The atmosphere at the Slytherin table remained noticeably thick for the majority of the dinner, but Flynn paid it no attention. Dinners at the orphanage were much more tense than that, and since he didn't have to physically fight anyone else for food, he considered it to be a good meal overall.

Even as the pace that the food was being consumed by the other students started to slow, he didn't hold himself back from eating as much as he could. Even though it felt a little silly to try and gorge himself when the school seemed rich enough to guarantee that he would never go hungry, without Tom or Jones to slap him on the back of the head, it was difficult to ignore the instinct to take advantage of the opportunity.

He could hear some muttering from the older students about his eating habits, even if the other first-years were completely silent, but he ignored them. At least the magical plates seemed to be eager to serve him, swarming to him when it was clear that the other students had their fill. Flynn didn't understand if they were sentient, or if they were being controlled by a master that he couldn't see, but he decided it wasn't important and simply ignored his curiosity to continue to grab the food from the plates, discretely stuffing food into his robes when he started to realize that he didn't have the space in his stomach.

At some point, a handful of desserts started to appear on the plates, which seemed to be the highlight of the meal for most of the children around him, with the tension that surrounded the table somewhat deflating upon their arrival, but still, none of the first year students seemed to want to talk beyond a whisper to their immediate neighbours.

Though Flynn kept his eyes pointed down at his food, he snuck glances up at the other students whenever he could get away with it.

Though a majority of the students sitting at the table seemed content with pretending like he didn't exist, but a few of the students had different reactions to him. Millicent and Theodore, his direct neighbours, seemed to be confused about how they should be acting around him. The moment that Draco had insulted him, they had recoiled away from him as if they suddenly decided that he smelt like shit, but though they both sent a few sneering glares in his direction, they seemed confused when he ignored them. Though Theodore looked like he had wanted to say something at multiple points throughout the dinner, his eyes always glanced at the tiny holes that Flynn had made in the table with his fork before he seemed to think better of it.

Sitting across from him, Draco seemed confused about whether he should be confused, scared, or angry at what Flynn had done. He seemed to slip further into anger as the dinner went on, and though Flynn was more than aware of the possibility that he may have just pissed off a rich kid with enough money to make his life insufferable during his time at the school, he couldn't find it in himself to regret insulting the blonde bitch.

As the dinner went on, Draco went from eating in silent shock, to whispering to his cronies while giving Flynn pointed glares, to muttering just loud enough that the entire table could pick up tidbits of his conversation.

The words, disgrace, respect, and mudblood were the few words that Flynn was able to pick up, but while it was irritating enough that it should've earned the blonde bitch a punch in the mouth, the insults were mild enough that he had no reason to want to start a fight, especially when there were so many witnesses around to see him throw the first punch.

Flynn ignored Draco's passive aggressive bitching for the entirety of the dinner, content to let it go for now, especially with how full his stomach was.

Once the dinner feast finished in earnest, the end marked by a clap from the old man at the head table and a few words about the rules of the school, the hall erupted in sound as the students got up and filed out, chatting with each other as they left the room.

"First years to me!" an older boy at the other end of the Slytherin table shouted.

With no reason to break from the crowd, Flynn followed along as the rest of the first-years dutifully got up and moved over to the shouting boy. The boy introduced himself and the girl standing beside him as the fifth-year prefects, Reginald Yaxley and Alice Burke, and though the word was unfamiliar to Flynn, the obvious way that the older boy tried to intimidate the younger kids made it obvious that it was some sort of position of power.

While the boy continued to talk about the castle that they were in, as well as the nobility of the house of Slytherin and some crap like that, Flynn pretended to listen while he kept an eye on the girl standing beside him who was sending obvious glares of disgust and hatred in his direction.

Flynn matched her glare with his own, and was surprised to see her refusing to back down, only breaking her glare when the other prefect tapped her on the shoulder. She gave Flynn one last sneer before looking over the rest of the first years.

"Alright firsties," she said. "We're heading to the dungeons now. It's not difficult to get lost if you don't know the way. If any of you lose your way in the corridors, you're sleeping there. I'm sure as hell not going to look for you."

Reginald grimaced at Alice's words, but didn't reprimand her. He simply sighed and rubbed his temple for a moment, before looking back up at the first-years.

"Alice has a weird sense of humour," he said. "But she isn't wrong when she says it's easy to get lost. Hold hands if you have to. I'd rather not spend my first night back at Hogwarts hunting down firsties instead of spending it in bed."

The other first-years glanced at each other's hands, as if seriously considering Reginald's suggestion, but ultimately decided against it, simply sticking close to the prefects in a disorderly crowd.

The way to the "dungeons" wasn't nearly as complicated as Alice made it out to be, even if he could see how people might get lost in the winding corridors if they weren't paying attention, and it didn't take long to arrive at an ornate door decorated with silver snakes that curled around the borders.

"You must speak a password to enter the dormitory," Reginald said. "The password will change monthly, and the new password will be posted in the common room for three days before the first of each month. If you forget it, and you have nobody to let you in, tough luck. I hope you enjoy sleeping on cobblestone."

"For the entire month of September, the password represents what all Slytherins should strive to be," Alice said, with a pointed gare towards Flynn. "Pure."

Flynn glared back at Alice, but when the older girl refused to look away from him, only responding with a sneer, Flynn let out a low growl.

"Okay, fine. I'll fucking bite," he said. "What's your fucking problem with me, bitch?"

Reginald frowned, but before he could say anything, Alice let out a short bark of a laugh.

"What a surprise," she said. "You've got a mouth as filthy as your blood, don't you, brat? Hasn't anyone told you to respect your betters, or are mudbloods not taught something as basic as that?"

It was difficult to get angry at an insult when he didn't even know what it meant, but the obvious challenge behind her words was enough to make Flynn's anger flare up.

"You think you're better than me?" Flynn asked, with a laugh. "You're just a bitch that was never taught to stop barking. I suggest you shut the fuck up before someone decides it's finally time to put you down."

Though Reginald's eyes narrowed at him dangerously, Alice let out a dark chuckle.

"Alright, firstie," she said, reaching into her pocket. "Looks like you've just volunteered to spend your first night hanging upside down from the ceiling."

"Burke," Reginald said, putting his hand firmly on her shoulder. "I'm not going to cover for you if Snape starts asking questions about why one of the firsties that we were supposed to be in charge of is hanging from the bannisters. At least wait until tomorrow if you want to do something stupid."

Alice let out a sound that was close to a hiss as she tried to shake Reginald off her shoulder. With how small she was, with Reginald being about a head taller than her, she didn't have any success in brushing him off.

"Piss off, Yaxley," she said, taking her hand out of her pocket to slap his hand off of her. "I was just joking."

"Of course you were," Reginald said, letting himself be pushed away once he saw that Alice's hands were empty. "Why don't you do the honours and demonstrate how the password works then? I don't see much of a reason as to why we should be standing out here any longer."

Alice glared at Reginald, but let out a huff before turning to the door.

"Pure," she said, practically spitting out the word.

Some of the other first years gasped as the snaked around the door came to life, uncoiling themselves and gently nudging the door open with their heads. Wordlessly, Flynn let go of his wand and took his hands out of his pockets, though he made sure to keep his eyes pasted on Alice's back, keeping an eye out for any sudden movements.

Flynn heard a few gasps from the other first years as they entered the common room, and though he was focused on making sure that Alice wouldn't turn around and attack him, the little of the common room that he saw out of the corners of his eyes was admittedly impressive.

Though the green lighting was a bit tacky, and the entire room absolutely reeked of old money, the floor to ceiling windows showed that the common room was underwater. Around the room, Flynn saw a couple of older students chuckling at the sight of the first years being so captivated by the room, though more than a few of them seemed to be glancing at his direction specifically.

Flynn thought of glaring at them, but was interrupted when Reginald spoke up once again.

"I've had a long day, so I'll be brief," he said. "Dorms are to either side of the common room. Boys to the right, girls to the left."

Reginald opened his mouth again, as if to continue speaking, but pursed his lips together when he saw a hand waving in the air. He narrowed his eyes in thought, as if he were thinking about whether he should pretend like he somehow hadn't noticed the waving hand that was directly in front of him, but he seemed to think better of it.

"What is it, Malfoy?" he asked.

"I just wanted to ask a quick question, if you don't mind," the blonde bitch said, ignoring the expression on Reginald's face that clearly displayed exactly how much he did mind. "I was under the impression that the dorm rooms are separated and shared by year and gender?"

Reginald narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious of the question. "Yes they are," he said, a little cautiously.

"Would it be possible, under special circumstances, for students to be given their own private rooms?" the blonde bitch asked.

"Traditionally, students will room together to create a sense of unity between their fellows," Reginald said. "You seem to be fine to me, Malfoy, but if you've got a legitimate concern for your health, I suggest bringing it up with our head of house."

"Maybe I will," the blonde bitch said. "I'm not particularly sensitive to smells, but I'm not sure if I would be able to sleep properly with the stench of mud constantly hanging in the air of our dorm rooms. I can only imagine it will start to smell like a swamp in a few days, given the presence of certain... occupants."

The blond bitch's cronies let out a pair of loud guffaws, immediately after the blonde bitch stopped talking, as if they'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. There were a few other chuckles from the older students that were scattered around the room, but the other first years didn't react in any way that was noticeable, either because they didn't think the blonde bitch's joke was funny or because they were too intimidated by Flynn to react in any way that was noticeable.

Though Flynn knew that he shouldn't resort to violence with so many witnesses around, especially when the blonde bitch hadn't thrown the first punch, the smug grin that the blonde bitch threw in his direction made it very difficult to resist the urge that rose within him.

Though Alice cackled in delight beside him, Reginald let out a heavy sigh and shook his head.

"Do whatever you want," he said. "Bring it up with Snape. Not my problem. Anyways. Other house rules. Topical subject inbound, but rule one is to never bother Snape unless it's for a good reason. He's a busy man and if you waste his time without good reason, he'll make sure you regret it."

The blonde bitch laughed, as if Reginald was telling some sort of joke, even though he clearly wasn't. Reginald shook his head again, and continued to talk, as if the blonde bitch hadn't interrupted him.

"Rule two. No infighting where teachers or students from other houses can see it. Slytherin has always prided itself on being a united front, or at least appearing to be. I'm not asking you to hold hands and sing and dance together, but every time a snake bites another in public, our image grows weaker in the eyes of Hogwarts as a whole. And above all else, Slytherin must be strong."

Both the blonde bitch and Alice frowned at that, with the latter looking like she was being forced to eat a raw lemon.

"And speaking of public image," Reginald continued. "Snape pulled me aside to make sure that all of you understand that even if we have some newcomers of questionable lineage, that any usage of slurs should also remain behind closed doors. If I or another prefect catches you calling Fredericton a mudblood while a teacher is watching, we will be forced to dock points from you. I don't care how stupid it is. That's the rule. And if a Slytherin prefect is forced to take points from their own house, we'll make you regret it. If it helps, think of Fredericton as a pureblood that was stolen from his cribs by a group of savage mudbloods, and raised as one of them. Maybe he's the fucking heir of Slytherin, for all we know."

The blonde bitch laughed.

"That oaf? The heir of Slytherin?" he asked.

"Sure, why not? I'm not asking you to believe it. Just deal with it," Reginald said. "Anyways, that's the last of the important rules. If you want to ask me anything else, piss off. I'm going to bed."

Without giving the opportunity for anyone to stop him, Reginald walked off to the boy's dorms, leaving the rest of the first years and Alice behind. After a moment of silence, Alice shrugged and walked off as well.

"You heard him, firsties," she said. "Piss off and go to bed. Or don't. I don't really care either way."

Though the other first years seemed stunned by the abruptness of the prefects' exits, Flynn wasted no time in heading towards the dorm rooms, hoping to scope out the room before anyone else could. Walking over to the boys' dorms, Flynn easily found the door marked with a 1, and pushed the door open. Inside was a series of beds laid out in rough circles, with posts and curtains around each bed, though the curtains were currently open.

Beside each bed except for one, there were large piles of suitcases and general luggage surrounding them, which made him assume that his bed was the only one that was empty, but he frowned when he saw how close his bed was to the entrance. Looking at the foot of the bed, he frowned when he saw his name engraved there.

At the orphanage, he used to always claim the spot that was deepest in the corners, so he would at least be guarded on two sides, but with the circular shape of the room, he supposed there was little advantage that could be had in any of the spots. Forgetting about the bed placement for now, he opened the only other door in the room to see a large communal bathroom space. The main bathroom area held six sinks, and there were two doors that led to separate rooms with three toilets and three shower stalls respectively.

Before he could investigate the space any further, he heard the chatter of the five other first year boys as they walked into the dorm room, but he didn't think there was much else to explore so he went out to see what they were doing.

As soon as Flynn stepped out of the bathroom, the chatter died down, as if they hadn't expected him to be there.

Though most of the boys quieted down at his appearance, the blonde bitch almost immediately scoffed.

"Oh, you're here," the blonde bitch said. "With how quickly you ran off and how quickly you shoved food down your throat during the feast, I had assumed that you were rushing to the loo. You haven't already stunk up the bathrooms have you?"

The blonde bitch's two cronies guffawed beside him on cue, and Draco's grin twitched upwards at the "positive reception" of his joke, but unfortunately for him, Flynn was no comedian.

Flynn walked forward, and though he didn't take any particular pleasure at the way that the blonde bitch flinched, and his two cronies immediately stopped laughing, he couldn't claim that he hated it either.

He walked forward and put his hand on Draco's shoulder, soft enough that it just barely wouldn't classify as a "hit".

"Draco," Flynn said. "Keep talking shit and I will hurt you."

To his credit, it took a surprisingly short time for Draco to recover from his momentary shock. Despite the immense size difference between the two, and the fact that he had to crane his neck almost completely backwards to look him in the eyes, Draco still managed to give him a smug grin, like there was nothing that Flynn could possibly do to hurt him.

"Oh, did I offend you, your majesty?" he asked. "I didn't mean to offend your royal sensibilities. Please find it in your heart to forgive your humble servant, Lord Slytherin. I'm sure I'll get used to the smell of mud soon enough, or perhaps I'll write to my father to ask for a bottle of his finest perfumes to offer to you."

Draco's cronies guffawed again, and this time Flynn heard a few quiet chuckles coming from the other two boys, Theodore and Blaise. Flynn kept his glare trained on Malfoy's smug grin, and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before letting go.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Flynn said.

"Of course, your majesty," Draco said, with a mocking bow. "As you wish. I shall not say a word."

Flynn stared at Draco, wondering if the satisfaction of punching him right now would be worth the certain and immediate expulsion from the school. He quickly dismissed the idea. He didn't plan on letting Draco go untouched for his disrespect, but Flynn wasn't stupid enough to think that he was still in the streets. Giving up his chance to learn genuine magic just for the momentary satisfaction of hosting a graduation party for Draco's teeth from his mouth just wasn't worth it, especially with how much social pull the small boy seemed to have within the school.

If he was going to hurt Draco, Flynn knew he would have to be smart about it.

Wordlessly, Flynn walked away from Draco and went back to the washroom. Taking out the bag he still had under his robes, he took out his toothbrush and toothpaste and started to brush his teeth at the sink that was labelled with his name. Once he was finished, he patted his toothbrush dry on the small towel that was hanging from a hook beside him, and put his toothbrush back in his bag, not trusting his roommates to not mess with it if he kept it in the cup by the sink.

Though the toothbrush immediately got dirty again, from the food that he had stashed away in his pockets and bag, he didn't mind it too much. The whole point of a toothbrush was that it cleaned up food bits, so what did it matter if it got dirty in his mouth or in his bag?

He considered showering for a moment, but he hadn't worked up a sweat at all that day, so he didn't see a need for it.

With nothing else to do, he went back to the bedroom, where the other boys were busy unpacking their various suitcases.

Flynn kept himself from reacting too heavily to the casual magic of the other boys' luggage containers, keeping his face straight as Blaise pulled an absurd amount of clothes from a small suitcase that seemed entirely too small to fit even a quarter of what had been inside of it, and how Draco tapped his own suitcase with his wand, and the entire thing shifted and morphed into a tall dresser.

"May I help you with your luggage, Lord Slytherin?" Draco asked, though his cronies seemed to be too busy with their own luggage to have noticed the comment.

"Eat shit," Flynn replied.

Flynn simply sat in his bed, cross-legged with his back against the backboard as he watched the other boys for any suspicious movements. After about half an hour, Blaise spoke up.

"You know you can close the curtains, right?" he said. "They've got privacy charms on them."

Flynn glared at Blaise, and though the boy met his gaze, it was without any sort of malice. Flynn glared at Blaise for a few more seconds before he decided that the boy probably wasn't mocking him.

"What are privacy charms?" he asked.

With Draco currently showering, Vincent tried chuckling at Flynn's question in his stead, but his laughter died down when he seemed to realize that he couldn't think of an insulting comment to go along with it.

"They block off sound from coming in and out," Blaise said plainly. "They're also enchanted so once you close them, you can't open them from the outside. It's not protection, mind you, since they're still just curtains and you could probably tear through them pretty easily, but at least it stops you from having to listen to other people snoring."

"Thanks for the info," Flynn said, with a nod.

There was a long pause before Blaise let out a sigh.

"I'll be honest, I told you that because I was hoping you would close your curtains and go to sleep," he said. "It's a little unnerving to have you just sitting there silently and staring at the rest of us."

Flynn shrugged. "I don't trust you lot to keep my eyes off of you," he said simply.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, but after considering the comment for a moment he shrugged.

Aside from a few halfhearted insults from Draco, nobody else addressed Flynn for the rest of the night, trying their best to ignore his stares and gradually closing their curtains one by one. It was only when the last boy closed their curtains, that Flynn laid down in his bed. He closed the curtain partially, leaving it open enough that he could still see each of the other beds in the room.

Once enough time passed that he was confident that the other boys were asleep, he put his hand in his pillow and closed his eyes. Though Jones and Liz had forced him to leave his shiv behind, his wand was sturdy enough that he was confident that he could use it as a stabbing implement if necessary. Even if it would obviously do a lot less damage without a sharp tip, the steady thrum of power that pulsed through the wand, barely tangible in his skin, reassured him in a way that his shiv never had, and he fell asleep faster than he ever had before.

---

"You're horrible at this, Fredericton."

Flynn shot a glare at Blaise, his partner for the floating charm exercise.

"I noticed," Flynn grunted. "Now will you shut up and let me concentrate?"

"I think you've been doing too much concentrating if you ask me. I can see your veins popping up in your neck. I don't think Professor Flitwick said anything about holding your breath, either."

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"You want me to punch you?" Flynn asked.

"No, not at all."

"Then shut up and let me do this."

Blaise raised his hands in surrender, and mimed zipping up his lips. Once Flynn was satisfied that Blaise wouldn't talk during his next attempt at the spell, he glared down at the feather on his desk.

Holding his wand up to it, he flicked his wrist and stabbed his wand towards the feather.

"Wingardium leviosa," he said, loudly and firmly.

Once more, Flynn felt the same sensation that he'd felt the past fifty times that he'd attempted the spell. Magic swelled within him, riding in waves towards the conduit that was his wand, but despite the sensation of magic that was pooling in the tool, it refused to leave it in a concentrated sliver of magic. It was like the magic was sticking to the wand like molasses, being held back by some force that made the spell come out incomplete.

The feather twitched, but nothing else happened.

"You've got some progress going there, Fredericton," Blaise said. "You've consistently made that feather twitch three times in a row. Good show."

"I swear I'm going to kill you, Blaise," Flynn replied. "How the hell did you do it?"

Blaise shrugged, not reacting to the death threat whatsoever.

"I'm flattered that you think I can teach you, but I'm not sure myself," Blaise admitted. "It's just kind of a feeling. I wanted the feather to float, and it kind of just happened. Kind of."

Blaise pointed his wand at his own feather, and uttered the spell casually, making the feather float gently into the air. Though it didn't stay level for longer than two seconds, which meant that he still hadn't gotten the hang of the spell as per Flitwick's requirements, it was still a much better showing than Flynn's attempts.

"Just a feeling," Blaise said. "It's a bit of a delicate touch, if I had to describe it. Maybe that's why you're having trouble. You do seem like the heavy-handed sort."

"Shut the fuck up," Flynn said.

"I'm afraid I'll have to take five points from Slytherin for the foul language, Mr. Fredericton," Flitwick said, with a frown and a shake of his head as he passed by them. "Please keep in mind that you're here to learn, and while frustration certainly is a common symptom of the learning process, losing yourself to it will only inhibit you further."

Flynn had the urge to curse out Flitwick even more in response, but thought better of it. While he didn't give a shit about whatever the hell house points were, he didn't want to make himself a needless nuisance to the teachers.

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Flynn asked, only barely holding himself from inserting a few "fucks" in the short sentence for emphasis. "Whatever I'm doing clearly isn't working."

Flitwick considered the question for a moment, before he swished his own wand in front of Flynn.

"Mr. Zabini's advice, though vague, wasn't entirely off the mark," Flitwick said, giving Blaise an exaggerated wink. "The spell does require a delicate touch, and the 'feeling' of the spell is important, though I will say it's not the thought of wanting the feather to float that's important, but rather the manifestation of that feeling. Your wand movements must be delicate and light, as if it is your wand that is about to float, not the target of your spell. I will suggest that you are gripping your wand with too much strength and tension in your muscles than the spell calls for. Why not relax a bit?"

Flynn frowned and looked at his hand to see that his entire hand was gripped around his wand like how he might hold a club, not anything like the delicate grip that Flitwick had on his.

But before Flynn could make another attempt on the spell, Blaise swished his wand beside him and chanted the spell. The feather floated up in the air and stayed there.

"Oh wow," Blaise said. "That actually worked."

"Wonderful! Wonderful!" Flitwick said, clapping his hands. "Ten points to Slytherin for such a perfect display!"

Flynn frowned and tried his own attempt while Flitwick was distracted, but when he tried to grip his wand that Flitwick had, it somehow felt wrong. With only a few fingers supporting his wand, rather than his whole hand, it felt like his wand was almost detached from him, rather than being a part of him. The flow of magic felt stifled and choked and when he tried to push out his magic, he felt a jolt of energy sting his fingers, like a spark erupting from a plug.

"Fuck!" he shouted, dropping his wand more from surprise than pain. As his wand clattered on the floor, a wild bolt of magic erupted from it, igniting the bottom of the desk he was sitting at.

"Five points from Slytherin," Flitwick said, casually waving his wand and erasing the small flame from existence. "Not for the mistake but for the repeated use of foul language. Please be assured that I will not take away house points for any mistakes you may make. In fact, mistakes are encouraged, as it is all part of the learning process."

When Flynn heard a series of giggles coming from behind him, he turned around to give Draco and Vincent a death glare.

Flitwick frowned up at them as well, but didn't do anything to stop them.

"I'm certain you'll get it with enough practice, Mr. Fredericton," he said. "But for now, why don't you try practising the motions and get used to them without actually attempting to cast the spell? Whenever I have trouble with a spell, I like to break it down into parts. Since your incantations are spot on, maybe isolating your wand movements will help?"

Flynn gave Flitwick a half-hearted glare, but whether the teacher was giving genuine advice or if he was just trying to stop Flynn from setting more fires, Flynn had to admit that he had a point.

"Fine," he grumbled, before holding his wand in his hand again, swishing it around in a bad approximation of what he had seen from Flitwick.

It felt wrong, both the way he was gripping his wand, and the fact that he wasn't pushing any magic into it, but he wasn't stubborn enough to think that he knew better than a man who had been able to create a localized hurricane in Jones's gym.

Even so, the wand movements felt irritating to practise when he couldn't even push magic into the wand. It felt like he was about to get a cramp in a muscle he didn't have, that he should be flexing and stretching out his magic before he pulled something he didn't want to.

But he still listened to Flitwick's advice, ignoring how wrong it all felt.

At the end of the class, he tried casting the spell a few more times, but still his feather barely budged.

---

"Hiya, Flynn."

Flynn glared down at the familiar blonde.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Is that any way to greet a friend?" Lily asked. "You've gotten so rude since I last saw you. Time can really change a person, huh?"

"I saw you less than a day ago," Flynn said.

"Oh how the time flies," Lily replied.

Flynn sighed, rubbing his temple. "What do you want?" he asked again.

"To pair up with you, obviously," Lily said, with a roll of her eyes. "I can only imagine those nasty Slytherin boys haven't realized what a sweet boy you are. You were probably lonely in your last class too, weren't you?"

Flynn narrowed his eyes at Lily, vowing silently that he would never allow her and Liz to meet.

"I'm not lonely," he said.

"But you still need a partner," Lily said. "And I'd rather save some poor Hufflepuff from having to deal with your rougher edges. We're a softer bunch, at least more so than the Gryffindors. Your first class was with them, right? I can only assume that's the case since we had the Ravenclaws. Real smart cookies, those ones."

"We did have the Gryffindors," Flynn said. "But it's not like I was partnered up with one."

"You made a snake friend?" Lily asked.

"Not a friend," Flynn replied.

"Where is he, then?" Lily asked anyways, making a show of looking up and down at the spot beside him, as if inspecting an invisible partner. "I don't see him."

"He said that he doesn't want to be dragged down with me," Flynn admitted, not sure of why he was even bothering to tell Lily this information. "Charms was fine, but apparently it's more likely that Herbology involves group assignments and he doesn't want his marks to suffer."

"Ooh, sounds very Slytherin of him," Lily said, nodding to herself.

Though the benign comment wasn't insightful enough to deserve any sort of reply, Flynn didn't even have a chance to respond as Sprout clapped her hands together to draw the attention of the class.

"I hope all of you managed to find someone to partner up with?" she asked.

"Yes, Professor Sprout," a few of the Hufflepuff students, including Lily, chimed out.

Sprout beamed at her students, but did a quick scan around the room to confirm that nobody was without a partner.

"Well then, without further ado, I'd like to introduce all of you young saplings to the wonderful world of Herbology! This class might be a little different from all of the other classes you'll have in Hogwarts, but it can also be the most fun," she said, with a wink. "I hope you don't mind getting your hands dirty, because a lot of this class will involve the practical application of tending to and harvesting magical plants, and by extension, the soil that they live in. We'll start off slow by repotting nibbler roots. Though their teeth may look sharp, their name betrays the extent of damage they can actually do. Though it may sting a little, their bite is completely harmless, and we'll be wearing the proper protective equipment to ensure that it doesn't happen anyway, won't we?"

After a bit more lecturing on the importance of safety precautions, no matter how benign a magical plant was, it didn't take long for her to hand out small planter pots of nibbler roots, and larger pots for them to be repotted into.

Once he was given the signal to start, Flynn grabbed one of the planter pots, pulled out the nibbler root. The nibbler root whined angrily at him, but he ignored it and pushed it into the soil of the new pot, packing it deep into the soil like Sprout had demonstrated. The whining stopped almost immediately, and though the root's 'mouth' was submerged in soil, he could still hear it making a quiet sigh of relief.

Taking it as a sign that he had done well, he took out another nibbler root and planted it in a similar fashion, repeating the process twice more until Lily whined at him.

"Flynn, you're going too fast," she said, as she struggled to pile loose soil carefully over the planted roots. "I can't keep up."

"I don't see how that's my problem," Flynn said, as he planted another root.

"Professor Sprout said that the nibblers are somewhat territorial," she said, as if he needed a reminder of what had been said less than a minute before. "They'll start to tangle each other up if I don't cover them up and put them to sleep first."

Flynn frowned, recognizing that Sprout had said that, but unable to accept it.

"They seem fine to me," he said, pointing down at the roots that Lily had yet to cover. "They're already asleep."

"Really?" Lily asked, peering down curiously. "How can you tell?"

Flynn shrugged, unable to think of a proper explanation. "I just can."

Lily pouted at him, and Flynn scowled back at her, even if she didn't seem affected by it.

"Is there a problem, young ones?" a passing by Sprout asked.

Lily nearly jumped in place, apparently not having noticed the professor's presence until she spoke. She recovered quickly, beaming up at Sprout.

"Not at all, professor," she said. "Everything's great here."

"Hmm," Sprout said, as she leaned in to look into the pots. Lily's smile strained, and her hands twitched awkwardly as she seemed to think about moving her hand to cover the view of the plants.

"Oh my," Sprout said, raising her eyebrows while failing to notice the way that Lily's smile strained even more. "I'm afraid I'll have to award Slytherin fifteen points."

"Oh," Lily said, the strain on her face quickly fading. "You're afraid?" she added after a moment of thought.

"Simple slip of the tongue, my dear," Sprout said, coughing into her hand before turning to Flynn with a smile. "While nibbler roots are easy to handle, I've never seen someone put them to sleep so quickly. Am I correct when I assume that you've never worked with magical plants before?"

"Never," Flynn said.

"Then you have quite the natural green thumb," Sprout said. "I look forward to seeing how you do in my class in the future, but perhaps you could switch roles with your partner for now. I would prefer if all of my students had an opportunity to participate in this lesson, and I'm afraid you might just complete it all by yourself if you continue at this pace."

Though Lily had been beaming at Flynn throughout Sprout's praise, her expression turned to one of despair when she realized that she would have to handle the nibbler roots. She had volunteered to be the soil piler specifically because she thought they were creepy and didn't want to touch them, even with gloves, but though her mouth opened and closed a few times, she quickly accepted her fate as she hung her head down with a silent sigh that Sprout failed to notice.

Though Lily wasn't able to put the nibbler roots to sleep immediately like Flynn had, she wasn't necessarily bad at the task and as a pair, they managed to be the first group to plant the entirety of their nibbler roots. After Sprout awarded them both ten points for their respective houses, earning Flynn a betrayed look from Blaise who was still only halfway through his own pots with Theodore, Lily spent the rest of the class chatting quietly to Flynn as the rest of the students continued to repot their nibbler roots, with a large chunk of the class being unable to finish in time.

As the class filed out for lunch, Lily was momentarily distracted from talking with Flynn when she passed by another Hufflepuff, and Flynn managed to slip away, turning a corner and disappearing right as Lily tried to introduce him to her Hufflepuff friends.

Though the promise of another meal like the dinner he had last night was almost enticing enough to force himself to socialize, the breakfast he'd had that morning reassured him that getting free meals wouldn't be a one-off event in his new life, so he didn't have to stuff himself whenever he had the chance like he had back in Fredericton. With his pockets and the bag he had hidden under his robes stuffed with food already, he decided that he might as well eat the more perishable parts of his stockpile before they went to waste as he explored the castle.

Flynn knew the streets of Fredericton like the back of his hand. No matter where he was, he knew exactly what to do and where to run at any given time. He knew which alleyways lead to dead ends, and which abandoned buildings had their doors actually locked or not, so being in an environment where he had no intrinsic knowledge about his surroundings was an unnerving one for him.

So he wandered, not with the intent of finding anything, but still with the intent of knowing everything.

The winding halls of Hogwarts were confusing, and more than once he couldn't help but think that he was getting lost, but other than the moving staircases that sometimes made it impossible to backtrack, it didn't take him too long to get a sense of how the castle was laid out.

As he wandered around the castle, snacking on bits of chicken from his pockets, he gradually started to see fewer and fewer students as he got to the more secluded areas of the castle, and at a certain point, the presence of portraits and ghosts started to fade as well, until he found himself wandering hallways that had large cobwebs and piles of dust in the corners, like they hadn't been cleaned in years.

On a whim, Flynn chose a random door and pushed it open, almost coughing when a small cloud of dust shook itself loose as he entered the room. He found himself in a classroom shaped like a small auditorium.

It seemed to be designed to hold up to fifty students, if Flynn had to guess, and he wondered if it was unused because there was a lack of bodies to fill the seats. The room was much larger than the charms classroom that he'd been in earlier that day, and even that classroom hadn't been filled to capacity.

Flynn quickly decided that the reason for its abandonment didn't matter too much to him, at least not more than the abandonment itself. Every surface in the room was covered with a thick film of dust, and every step that Flynn took shook up small clouds of debris around his feet. Wandering around the room, Flynn discovered loose floorboards and small spaces between the desks that he could potentially stash items into.

Flynn nodded to himself approvingly as he inspected the spaces. Back in Fredericton, he had a few "stash spots" where he used to hide loose bills. While the tenacity of crackheads meant that no place was safe forever, he was used to keeping a few items scattered around the city in various stashes instead of keeping it in the orphanage or the gym.

It was a habit that reassured him, and though he didn't have anything that he wanted to hide away right now, he noted the location of the abandoned classroom in the back of his mind, both as a place to seek privacy, and a place to stash away anything that he might not want to keep on his person, but was still important enough that he wouldn't just leave it in his dorm room.

Deciding that he'd explored the castle enough for now, he headed towards his next class. He was almost late, taking fifteen minutes to navigate the winding hallways and find his way back to the classrooms, but it only reassured him that his new discovery was a secluded one.

---

"Was Herbology just fluke, Fredericton?" Blaise asked. "You're just as horrible here as you were in Charms."

"I'm told I have a green thumb," Flynn grunted as he pushed his wand forward.

Like Blaise had already noted, his attempts at turning his matchstick into a needle resulted in his magic simply not leaving his wand at all. If he really squinted, he might've been able to delude himself into thinking there was a slight sheen to the matchstick, but whether it was a delusion or not, it was impossible to claim that it looked anything like a needle.

Blaise grunted as he made his own attempts at transfiguration, and though his matchstick did develop a distinct sheen to it, it wasn't that much closer to becoming a needle than Flynn's had.

Flynn couldn't help but feel a tinge of petty satisfaction at the sight of the other boy's frustration, though it was cut short when McGonagall came by their table. Though she didn't say anything, she stared down at them with a clear expectation.

Flynn focused on his magic, and tried to will the matchstick to becoming a needle, but his attempt failed once more.

McGonagall showed no reaction, simply turning to Blaise to silently ask for his demonstration. When Blaise failed once more, McGonagall nodded to herself.

"Mr. Fredericton," she said. "I suggest holding your wand with a bit more delicacy, like Mr. Zabini. Mr. Zabini, your wand movements are satisfactory, so I can only imagine you are having an issue with visualising the transformation. It may help to compartmentalise the different aspects of how a matchstick might become a needle. As practice I would suggest altering the individual aspects of your target, such as colour, density, shape, before combining them all into one spell."

Flynn frowned at the advice, not liking how similar it was to Flitwick's but McGonagall continued to walk to the next group without offering anything else.

Blaise frowned along with him, but didn't say anything as he wordlessly looked down at his matchstick. He tapped the matchstick once again, but while it seemed a little shinier than his last attempt had been, it didn't seem like McGonagall's advice had been much help.

Flynn frowned down at his matchstick, and shifted the grip around on his wand, but the light touch still felt uncomfortable to him. Instead of risking another fire, he kept his hand comfortably wrapped around his wand in a way that felt natural, and tried to apply the advice she had directed at Blaise.

Imagining the matchstick turning from a light brown to a silver colour, he thrusted his wand forward.

Flynn's eyes widened when a pulse of magic travelled through his body in a way that it had never done before. The magic almost felt like it travelled through his veins, flowing lazily towards his wand as if it were a heart pumping blood. The magic coalesced in his wand and released simultaneously.

Flynn frowned, looking down at the results of his first use of intentional magic. Though the matchstick remained unchanged, Flynn's wand was now coloured in a silver sheen.

"Looking stylish as always, Lord Slytherin," Draco chuckled from his seat behind him.

Flynn flipped him off in response, which immediately lost them five points from Slytherin each.

---

"Would it kill you to be consistent, Fredericton?" Blaise asked.

"I don't know what you mean," Flynn responded.

"You're an absolute disaster at casting spells, but with your performance in herbology, I assumed at least some of that skill would translate over to potions," Blaise hissed under his breath, as Snape passed by them. With how bad Blaise was at whispering, Flynn could only assume that Snape had heard him but simply chose to ignore him. "You're lucky he has his sights set on Potter and Weasley."

"You don't have to partner with me if you're going to bitch about it," Flynn responded.

Snape's eye twitched at that, confirming Flynn's suspicions that he had decent hearing, but instead of reprimanding him for his language, Snape loomed over Neville's table and docked five points from Gryffindor for chopping his ingredients in the wrong order.

Blaise grumbled in response, before sighing and shaking his head.

"You're not nearly as bad as my other options, unless I want to defect to Gryffindor," he said, giving a pointed glance towards Theodore and Gregory, whose cauldron was fizzing dangerously to the point of overflowing. With his back still turned to them, Snape waved his wand and the mixture simmered down, and though Theodore and Gregory both let out a sigh of relief, they didn't seem to realize who had saved them.

Flynn grunted in an approximation of an affirmative response.

Blaise sighed again.

"I would've been fine with Malfoy, but I guess I'm stuck with what I've got," he said. "I'll be in charge of the mixing, but would it kill you to slice these roots more evenly? They're supposed to be cut into equal sixths."

"I think they're good enough," Flynn said.

"Well, they're not," Blaise said, even as he added them to the mixture. "The textbook says the potion will lose its effectiveness, but I don't think it'll explode at the very least. I'll consider it a win if we leave this class with nothing missing."

Flynn shrugged as Snape took fifteen points from Harry for breathing wrong, or something equally as benign. By the end of the class, Gryffindor exited the class forty points poorer and three detentions richer.