Perhaps raising the dead might be your forte," the old wizard speculated, arching an eyebrow and tilting his head. "No? Perhaps the allegiance of unsavory magical forces like Dementors?"

This was going to go on forever. "I want to master the Unforgivable Curses."

"There it is," Merlin said, clearly pleased himself. "Why?"

"Because I can," I replied. "Can we get on with this? Time is wasting, and I still have homework."

"One final request," Merlin said. "What's your thought process with this?"

My throat made a downright horrible noise to signal my irritation. "Consider, Merlin. I get jumped by a wizard. Imagine that we trade spells for a while, block and parry, swashbuckling with our wands and it's super dramatic. Now imagine if I just use the unblockable killing curse." I rolled my shoulders. "Imagine if a dark wizard is holding someone I love hostage. I can just hit him with the Imperius curse and make him tell me where they are."

Then I shrugged. "And I guess being able to negotiate with Dementors wouldn't be terrible."

Merlin was giggling. "Well, as it so happens, I'm willing to teach you. Just recall that the easier something is, the more likely you are to do it. I believe there's a muggle saying for this?"

"When all you have is a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail?" I replied.

"Precisely. Avoid that, if you can," Merlin replied before pointing at the crystal ball. "Now. Gaze into the crystal ball. We will begin with Occlumency...and you will have homework."

Finally.

---

"I can't believe that Potter."

Draco Malfoy was pacing in front of the fireplace, arms behind his back, scowling at the flames as if that would do anything.

Wish he'd shut up, I'm trying to do my homework.

"Well, the dark lord did kill his parents," Crabbe suggested.

Draco snapped at Crabbe, "I know that!"

"He was bullied by that muggle cousin of his," Goyle added. "Wasn't he?"

"That's what I'm saying," Draco replied. "He should know the importance of having the right friends!"

I mean...he's not wrong. And from his expression, Goyle agreed.

"Anyone familiar with history knows that you make friends with good allies, you don't try to make friends into good allies," Draco continued. "That's profoundly foolish."

A good point, but what he doesn't see is that he's not a particularly good ally. Surprisingly knowledgeable in History of Magic, though. Actively participates in Professor Binns' lessons, which shocked me to my core.

He's not like Hermione or anything, but…

"Just have to keep putting pressure on him," Draco summarized, folding his arms over his chest. "He'll swallow his pride soon enough."

The gentleman hasn't considered that the pressure is what's pushing Harry away.

He caught sight of me looking at him, and his face turned sour. "What do you want, Sullivan?"

"You're just a little loud, is all," I replied, offering a genial smile. "No offense."

"Whatever, half-blood, just try not to get any of your muggle on the floor," Malfoy retorted.

I just shrugged and went back to my Defense Against the Dark Arts essay.

That was the story, of course, that my mom was actually a witch who emigrated from America and died when I was young. That, actually, was false. She was not a witch. But she did emigrate from America and she did tragically die when I was young.

Not that I really remember her all that well. Dumped straight onto the Hogwarts express. I know what she looked like and that we blew bubbles in the front yard once when I was five. Once. Or...that was the story.

Honestly, the dungeon felt like home, given how I spent the majority of my days at my computer in my previous life. Apparently, in this life I had done much of the same, given how pale my skin is.

Anyway, my essay for Quirrell was almost done. I was looking forward to Harry removing him from the school premises in...a few months or so? I don't know, it hasn't even been Halloween yet. Anyway, Quirrell was really annoying.

...then again, maybe I should be dreading Professor Lockhart coming by next year…

"Hello, Marcus."

On the table plopped Daphne Greengrass, another first year. Platinum blonde hair, sharp blue eyes that were trying to stare into my soul or something. "What'cha doing?"

"Quirrell's essay," I replied. "You?"

She hummed. "I'll get to it." Her head tilted. "Eventually."

Well, with that, I turned back to my essay. "I like to get homework done the day of."

"I can see that." After I didn't respond for a moment, she continued. "So, I can't wait for our flying lesson."

I blinked. "Oh. That's tomorrow."

"I wish I could get on the team," she said, her voice as longing as a child looking at a candy bar through a glass window. "I love Quidditch."

"Are you good?"

"Obviously."

"What position do you play?"

"Chaser. You?"

"Guy in the audience."

She snickered. "Well, guy in the audience, you'll get to watch us real wizards fly the pitch in a year when we try out."

"Assuming they let you in," I looked up from my essay to catch her eyes. "You know, because a lot of people in the house want to try out."

"Well, what's that you said at the opening banquet?" Daphne asked. "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again?"

"Something to that effect."

"That's a muggle saying, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." She frowned in thought. "Muggle wisdom. What a novelty."

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" I asked.

She hummed. "Eventually."

I sighed.

---

The flying lesson went better than I had expected.

When we got told to give our brooms uppies, my broom easily and steadily rose to my hand. That was pretty cool. Same with Daphne, though it was nothing compared to Malfoy, who commanded that thing like he owned it, and Potter, whose broom snapped to his hand so fast it nearly took his arm off.

Right across from me, though, was a Gryffindor student that I didn't recognize. Brianna Porter. Short black hair and brown eyes. That doesn't mean she wasn't in the books but...well, my theory is that maybe the other houses each got an extra student to balance out the addition to Slytherin.

But anyway, Neville Longbottom went up into the sky as per canon, fell down and broke his wrist, as per canon, and Draco got his hands on the Remembrall, as per canon.

Then Harry went up to go get it back.

Me, I was watching it all from my floating broom, because standing was annoying. But once Harry finished his dive-bomb and rolled out on the grass with the Remembrall in hand and got whisked away by Professor McGonagall to get conscripted into the Gryffindor Quidditch team

No one argues with McGonagall.

After that, though, the class was kind of boring while we were waiting for Hooch to get back, so I settled down on my broom for a little catnap.

"Hooch said anyone on their brooms would get expelled," Blaise Zabini said, looking down critically with his dark brown peepers.

"Anyone flying on their brooms," I reminded him. "I'm just laying here."

He scoffed. "What ever you little half-blood. Just you watch."

Oh, is he going to tattle? What is he, four?

...I would comment on the irony of a racist black boy, but it'd go over his head. A dumb wizard, too, which is supposed to be an oxymoron.

Anyway, a few minutes into my nap, Madam Hooch returned.

"Madam Hooch, Sullivan was flying on his broom!" Zabini said, obviously pointing at me.

"He was just lying there!" That was Hermione. What a legend.

"Sullivan!" Madam Hooch snapped. I looked at her, and she continued. "Did you move from that spot while on your broom?"

I hummed. "Might've drifted a bit to the left…"

She waved it off. "That's alright. Now stand up, we've got some time to make up, now listen closely."

"But Professor, you said–" Zabini began hotly.

"Did your parents never teach you hyperbole, Zabini?" Madam Hooch's hawk-like eyes focused on the dark-skinned first year as if he were a sizzling steak.

...I miss Texas barbecue.

Madam Hooch continued. "Or do I have to add explaining turns of phrase to my flight lessons?"

Zabini got red in the face. "N-no Madam Hooch."

"Well, that's settled, then!" Madam Hooch said. "Now that all our feet are planted firmly on the ground, we will continue this next step. Sullivan, since you seem to understand this part, you might demonstrate the hover for the rest of the class, yes?"

Rats. "Yes, Madam Hooch."

---

You have to wonder how Mr. Riddle controlled the Dementors like he did. Well, seemed to. He can't have just bribed them, could he have? Had to be more to it.

I always went to bed late. Of course, late in Hogwarts meant three or four in the morning. We were required to study the stars every Wednesday at midnight, which meant that breakfast for us always started at around ten or so. Class at eleven.

Didn't think it was a good idea to be in bed first. Wanted to avoid any unpleasant surprises. Sometimes, I wound up falling asleep in the common room, just to throw them off.

Breakfast, meanwhile, was a full English. Delicious, obviously. Even the beans.

Somehow.

I hate beans.

House-elves, man. They know their stuff.

But as I was perusing my copy of A History of Magic, which did include a chapter on Voldemort and Harry Potter. Speaking of which, Harry was sitting at the table opposite me, chatting with Ron and Neville. My observation was rudely interrupted when Draco sat across from me, staring at me while Crabbe and Goyle flanked him.

I put the book down. "So, how can I help you, Draco?"

"You're a muggle."

"Am not."

"Raised by Muggles, I mean," Draco corrected, waving it off.

"Yeah."

"So you can explain why Harry Potter let himself get sorted into Gryffindor," Draco surmised.

"Which part? The part where muggles think judging people by bloodlines is evil, or the part where muggles idealize equality between people?" I asked.

Draco let out a breath. "I see. And he really believes that?"

"He probably wonders that about you and pure-blood supremacy," I idly noted.

"But surely he has eyes," Draco said.

"Sure." I shrugged. "So, I'd focus on proving Purebloods are better," I said, looking around the table at Hermione, who was studying at the end of the Gryffindor table with an open book in her hand and three more at her side. "Like, by getting better grades than Granger."

"Oh, come off, it," Draco retorted, dismissing my point with a wave of his hand. "Grades aren't everything. Surely Potter knows that."

I shrugged. "You want him to see that Purebloods are better. That's a way to prove it."

He groaned, and tapped the side of the plate before him, causing an English breakfast to appear. "So, he's just mental."

"I suppose."

"Whatever. When we're finally allowed to join the Quidditch team, we'll all show him," Draco speared a tomato on his fork. "You'll be trying out next year, right Sullivan?"

"Wasn't planning on it."

"That wasn't a request," Malfoy replied, glaring. "You managed the hover so effortlessly, you took a nap on your first ever time on a broom. That's not normal. We're going to need better fliers if we want to prove our superiority, don't we?"

"What makes you think I care?" I asked. "It doesn't affect me or my plans going forward. Potter can think whatever he bloody well pleases."

"We are talking about the most famous wizard in modern history," Malfoy rebutted, eyes wide with outrage. "And he's snubbing us. That affects all of us, you half-blooded fool. Imagine not being able to get a job with actual prestige because Potter gave it to his Weasley lackey. Or worse, the mudblood Granger."

Oh. This is some high-society social game. No wonder Malfoy's obsessed.

"Now. You're going to try out next year," Malfoy said. "And you're going to do your best. And maybe I'm wrong, maybe there's better fliers than you and you'll be able to sit it out. But I doubt it."

"Or what?"

"Or Crabbe and Goyle get upset. And no one wants them to get upset. Especially not me, they're my friends."

I groaned. "Fine."

"Good."

He went back to his breakfast. I had finished mine, and went back to my book.

...maybe that's how Voldemort kept control of the Dementors.

Besides, I need to get outside anyway. I guess.

---

Author's Note: Something I've been working on for the past couple of weeks. Hope you enjoy it.

Until the next time!

~Fulcon

 

[Fulcon]

The following is a fan-based work of fiction. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling. Please support the official release.

---

"More questions?"

"Of course," Merlin replied. "You said you want to master the Unforgivables. I want you to start thinking about why."

"I told you why," I replied.

"You gave me examples, but I want to know the principles behind them," Merlin said.

"Fine. Avada Kedavra lets me conclusively win any duel, Imperius Curse gets me anything I want from who I want it from and the Cruciatus–" I stopped, trying to think and unable to find something. "–the Cruciatus curse is just gross when you think about it."

Merlin laughed. "You could not be more right! But, as a side effect it leaves the victim more vulnerable to dark magic."

I blinked. "Like the Imperius curse."

He stroked his beard with a grin. "Correct. There's a fun little synergy, don't you think?"

Define fun, you old nut. "It's useful, and disturbing."

"As are all the Dark Arts," Merlin replied, decidedly less cheerful. "At least you have a solid head on your shoulders, mud-snake."

I just rolled my eyes and chuckled. "Okay, that was a good one."

He smirked. "And enough humility to take an insult in stride. Good. Now, how's your homework coming?"

"I'm having trouble with calming my mind at night," I admitted.

He hummed. "Alright. Well, the more you try, the more you'll improve. Now, if you'll stare into the Crystal, we'll begin this session."

---

"Hey, Marcus."

It was Daphne again, almost skipping her way up the steps out of the dungeons behind me. "How are you?"

"Thinking about a dilemma," I said, my thoughts very much on that dilemma.

"Oh, and what's that?" Daphne asked.

"I've got a friend back home," I began. "He's been looking for someone and I've known where that person is for a long time. That person doesn't want to be found, but...the friend of mine who's looking for him has a really good reason to find him. On the other hand, I don't know how things will work out once he does, in fact, find him."

She hummed, finger tapping against her lips as she thought. "Well, how does it affect you?"

"That's what I mean," I said. "Things could be really unpleasant for me for a while. It's not permanent, and it'll be a good thing in the long term."

"But you're not sure you want to deal with the short term," Daphne replied.

"Exactly."

"That is a tough decision," Daphne replied. "Now when you say it's a good thing, how does it benefit you, exactly?"

"I don't have to deal with that niggling feeling in the back of my head telling me that I should say something," I answered.

"Oh, one of those things," Daphne said. "Well, is it your responsibility?"

"More…" civic duty, "family duty, really."

Besides, I like the guy.

We got the greenhouse and I opened the door.

Daphne just fixed me with those blue peepers of hers. "My uncle just says to be smart about that sort of thing." She took a step into the greenhouse and gave one last statement. "Let it explode when you're not there so it doesn't affect you, if possible."

With that, we both walked inside.

---

Sirius Black,

The rat is the pet of one of the kids at the Marauder's old home.

The map is with his brothers, twins, acolytes of the Marauders.

The family has a long history in the Marauder's red house.

Do not say anything out loud, or your demons will go live there for a while.

Do not do anything stupid and endanger your godson.

Destroy this letter.

~A friend.

---

...okay, I actually feel better now. Whatever happens, happens.

Whatever.

If he follows my instructions, the Dementors won't come to Hogwarts. Not for a while, anyway. I mean, it's not like I need to do anything about the Philosopher's Stone, Quirrell can't get past the Mirror of Erised, anyway.

...speaking of the mirror…

Eh, there's no way I'll be able to get to it. I mean, it's a source of one kind of wisdom, showing me exactly what it is that I actually want, giving me something to work towards. Like Odysseus and the Sirens. Because knowing what you actually want is a great measure of your character...and reveals your weaknesses.

I wonder what year we learn the Disillusionment Charm.

Really wish magic was as simple as learning the words and waving the wand. Because it is noooooot.

And right as I walk out of the Owlry, I come face to face with Draco Malfoy. And Crabbe and Goyle, but that's a given.

He blinked, and then he remembered. "Oh, right. You don't have your own owl. I forgot that you're a peasant."

I frowned. "Did you need me for something?"

He shook his head. "No, just curious who you were sending a message to. We've been here a month and that's the first message you've sent."

"Just a family member who's looking for someone," I lied. "Hopefully they aren't mad I waited to tell them."

Draco glared at me. "Hopefully that Muggle is allowed to be in the know, or you'll be expelled for sure."

I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Well, since you're not long for the castle, you can make yourself useful," Draco said, flashing a key in his hand. "Professor Snape gave me the key to the broom closet and Madam Hooch is waiting for us. We can do Quidditch practice so long as she is there supervising."

You have got to be kidding. "As long as it doesn't cut into my private time."

"It's just for a few hours," Draco replied, waving it off. "More than enough time for homework and whatever else you're doing."

Fine. I already had my session with Merlin today, anyway. Oh, but I wasn't doing this alone. "Can we get Daphne too? She loves Quidditch."

Draco actually stopped short. "Greengrass?"

I nodded.

"Huh, I didn't know," Draco said. "Sure, we'll swing by the Common room, I think she's there."

Annoying as it was, at least I wasn't suffering alone.

---

Actually, yes, I was suffering alone, because Daphne was grinning from ear to ear when he asked her, practically skipping as she walked beside me out to the pitch. Gloomy day, but it's England or Scotland or one of those places, so what can you do?

And true to Draco's word, Madam Hooch was indeed waiting for us.

She frowned a very deep, severe frown. "I see you picked up a stray."

"Hello, Madam Hooch," Daphne said, still sunshine in rainbows in this bloody weather for whatever reason.

"Ms. Greengrass," was the reply with a nod. "Now, I assume you all know what the balls do?"

Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Greengrass all pointed at me.

"Right," she said, walking over to the trunk and kicking it open. "Raised by muggles, aren't you?"

"Just my dad," I replied.

She hummed. "Listen closely. The big ball in the center is the Quaffle. Throw it through the opponents goal to score. The two ornery thugs beside it are the bludgers. I let this loose and it'll start looking for people to smash, so we're not doing that today."

Crabbe let out a disappointed groan.

"Later, when we're not dealing with a new flier," Madam Hooch reproved. "Lastly," she began, opening that tiny golden compartment, from out flew the golden ball with wings. "That is the snitch, the game ends when it's caught."

Malfoy's hand snapped out and caught the ball.

Madam Hooch favored him with a nod. "Nice work, Mr. Malfoy."

Malfoy raised it up to show off the glittering game piece for us to see, a smug, self-satisfied grin on his face.

"Now, first thing you two," she said, pointing to Daphne and I, "will do is get up on brooms and practice passing the quaffle, starting on my whistle."

I wondered what Professor Snape had on Madam Hooch to get her to do this for us as I got next to my broom and brought it up to my hand. Then, I straddled it.

"Kick off, no higher than five feet from the ground!"

We did so.

Madam Hooch passed the quaffle to Daphne and blew the whistle.

It was...not that bad. She caught the ball, passed it to me, and then I passed it to her and so on. Off to my left, Malfoy was practicing and doing tricks while Crabbe and Goyle were flying circles around each other and exchanging high-fives...not celebratory high fives, they were coordinating.

...huh.

Then the ball hit me in the face while I was distracted. But I saved it.

"Oops!" Daphne said. "Sorry, Marcus!"

"It's fine," I said, passing it back. "Getting distracted. What are they doing over there?"

"Uh…" Daphne looked over. "Looks like Vincent and Greg are practicing to be beaters. Takes a lot of coordination, especially since they'll be flying around the other members of our team to protect them from bludgers."

"...I hadn't thought of it that way."

She passed the quaffle to me while observing Draco do a dive while standing upright on his broom. "And Draco's showing off."

"Well, that's not news. Catch!"

She caught it without looking.

...I wonder why she never made the team in canon? This is weird.

---

"TROLL!"

Oh no.

"TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!"

I remember this.

"...thought you'd want to know."

Quirrell fainted. I inhaled and calmly stood up as the Great Hall dissolved into a panic.

Great.

...well, Happy Halloween.

And now I've got a dilemma. Again.

I've got the perfect opportunity to rip Quirrell's turban off and expose Voldemort to the whole school. But that would rob Harry of this first year with which to develop the courage he'd likely need to go into the Chamber of Secrets next year, and I've already screwed up the third year.

...you think God doesn't interfere with people's lives because it'll ruin the world's happy ending?

I mean...civic duty…

Dumbledore's voice cut through all my musings. "SILENCE!"

Then he made arrangements for everyone to follow their prefects back to their common rooms. Which we did.

So, I got in line and...wait...the Mirror.

As I got in the back of the line, I realized that this was the perfect opportunity. I could go looking for the Mirror of Erised and while Harry and Ron save Hermione on the first floor. It's...wait...what floor is it on? Dammit.

Fourth! That's right, it's on the fourth floor.

I remembered that. Barely.

Okay, the second I get a chance, I'm breaking off. Assuming, of course, that one can see...no one can see.

So, I casually go up when everyone else go down. Fourth floor, here I come. And up the stairs, up the stairs...please do not let Filch be here.

Actually, he's probably taking refuge because, you know, he's a Squib. Little hard to deal with a troll without magic. I'd pity the man if he wasn't such an asshole.

Anyway, up, up, up...no Mrs. Norris, no Filch, good.

I've got...what, twenty minutes to find this thing before Harry and Ron bonk that thing with its own club? Yeah. Let's be fast.

I ran up to the first class I knew would be empty...no, that was a very much used classroom where potions were bubbling over. Was this an alchemy class? Cool!

Next...that's the Library...oh, we have a music room. Huh.

I felt the walls shake a bit. Yeah, I'm going to be out of time here soon.

And…

This classroom had desks and chairs, and upturned wastepaper basket...trash can. It is a trash can. Anyway. And...there's the mirror.

There it is, I can't believe it.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi.

Written in glorious text above the glass. The mirror itself was propped up against the desks and walls.

I went up and...oh, boy!

Well...huh.

I saw myself, grown. In my hand was Dumbledore's Wand – the Elder Wand. On my finger, the Resurrection stone, and around my shoulders was the silver, shimmering Invisibility cloak. I was wearing black robes, scruff and a soul patch on my chin.

In my other hand was a sword. Was that...it was Godric Gryffindor's sword. The rubies are what gave it away.

My robes were armored, a silver breastplate, gauntlets and the like, while my head was open to the air that breezed through my dark hair.

At my steel-clad feet was...was...the corpse of Lord Voldemort. Surrounding him were the Horcruxes, broken and useless.

And suddenly, I understood what I was looking at.

I wanted to be the hero.

In the background, I saw Harry, Ron and Hermione...Draco, Crabbe and Goyle...everyone. Applauding me, celebrating me and my accomplishment. They were beckoning me to join them in their celebrations, but I was looking forward.

Into my own eyes.

Well…that...um…

I couldn't take my eyes off of it.

I didn't want to.

This isn't what I thought it would be.

But...being the hero, using the dark arts for noble purposes.

To be the exception.

To be extraordinary.

To be better in all ways.

The floor shook again, violently, enough to bring me to my senses.

...I needed to get to the...oh, crap.

If I go back now, they'll all see that I didn't come in with them and then I'll get detention.

…

Well, I'm doomed anyway, might as well stay with the fantasy for a minute.

Not that that lasted long, because the door opened, and wouldn't you know it, in walked Filch, Mrs. Norris scooting ahead of him like the accursed little speed bump she was.

"Ah-ha!" The old man crooned, running forward and grabbing me by the arm. "What do we got here! A stupid student ignoring the lockdown! Didn't you hear there was a troll on the loose?"

I blinked. "Well, not any more."

He growled. "Come on," he said, pulling me and digging those hideous nails into my arm, Mrs. Norris hissing all the while.

---

"Mr. Sullivan." Professor Snape was, as far as I could tell beneath the stone-cold stoic exterior, utterly bat-shit furious. The way those cold, dark eyes bored into me reminded me to calm my thoughts so that they weren't so easy to read...except for the fact that I had found the Mirror of Erised, which he very much knew and I very much wanted to go back to. "Explain yourself. Now."

"I didn't want to go into the dungeon," I admitted, having figured out what I wanted to say.

"And why is that?" Professor Snape asked.

"Because that's where the troll was," I replied, straight to his face without inflection or flinching. Wasn't why I did it, but that is a true statement!

Professor Snape blinked. "And…" the pause to figure out what he was going to say next was deafening. "...you didn't think to warn the rest of your classmates?"

Ooh. That's a good point. Well, I'm doomed anyway. "I'm not a Hufflepuff."

"Ten points from Slytherin," was Snape's immediate reply, his eye twitching slightly. "We have no time for your cheek, Mr. Sullivan. In the future, if there is such an immediate failure of oversight, you will immediately attempt to warn the Prefects, and failing that, you will grab one of the teacher's attention and inform them of your concerns."

...okay, good to know.

"I am assigning you three weeks detention," Professor Snape said, grabbing a slip of parchment from his desk and writing the appropriate notations before handing it to me. "Starting right now."

"That's fair."

"Do you have any questions?" Professor Snape asked.

"No, sir."

"Good. Now, follow me."

Was it worth it?

...probably.

---

Author's Note: I am super happy you guys seemed to like the last chapter! Thanks so much for the likes!

Until the next time!

~Fulcon