Flynn had never been one to sleep in. He had never considered himself a particularly early riser either, but when he compared himself to the rest of his dormmates, and to Hogwarts as a whole, he supposed he might've been considered to be one there.
At seven in the morning, though he could see a few students roaming the halls, wiping sleep from their eyes for the most part, there was a laziness that hung heavy in the air in a way that was almost palpable.
Flynn let out a rare yawn as he made his way to the Great Hall, finding no need to rush with how empty he expected the breakfast tables to be, and when he entered, he was quickly proven right.
With a quick count, he spotted nine students scattered around the four tables in the hall. Most of them were sitting on their own, either reading from a book or newspaper as they ate or simply trying not to fall asleep and plant their faces into their food. Though there was one small group of three students at the Hufflepuff table, they whispered to each other so their voices wouldn't be heard in the relative silence of the hall.
Flynn walked to the Slytherin table, and sat down before immediately finding himself surrounded by a small handful of floating plates. They approached him cautiously, like a pack of stray dogs inspecting a discarded meal, and Flynn glared at them.
He raised his eyes at the way that the plates flinched back, as if hurt by his glare, and after a moment he sighed at his own foolishness. Though the way that the plates were surrounding him did make him uncomfortable, their goal was to feed him rather than eat him.
Flynn reached out to a plate of scrambled eggs, and though it seemed to hesitate in the air, unsure of whether to allow itself to be grabbed or not, Flynn didn't give it an option as he snapped out to grab the edge. Flynn dragged it closer to him and piled the entirety of its contents onto his own plate. He placed it down on the table beside him, and once he started to eat the eggs, it shyly floated away.
Though they possessed no eyes or facial features of any sort, the way that they hovered over him made it seem like they were watching him intently as he scarfed down the plate of scrambled eggs, but any opportunity that Flynn might have had to feel uncomfortable was cut short with how quickly he managed to clear his plate.
He glanced around for another plate of food that looked appetising, but with so many choices in front of him, he just ended up grabbing the plate directly in front of him.
After finishing the plate, and grabbing the next one in front of him to repeat the process, the plates seemed to wisen up about their positioning and fought to crowd around the front of Flynn, no longer surrounding him.
Flynn grabbed a few more plates blindly until he grabbed a plate filled with the same sickeningly sweet pumpkin pastries that he'd had on the train. Instead of piling onto his plate, he gently pushed it away.
As Flynn grabbed a plate of sausages, the pumpkin pastry plate floated back in front of him, nudging at his hand.
He pushed it away, a little firmer this time.
"Not a fan of sweets," he said.
The plate paused in the air, as if processing what he had just said, before promptly disappearing. A moment later, there was a quiet popping sound, and a new plate of french toast appeared before him, nudging his hand in the same way that the previous plate had.
He stared down at it for a few seconds, before grabbing it and shovelling the french toast into his mouth directly. When he let go of the plate, he wasn't sure if he imagined the way that it looked satisfied, somehow.
It didn't take for Flynn to feel full, but with his spare food storage almost completely empty now, with only a single rock cake and a few loose pieces of chicken stuck in the corners of his pockets, he continued to grab the plates and shove food in his pockets and his hidden bag, but after a while, the plates seemed to shy away from him, floating perhaps a little further away from him then they had been before, and though they didn't resist when he grabbed them, he did have to strain to reach for them.
It was only after grabbing his second plate of relatively dry sausages that the plates around him started to disappear from sight. He frowned, but before he could even begin to think about what he could do, the plates started to reappear in front of him.
He raised an eyebrow when he saw small sandwiches, cut up fruits, and tortilla wraps, all neatly packaged in plastic wraps or little baggies, being presented to him on the plates.
He glared at the plates, but grabbed whatever he could fit in his pockets. When he felt like he couldn't fit anything else, he waved the plates away and they all disappeared from view, though a few floating pitchers of water, milk, and juice remained, silently floating around his empty cup as if asking for silent permission to pour themselves in.
Flynn glared at them, and grabbed the pitcher of water from the air and poured it into his cup himself. When he drained the whole thing, he made to get up and leave the Great Hall, now that more and more students were steadily pouring in, but before he got up, he couldn't help but notice the dipshit squad rolling in.
Though he couldn't possibly eat anymore or fit anything else into his pockets, it wasn't like he had anything else to do. Though the plates and pitchers seemed to sense his hesitation, crowding around him once more in case he decided to eat more, he waved them all away so he could focus on tracking the dipshit squad.
Though the Slytherin table was still relatively empty, the dipshit squad seemed to make their way to a specific spot at the table before sitting down, with Asshole #1 and #2 sitting on one side, and Dipshit and Bitch sitting on the other. Once they seemed completely settled in, Flynn walked over to them and sat down beside Dipshit.
Though Dipshit himself hadn't seemed to notice him, with how preoccupied he was with talking to the Bitch that hung off his arm, and Asshole #2 was too preoccupied with the testbook he had opened in front of him, without any girls who were interested him or any proof that he was literate enough to read a book, Asshole #1 didn't have anything to distract him from noticing Flynn.
Asshole #1 didn't say anything at first, and from the dumb confused look that was frozen on his face, Flynn didn't expect him to regain the faculty for speech any time soon.
Though the thought of simply doing nothing and seeing if he could make Asshole #1 skip breakfast entirely just by existing was an entertaining one, he didn't particularly want to stick around the group for any longer than he had to.
Trying to summon a level of cheer that he'd never felt before in his life, he smiled at Asshole #1.
"Morning," he grunted, frowning when he realized he couldn't think of anything else to say to pretend to be friendly. How did other people do it?
Thankfully, his mock friendliness was quickly ignored when the other members of the dipshit squad finally registered his presence. Though Asshole #2 simply raised an eyebrow at his presence, Dipshit and Bitch physically recoiled.
"What the hell are you doing here, you filthy m-"
"Morning gents," a voice loudly said, accompanied by an equally loud slam of a plate and silverware beside Flynn. Flynn turned around and glared up at Reginald, the Slytherin fifth year prefect. "And lady, of course. A fine morning that will hopefully lead to an even finer day of school."
Dipshit seemed momentarily stunned by the older boy's sudden arrival, but recovered quickly.
"Yaxley," he said. "What are you doing here? Think you're too good to sit with the rest of your year after you've been made prefect?"
Reginald shrugged as he grabbed a plate from the air, taking a few sausages from it, before letting it float away.
"I'll admit, I've been letting the power get to my head somewhat," he said. "I've threatened my mates with detention for beating me at wizard chess at least twice already. They think that the joke's already getting old, but what's the point of being a prefect if you can't take advantage of it? There needs to be some sort of benefit to having the role, after all. Being responsible for making sure that your fellow students follow the rules is more stressful than you'd think."
"What, are you going to send me to detention, then?" Dipshit asked.
"What would I be doing that for?" Reginald asked, though he didn't bother to look up from his plate. "As far as I can see, we've got a group of fourth-year students mingling with one of our first years, which isn't against any rules that I can remember. I have heard rumours that the Gryffindor house hazes their younger years by hitting them with a body bind curse, and levitating from their ankles in the middle of an abandoned hallway, right before physically assaulting them, but I doubt that members of the noble house of Slytherin would never do such a pointless and stupid thing."
Asshole #2 winced at the words, but the rest of the group didn't react in the same way, sneering instead at the older student.
"What then, Yaxley?" Dipshit asked. "Are you suggesting that we let this m-"
"What I'm saying, Selwyn," he said, stabbing his fork into his sausage, making the silver squeak loudly against the porcelain. "Is that the Gryffindors would be able to get away with such a foolish act because they are a foolish house. It suits their image. Slytherin, on the other hand, is not a foolish house. We are united and strong, and our image is stronger than what the truth may or may not be."
"Did a teacher find him?" Asshole #2 asked.
The rest of the dipshit squad lost their sneers at the question, wincing in realization, though Reginald didn't react.
"A Ravenclaw prefect discovered one of our first years hexed and bloodied on the fifth floor," Reginald said. "Thankfully, the first year had the proper sense to develop temporary amnesia, but it doesn't change the fact that one of our own was attacked, quite possibly by a pack of Gryffindors, though I'm starting to have my doubts, though I'm not sure why. After all, no Slytherin would be stupid enough to do something like this without bothering to cover up any evidence."
"We didn't leave any evidence," Asshole #1 said defiantly, seeming to find his voice, though he didn't notice his friends wincing at what he said.
"Of course you didn't," Reginald said, pointing a butter knife at him. "Because you didn't do anything."
"It's his word against ours," Asshole #1 continued. "Who would believe a m-"
Asshole #1 let out a wheeze of pain and buckled over the elbow that Asshole #2 pushed into his side.
"Thank you, Richard," Reginald said, nodding at him before standing up. "I hope that you've managed to hear the lesson I was trying to teach? I may not be a teacher, but I do believe that we students should strive to learn wherever we can."
"Got it, Regi," Asshole #2 said, with a strained smile. "Sorry for the trouble."
"No trouble at all, Richard," Reginald said, with a sigh. "As long as you lot make sure to stay out of it."
Without another word, Reginald took his food and walked away, sitting down with another group of Slytherins further down the table. Though Flynn didn't think that Reginald had acknowledged his presence even once during his talk, Flynn still nodded appreciatively towards the older boy for the clear lesson. It wasn't one that Flynn necessarily needed, but it was always nice to get a refresher of the golden rule that he'd always followed back in Fredericton.
Don't leave evidence.
Flynn glanced at the dipshit squad, and got up, figuring that he'd done enough damage to their egos for now, even if it was by accident. His revenge didn't necessarily need to be quick, so there wasn't much point in pushing for more.
"See you around," he said before leaving.
Though he didn't turn around, he couldn't help but relish the four glares he felt pelting his back.
There wasn't much time before his first class, so Flynn made his way to the assigned classroom early. Surprisingly, there was already a small group of students waiting outside the door.
"Hiya, Flynn."
Flynn scowled at the small girl that placed herself in front of him. A few feet away, he noticed Sally shifting quickly away to hide herself behind a pair of Huflepuff girls, who seemed confused by the sudden intrusion to their conversation.
"What do you want?" he asked Lily.
"To say good morning," she said.
"Good morning," he grunted. "Now will you leave me alone?"
"I said I wanted to say good morning, not for you to say it to me," she said, raising a single eyebrow as she smiled. "I thought it might be too greedy to expect that from you."
Flynn glared down at her.
"Then I take it back," he said. "Have a horrible morning."
"Too late!" Lily said, with a cackle.
Thankfully, it didn't take too long for the door to the classroom to open. Though it opened on its own, with it being a magical school with teachers who more often than not opened their doors with a wave of their wands, Flynn didn't bother thinking much of it until he stepped inside and nearly bumped into Lily who suddenly stopped moving.
Though Flynn considered shoving her forwards, he frowned when he noticed the reason that Lily had stopped.
At the head of the class, a ghostly figure paced back and forth, walking despite the fact that he was clearly floating an inch or two off the ground. With a bored expression on his face, and eyes that seemed almost deader than he was dead, he stared blankly out at the class. The chalkboard behind him had "Professor Binns" written out in ghostly wisps instead of chalk.
It didn't take long to understand why Lily had stopped so suddenly, and with a grumble, Flynn grabbed her shoulders and pulled her out of the classroom.
Though her entire body was stiff, Lily let herself be led out. Her entire body went limp when they finally exited the classroom and with how she fell against him, Flynn was forced to support her weight.
"Our professor is a ghost?" she asked, in the quietest voice he'd ever heard from her.
"Seems like it," Flynn said.
"I'm scared of ghosts," she said.
"That's obvious enough," he said. "You gonna skip, then?"
"Skip?" Lily repeated, as if she didn't know what the word meant. "Skip class?"
"Yeah," Flynn said. "Skip."
"I can't skip," Lily said nervously, though the way that she glanced between the classroom door and the hallway behind her made it seem like she was considering it, though she quickly shook her head. "I can't."
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"Why not? I did it all the time," Flynn said with a shrug.
Lily paused, before she giggled under her breath.
"Filntstone Fredericton," she said. "How shameless of you. Are you trying to turn me into a hooligan?"
Flynn glared at her, but it only seemed to make her smile, even if it wasn't as wide as it usually was.
"I'm not trying to turn you into anything," he grumbled. "Do whatever the fuck you want. I don't give a flying fuck."
Lily giggled quietly again.
"I know you don't," she said, shaking her head once before looking up at him. "I think I'll go to class."
"Why?" Flynn asked. "You're afraid of ghosts."
"I know that," Lily said, rolling her eyes. "But unlike you, I'm a good girl who doesn't skip classes. And it's not like I'll be able to avoid this class for seven whole years. I'll just pretend he's covered in white makeup. Like a mime. I like mimes."
"Really?" Flynn asked. "With how much you talk, I wouldn't have expected it."
"Well, I do think that mimes should be able to talk too. They're so interesting and it's such a shame that we can never hear what they have to say."
"That's stupid."
"You think everything I say is stupid."
"Because it's true."
It took a few more minutes for Lily to gather enough courage to step back into the classroom, right before it started, and though she kept her head down and her eyes pointedly away from the front of the class, she managed to make it to one of the seats in the back, dragging Flynn by the sleeve into the seat beside her.
The ghost professor barely seemed to notice anything amiss, and once the bell for the class rang, he instantly began to speak in a monotone voice about the founding of Hogwarts.
With Binns seeming not to notice how more than half of the class fell asleep within ten minutes, he was certain that Lily could've gotten away with skipping the class for seven years without the professor noticing, but with how her frightened face shone with determination, he didn't feel the need to suggest it. Though she had his arm in an iron grip, she was too weak for it to actually hurt, so he didn't bother to brush her off, knowing it would only be more annoying if he did.
With how scared Lily was, and how Flynn wasn't one to fall asleep in a room full of strangers, they ended up being the only two students who were fully awake by the end of the class, and the first ones out of the door when it ended.
"Hey, Flynn," Lily said, once they left the classroom. "Can I ask you something that I've been wondering about you for a while?"
"Ask whatever you want," Flynn said. "Doesn't mean I'll answer."
"Why do you smell so much like chicken?"
"I have chicken in my pockets."
"Oh, that makes sense. I hope I wasn't being rude."
Flynn grunted.
"Do you plan to let go of my arm any time soon?" he asked.
"You're a surprisingly warm person, you know," she replied.
"I run hot," Flynn grunted.
"Is that what you think I meant, Flintstone Fredericton?" she asked.
Flynn glared at her, before grabbing her hands and peeling her off of him.
Lily laughed and let herself be pried off.
"Thanks, Flynn," she said. "Sorry I said you're a hooligan. I was just teasing. I know you're a good boy too."
"Fuck off," Flynn replied.
---
"Partners again?" Blaise asked, as he took the seat next to Flynn.
"Do whatever you want," Flynn responded.
"I want to crawl in bed and go to sleep for the rest of the day," Blaise said. "I'm still feeling the effects of Binns's lecture."
"Then go do that. I don't care," Flynn said.
"Nah," Blaise said with a yawn. "Defence should be enough to wake me up, since it's a spellwork class."
Ten minutes later, while Blaise was visibly struggling to keep his eyes open as Quirrel stammered on about the principles of defensive spellwork, reading directly from the textbook that he had his nose buried in, Flynn couldn't help but narrow his eyes at the turbaned man, though he made sure not to stare at the man directly.
Something about Quirrel bothered Flynn in a way that set him on edge. He doubted that anyone else had noticed it, given how the only thing that other students in the room seemed to feel was simple boredom, but Flynn couldn't help but think that Quirrel reminded him of some of the people that lived in Fredericton.
His stutter felt stiff and manufactured, and his darting eyes felt like they were too sharp for the nervous man that he was trying to portray. Quirrel smelled like a con man, both literally and figuratively. Though the entire classroom smelled strongly of garlic, with cloves being hung up all over the classroom, but while the stench of garlic in the room felt stale, the smell that emanated from Quirrel himself felt fresh and overpowering to the point where it felt like he was overcompensating for something, not too different from the conmen who practically drowned themselves in cologne to hide the scent of their derelict lifestyle.
Flynn made sure to never get caught staring, by Quirrel's darting eyes, but by the end of the class, he decided that he probably didn't have much to worry about. While he wouldn't let his guard down completely, he sincerely doubted that whatever Quirrel wanted, it would have nothing to do with him.
He would keep it in mind so he wouldn't be screwed over later, but he ultimately decided that he didn't particularly care whether this guy was just some schmuck that was trying to con a paycheck out of the school. He certainly didn't have what it took to be a teacher, so maybe this was his endgame. To collect a salary and nothing else.
In the end, the only way that it affected Flynn was that he had to listen to Blaise's bitching at the end of the class.
---
"I'm so hungry. Did they really have to make us skip lunch for this?"
Flynn raised his eyebrow at Gregory's complaint. Aside from the fact that Flynn had been snacking on the wrapped sandwiches he'd taken from breakfast, it was the first time he'd heard Gregory talking in sentences that were more than three words long.
"I suppose it's to prevent any beginners from throwing up if it's their first time on a broom," blonde bitch said, with a disdainful sniff. "And as much as I would prefer that Hogwarts would do the sensible thing and let the experts skip this pointless affair, or at least separate us into a different class, I do appreciate the sentiment. I can only imagine that Weasley would mistaken any vomit for the slop he eats at home, and I don't think any of us want to see what happens after that."
"Oi," a red-headed boy shouted from across the field. "Sod off, Malfoy!"
"Do you hear something, boys?" blonde bitch asked. "The wind's too strong for me to hear anything, but I am picking up the distinct stench of a rabid animal."
There was an angry bellow from the red-headed boy, which was quickly cut off by the sharp sound of a whistle.
"Save the trash talk for when you're quidditch players, which will be never if you keep this up," Hooch shouted. "I'll ban the both of you from ever touching a broom on my pitch unless you quiet down right now."
The blonde bitch gave Hooch a polite smile while the red-head didn't even look at her, preferring to send a death glare to the blonde bitch instead, but in either case, Hooch seemed to accept the quiet that she got and started her lesson.
Though Flynn felt ridiculous at the idea that he would be riding a broom, when he put his hand over his broom and made it jump into his palm with a single command, a sense of fulfilment washed over him even if he would never admit it. After failing to cast a single spell successfully, it was nice to finally see that something was going well for him.
Beside him, Blaise gave him a dark glare as his own broom flailed on the floor.
"Wipe that grin off your face, Fredericton," he grumbled.
"I'm not smiling," Flynn said.
"Not visibly," Blaise agreed. "But I can feel the smug energy wafting off of you, and it smells like chicken for some reason. Would it kill you to be consistent and predictable?"
Flynn gave Gregory a glare, as the other boy glanced hopefully over in his direction at the mention of chicken.
"I don't owe it to you to be predictable," Flynn said. "I don't owe you anything."
"I'd consider it a courtesy between acquaintances," Blaise said, before turning around. "Say, what's that sound?"
"Gryffindor kid falling from the sky," Flynn said, right before the pudgy Gryffindor in question fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
The pudgy kid let out a low whine of pain, as Hooch rushed over to him. After a brief inspection, she announced that she would be taking the pudgy kid to the infirmary.
Predictably, as soon as Hooch left, blonde bitch started some sort of a fight by grabbing a small red ball that the pudgy kid had supposedly dropped during his fall.
Though Flynn didn't particularly care about what was effectively a schoolyard squabble that had little to no effect on him, he still couldn't help but watch the fight with some interest. He wasn't sure why he even cared about a fight that likely wouldn't even come to blows, until the blonde bitch said something and took off to the skies.
Flynn watched the blonde bitch with idle interest, until a second person took off to meet him. Flynn narrowed his eyes at the small black-haired boy.
Harry Potter. It had only been two days ago that the small boy had caught Flynn's interest because of how everyone in the school seemed to know him despite how unremarkable he looked, but it hadn't been hard to puzzle out the mystery behind the boy's fame. With the blonde bitch's constant taunts, Harry's verbal battle with Snape, and Harry's general demeanour, it seemed like Harry wasn't used to his fame or at the very least he hated the circumstances behind them if blonde bitch and Snape sought to use it as a weapon against him.
Though that obviously wasn't the complete picture, it should have been good enough for Flynn to stop bothering to untangle the mystery further, but for some reason it wasn't. He couldn't help but keep his eyes on Harry as he flew through the sky, demanding that blonde bitch give back the red ball.
He looked up at Harry, feeling more and more annoyed as he continued to fail to understand why he cared about "figuring out" the tiny boy so desperately.
Flynn narrowed his eyes as blonde bitch threw the red ball as far as he could. Without even having to look at Harry, he knew for a fact that Harry would shoot himself towards the ball without hesitation, not even hesitating at the possibility that he would get hurt.
Flynn felt a flash of annoyance course through him at the sight, as he finally realized what felt so damn wrong about Harry Potter.
Harry was a kid that had obviously been beaten down by the world, just like Flynn had been, but it wasn't a sense of kinship that kept Flynn from completely ignoring the boy. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Even though Flynn should've felt a sense of familiarity with Harry, he couldn't help but think that Harry felt completely alien.
Flynn had seen the boy's type dozens of times in the orphanage. In the orphanage, there were two main ways that the kids there learned how to survive. Either they got tough enough that none of the other boys would want to mess with them, or they became invisible enough that people either forgot they existed or didn't care enough to hurt them. Flynn had obviously chosen the route of getting tough enough that nobody would ever want to mess with him, and it was equally clear that Harry had chosen the other route.
Harry always kept his shoulders shrunken in on himself it made him look even smaller than he already was, but it wasn't like he was particularly large or even average in the first place. His sunken cheeks and his stick thin body gave away the possibility that he hadn't had much to eat as a kid, and his expressions seemed subconsciously muted, like he was holding himself back from giving anyone a reason to notice him. Even his long hair seemed like it was designed to cover his face and hide him from the world.
But despite the fact that Harry looked like he had been designed in a lab to look like the most downtrodden orphan in the world, the way that Harry acted put everything at odds with his appearance.
Harry cared. Despite his body showing exactly how cruel the world could be, Harry cared enough to put his entire body at risk to save a fucking ball, just because it belonged to his fucking friend. Harry somehow still had enough hope in the world to risk himself to try and better it.
That pissed Flynn the fuck off.
Even after Harry was spotted by MgGonagall and dragged back to the castle, to the delight of blonde bitch. Flynn's dour mood refused to lift. Blaise had the sense to not talk to him any more afterwards, and with the flying lesson cancelled and rescheduled for another day, Flynn stalked off into the castle, travelling into the most secluded hallways he could find.
Though he blamed Harry for the general distaste that settled on his tongue, he couldn't find it in himself to say he was angry at Harry in the first place. He just felt a general distaste, and it pissed him off that he didn't understand why.
---
"Managed to calm down, Fredericton?" Blaise whispered, trying not to be heard over Sinestra's lecture.
"Piss off."
"I take that as a yes. That's good. It's not fun to needle you when I think I'm at risk of being hit for no reason."
"You think I wouldn't punch you?"
"You haven't yet. And I've been quite annoying."
"Maybe I should start."
"You could. Then I'd stop."
"You should've told me sooner. I'll start punching you, if you'll really shut up."
"Yes, I just told you I would. Are you hard of hearing?"
"Are you? Or do you just want to be punched that badly?"
"I just don't believe you'll do it, to be honest."
"Don't fucking test me."
"And yet I am. You have your quill, Fredericton?"
"Ahem," Sinestra said, rather than actually clearing her throat. "Are you boys done?"
"Yes, Professor," Blaise said, with a serious nod. "We're very sorry."
Sinestra narrowed her eyes at Blaise, though in the relative darkness of the Astronomy class, it was difficult to know if she would even see any insincerity there.
"Next time I hear a word out of you two, it's twenty points from Slytherin each," she said eventually. "Now… where were we?"