Steelalbatross5000: People will decide about the partner, maybe in the future they'll find Pansy Parkinson likeable. :D
KingInTheNorth27: No problem, I'm happy you're enjoying the story! I agree, our MC will definitely need to watch out.
Nudu13: I'm writing it realistically, if you lost your entire family, you'd also be happy to find your brother's son. At least 99.9% of people would be. Exactly, how many little things does a person forget over a lifetime? We know them, but does he? Three years in a orphanage… so he doesn't remember details like how to get into the Room of Requirement or Snape's book. Some things he knows, some he doesn't. Exactly! Magic is the best :).
***
During the first week of October, flying lessons finally began. It was strange; if my memory served me right, the books had them getting on brooms right in September, but I hadn't spotted Madam Hooch anywhere in the school until now. She certainly wouldn't have gone unnoticed—with her short, aggressively spiky grey hair and robes that looked designed specifically for the pitch, she seemed like someone who lived and breathed Quidditch.
We had our first lesson together with the Gryffindors. I walked onto the lawn with a mixture of curiosity and caution. I remembered clearly that in the book, this lesson ended for Longbottom with a painful fall and a trip to the hospital wing. I wondered if history would repeat itself, or if this world was ready to surprise me once again.
Gradually, we gathered in front of Madam Hooch, who stood next to a massive pile of brooms.
"Good afternoon, students! Each of you will listen to and respect my instructions without question. Flying is wonderful, but for inexperienced flyers, it can be deadly," she began sharply, her piercing gaze sweeping across our faces. "Come and get a broom, then line up and place it on the ground in front of you!"
Most students immediately rushed forward. They jostled and shoved, trying to snatch the best piece from that pile of frayed, ancient brooms that looked as if they had only one last spark of life left in them. I had no intention of fighting over some old wood, so I ended up with the shabbiest one of all.
"Hold your dominant hand over the handle and firmly command the broom: 'Up!'" Hooch barked.
For most students, the broom flew into their palm on the first try; for a few others, on the second. The only one desperately repeating the command over and over was Longbottom. Finally, after a disapproving and sharp look from the professor, he resignedly picked it up off the ground with his hands like some Muggle.
"History is going to repeat itself. He's got a dud broom again," I thought to myself as I firmly gripped the rough handle of my own.
"Now that you're all holding your brooms, mount them! Grip tight so you don't slip. On my whistle, kick off hard from the ground, fly up a meter or two, hold it for a moment, and then return to the ground by leaning forward. Get ready..."
I obeyed and kicked off hard from the ground. The problem started immediately—barely had I risen when the broom began to shake uncontrollably beneath me. I tried to force it to descend, but as soon as I pressed down, it shot sharply upward. The more I tried to control it, the more it resisted, doing the exact opposite of what I wanted.
I decided to trick it. I tried the reverse—directing it sharply upward as if we were going to climb to the clouds. But the damn broom was apparently smarter than me and this time, to my misfortune, it obeyed. It bolted forward like a crazed hippogriff, and I was moving away from the ground faster and faster.
From a distance, I heard the unrest of my classmates, Agnes's scream, and that sharp whistling of that fucking Hooch, who was screaming my last name over and over.
"What the fuck?!" I muttered angrily under my breath. "She sees there's a problem with the broom; she should have been on her own helping me ages ago, the fucking bitch." I clung convulsively with all my strength to that shitty broom, which was trying to shake me off, and I felt pure rage boiling in my veins. If this old wood kills me, I swear I'll come back from the grave to haunt her.
The broom headed straight for the battlements. I barely managed to yank it away at the last second, and now I was flying right alongside the castle walls. It came to a sudden halt by a window of one of the classrooms. I only had time to register McGonagall looking at me in shock, wondering what on earth I was doing.
The bastard broom obviously wanted to embarrass me because as soon as the students inside noticed me, it dived sharply toward the ground and began to zigzag crazily. I held on for dear life, but I was so sweaty that my hands began to slip irreversibly along the handle. The bitch felt me losing my grip; it shot upward again and did such a corkscrew with me that I felt like I was going to puke right there.
Immediately after, it began to drop sharply again. That was it. My hands gave way, and at high speed, I began to fall toward the ground amidst the hysterical screams of the students below.
"Fuck, I'm going to die from this height," flashed through my head, and I could feel my heart somewhere in my throat.
With a thought, I summoned my wand into my hand and immediately attempted a spell. "Levioso!" I shouted, but without success. It gave me a jolt for a moment, but the force of gravity was too great. I was still falling just as fast.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" I tried again. I poured significantly more magic into the spell, but the levitation failed completely again. Against physics and acceleration, it simply wasn't enough.
The ground was already damn close, and the only option left was elemental magic—the kind I had absolutely no affinity for.
"VENTUS!" I roared in stress. With an intense thought of an air vortex, I tried to force the wind around me to increase resistance. It worked. I felt pressure beneath me and began to slow down, but I had to push an unimaginable amount of energy into the spell. I felt my magic reserves draining drastically, as if someone were sucking the very life out of me.
Just above the ground, I ran out of magic. I simply couldn't push even a drop more into the spell. Luckily, I wasn't high up anymore, and upon impact, I felt no significant pain; there wasn't even any suspicious cracking of bones. My last thought was one of immense relief that I had survived, and one more sharp curse at that incompetent moron. Then darkness swallowed me—I lost consciousness from total magic exhaustion.
***
The rest of October went by very quickly. After waking up in the hospital wing from magic exhaustion, I was strictly forbidden from performing magic for three days; I could only focus on theory. Fortunately, Madam Pomfrey discharged me that same day. At least it gave me time to tutor Agnes in magic, albeit only theoretically. Draco informed me that he immediately wrote to his father to have the incident investigated, as I had nearly lost my life. No information was publicly available yet, but it was confirmed that the broom had been cursed—and for a long time. I just had bad luck that it ended up being mine. It seems I was the first person to touch it in years, and since the curse was old, it was practically impossible to find out who had placed it there.
My incident caused major changes in the story. Because I was the one on that fateful broom, there was no Remembrall left on the ground for Draco to steal, so he and Potter didn't get into a conflict. McGonagall had no reason to watch Potter, let alone nominate him for the team. Gryffindor still didn't have a Seeker.
Thanks to this incident, I completely lost my appetite for flying. Fortunately, there were only a few flying lessons, and only the introductory one was mandatory. I had "done my time" by ending up in the hospital wing.
I was explicitly allergic to that bird-brained Hooch from then on. Who can just stand there so stupidly watching while a student's life is at risk? If I hadn't saved myself, I would have been nothing but a bloody pulp on that lawn. Longbottom clearly had a hell of a lot of luck in the books that his fall turned out the way it did.
For the rest of October, I tried to corner Mulciber, but he must have sensed I wanted to have a "chat" with him. He and Rookwood were stuck together like lovers, constantly under the supervision of teachers or prefects. Whenever I entered the common room, they vanished like smoke.
By the end of October, my anger was boiling to the point where I considered cursing them right in front of Dumbledore. Thank God for Occlumency; only because of it did I avoid making any rash decisions. I was noticeably more emotional—an unmistakable sign of puberty that I had to fight within this body.
However, on Halloween, the turning point came, and the moment I had been so impatiently waiting for arrived.
***
The Halloween feast had its charm. Enchanted bats fluttered in the air, and the entire Great Hall was decorated with hundreds of pumpkins. Their carved faces were animated so that their eyes glowed ominously, smiling or scowling at us by turns. The tables groaned under piles of food, and the hall was filled with the hum of conversation and muffled laughter. There was a contagious sense of happiness in the air that almost everyone was enjoying—except me.
I couldn't wait for Voldemort's move with the troll; I had my own plans for a "harmless" kidnapping of Mulciber, so to speak. While everyone rushed to the common rooms in a panic, I planned to drag him into one of the empty classrooms. There, I would finally find out what problem my aunt had with their house.
It took me four days to fully master Stupefy and along with it, the reviving spell Enervate. Stunning required significantly more power than a simple Expelliarmus, which made sense—it was a lasting effect and a definitive end to any duel. Thank God for Agnes, who helped me practice, though she had no idea what I actually intended to use the spell for.
"What are you thinking about so much?" Agnes asked, sitting opposite me and watching me suspiciously.
"Nothing special," I replied with a smile to reassure her.
"Nothing? It's not like you to forget about food, Patrik," she laughed amusedly. She was right. I always enjoyed food and left my plates empty, but today my stomach was tight with anticipation.
Fortunately, a massive crash saved me from this conversation. The doors to the Great Hall burst open, and Professor Quirrell came staggering in. He looked as if he had lost his mind.
"T-t-troll... in the dungeon... thought you ought to know," Quirrell stammered and theatrically collapsed to the floor.
"Ten out of ten for the acting performance," I thought amusedly. If I didn't know he had Voldemort inside him, I would have definitely fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.
The younger students, in a rush of stress, immediately began to stand up and scream hysterically. Suddenly, the whole hall shook from a loud bang from Dumbledore's wand. As soon as they quieted down, the Headmaster spoke firmly: "Silence! Prefects, lead your houses to the common rooms! Teachers, follow me to the dungeons!"
While the other students lined up for their prefects, we from Slytherin stayed seated. Even the first years weren't so stupid as to rush straight into the dungeons where the troll was supposed to be. Dumbledore and the other professors immediately flew out of the room to neutralize it.
I inconspicuously watched Rookwood and Mulciber. They were in quiet conversation and didn't seem to notice my interest. However, they appeared tense, as if they themselves expected trouble. The other students, meanwhile, were discussing Dumbledore. The more pessimistic ones thought he sent us into danger on purpose, but I was convinced it just came out of him automatically in the rush as he hurried away.
After about an hour, Snape returned. Usually, he is scowling, but today his expression could kill.
"Prefect Farley, you may lead the students to the common room. The troll has been neutralized," Snape announced. As soon as he finished, he spun on his heel and vanished without waiting for a reply.
"Everyone get ready, we're leaving!" Farley called out while quickly discussing something with Flint.
While the others were getting together, I quietly whispered to Agnes to go ahead without me. She looked at me with an unspoken question in her eyes but finally obeyed and joined Nott and Yaxley. Mulciber and Rookwood stayed at the back. If I wanted to get to Mulciber, I had to stay close behind them.
Finally, the line moved. We were almost at the entrance to our house when Mulciber and Rookwood inconspicuously separated from the others. I waited a moment so as not to arouse suspicion and then immediately followed them.
I had just turned the corner when I saw, in the semi-darkness, the door at the end of the hallway close with a soft click. I headed straight for it, but my senses were screaming an alarm. I was starting to suspect I was walking right into a trap.
With a thought, I moved my wand into my hand and with a quiet, focused "Protego!" I opened the door.
As soon as the door moved, four different curses shattered against my shield with a hiss. I added more magic to the spell to stabilize the shield and walked into the room with complete calm.
"Nice welcome, boys," I spoke into the sudden silence with an ironic smile on my lips.
"What do you want, Rosier? We left DeMille alone!" Rookwood cried out tensely. I saw how convulsively he gripped his wand—he was on the verge of panic. Mulciber, on the other hand, watched me relatively calmly, as if evaluating the whole situation.
"This situation has nothing to do with Agnes. And nothing to do with you either, Augustus. You're free to leave," I smiled coldly and stepped away from the door, clearly indicating with my hand that the way was clear.
Mulciber was no longer watching me calmly. He suddenly turned pale, and a sharp flash of understanding crossed his face. In that second, it hit him. He knew exactly what was going on here. Finally, I was within reach of the answers that had been bothering me since the very beginning of the school year.
"Alex?" Rookwood said uncertainly, but he didn't even move.
"I have absolutely nothing to do with that situation!" Mulciber suddenly exploded, but his voice sounded way too defensive.
"Hmm? What situation, Alexander?" I asked immediately. In reality, I didn't have a goddamn clue what exactly was going on.
I waited, but Mulciber remained stubbornly silent while Rookwood stood by him like a loyal dog. I impatiently twirled my wand between my fingers and didn't take my eyes off them. The silence was burning me.
"I'll find out either the easy way or the hard way, Mulciber," I declared coldly. "First, I'll crush them, and then I'll tear all the secrets from his mind," I thought with an almost tangible bloodlust. It was strange—in my previous life, I enjoyed fighting, but never in this dangerous way. Now, I couldn't wait for it. I felt an almost uncontrollable urge to totally destroy them both.
"Expelliarmus!" they shouted at the same time, as if controlled by one mind. It didn't surprise me. In official school duels, you might wait for a bow and a signal, but in the dark corridors of Slytherin, different rules applied. He who hesitated, fell.
But my Protego was still active and unbreakable. The red beams of their spells shattered against it like raindrops against glass.
I felt magic pulsing in my fingertips and a predatory certainty spreading through my chest. The fight was finally here, and I felt alive again.
***
Incompetent Hooch and poor Neville, right? Unfortunately, our MC took the hit this time, simply because he didn't feel like fighting over better brooms with a bunch of first years. A small "butterfly effect" and suddenly Gryffindor is without a Seeker…
Next time, a 1v2 magical duel awaits us, along with some answers to those burning questions. What do you think Patrik will find out? And why is our MC so bloodthirsty? The answer might just lie in his blood... :D
BTW: Did Granger survive? o.O
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