*sigh*
Just one more thread to keep an eye on.
Stop it Shade! Stahp~!
You have been a faithful follower for all these years, Drakonskyt.
Worry not, your loyalty shall be rewarded.
Ask, and ye shall receive a snippet.
By the by, here, fellow readers, have a snippet.
Harry Potter and the Very Strange Slytherin
Harry had come to a conclusion at the end of the third year. Slytherin students were cardboard cookie cutting evil. He didn't know when the notion clicked in his head that such was the case, or when he understood the true implications of it -after all, he hadn't really had much of a culture in what qualified as a 'Cookie Cutting Evil Basket Case' before. Simply, from one day to the next, he realized that to say Slytherin meant 'Bigoted Inbred Person with a penchant for Racism' and that...puzzled him.
He had been taught in primary school that everyone was the same, that the only differences between people were merely perceived, and not really a good reason to not be friends with one another -that hadn't really worked with Dudley bullying here daily, and he didn't have any friends in primary, but again, that wasn't the point.
So, when the Fourth Year began, he had all but expected to face off against mad, cackling and with twirling mustaches Slytherin.
And he had. Oh boy if he had. The Triwizard tournament, the tasks, the 'Potter Stinks' badges and whatnot had utterly cemented his opinion on the Slytherin.
Well.
All except for one new guy -maybe a transfer student, but did Hogwarts even take 'transfer students'?
He was well behaved and amiable, and seemed to actually show visible concern for someone other than a Slytherin. Neville had begun to swore by the boy had chosen to help him in potions -and because Snape didn't bully Slytherin, putting Neville near one prevented the worst from happening.
The most interesting thing was that Snape himself was wary of the boy, keeping his distances.
It was bizarre, but again, Harry was expecting the mad cackling laughter and the 'let's murder the impure' talk any moment, even as he faced off against the dragon, and won by the skin of the teeth, he really was expecting to hear this or that about the 'new guy'.
Instead he found out Hermione had become kind of distant. Not overtly so, but just a bit moody, a bit 'over the top' with her thoughts, as if something bothered her. And someone had gifted her books for Christmas, and it hadn't been him or Ron, that was for sure. Plus, she had a dance partner for the ball and, once more, it hadn't been either him or Ron.
"I'm telling you mate," Ron whispered to Harry, "It's fishy. She's Hermione."
"And what would that mean?" Harry asked back, perplexed.
"Well, nobody but us likes her," Ron said with the same delicacy and finesse of an elephant in a china shop. Fact was, Ron wasn't evil. He wasn't a Death Eater of sorts. Sad to be said about his friend, but Ron was simply a git, and stupid, and maybe with a hint of Brain Death all tied up nicely together to form the person known as 'Ron'. But for the important things, he could be counted on, and that made him a great friend.
Hermione, that night, danced with the New Guy, now renamed 'The Strange Slytherin' in Harry's mind.
Ron was the color of puce for the rest of the night. Harry sighed and shared his friend's sentiments. It wasn't that he personally hated the Strange Slytherin, but he was a bit miffed by the entire ordeal. Slytherin was composed of bigots after all.
It was kind of a bigoted view to hold, but when you looked at statistics, reality and bigotry seemed to go hand in hand.
"Maybe he's the exception," Harry hazarded.
"Dunno about that," Ron replied.
"He is a lucky man," Viktor Krum said, overhearing the two of them. "Dah. Very lucky."
The duo had no idea why the Quidditch Seeker would say that, and let the matter rest.
Then came the time for the second test. It was cold, it was truly a cold February day, and yet nothing of interest happened. Hermione came and went more and more with the Strange Slytherin, and a few other boys and girls from various Houses did the same.
Dumbledore wasn't concerned. Moody was.
"If your gut instincts tells you something, Potter," he drawled out of nowhere while walking next to him, "Then follow it."
His gut instinct told him to slam Professor Moody's death-breath into a jar of mints, but he wasn't going to do that.
But seriously, what did he eat to get such a bad breath? It was as if something had died inside that man's mouth!
Finally, he decided to act. Under the Invisibility Cloak, he followed Hermione on one of her nightly escapades up to the seventh floor, and after a short back and forth, she entered a door that hadn't been there before.
She wasn't alone.
Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones -with cookies, warm too judging by the smoke and the smell, Neville, Luna Lovegood and a few others entered the room. Finally, he entered together with the last arrival.
A nervous looking Millicent Bulstrode, one of the very, very few Slytherin Harry had kind of 'lost sight of' during the course of the years. Maybe she had naturally drifted away from Draco's gang -the role of the girl taken by Pansy- or maybe she just wasn't that vocal. Well, whatever.
He was going to find out what this was about.
And as he stepped inside, the Invisibility Cloak was taken away from him as chairs swiveled around him, revealing the Strange Slytherin sitting on a very comfortable and elevated armchair in front of him.
"Ah...Mister Potter," he drawled, doing his best James' Bond interpretation. "I was expecting you."
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "You followed me!"
"Bloody hell I did," Harry replied. "What is this all about!?"
"This? This is a group of like-minded people who wish to improve the Wizardry Society," the Strange Slytherin said. "But we have not been presented yet, so I think it would be for the best if we did."
With a nod, he flicked his wand -a dark thing that just felt wrong to Harry's skin- and a wooden table appeared from the ground, with hot chocolate cups -one for everyone, apparently, Harry included- and an extra armchair for Harry to sit on.
...
The Dark side had chocolate, cookies and comfortable chairs.
...
No, no Harry, don't fall. He's a Slytherin.
"Well, I'm Harry," Harry said lamely, trying to fight off the desire to grab the chocolate cup. He failed that, and gingerly gripped the edges of it to hold it with his hands.
"Well," the Strange Slytherin said with a small smile, like a snake having just caught his latest prey.
"My name is Armstrong," the Strange Slytherin added, "Jeremiah...Armstrong."
The chocolate was very good, running down Harry's throat.
Why then, did it feel as if it was going to stain his soul?
But maybe he was just being overtly paranoid, over nothing.
He looked like a good guy.
PARANOIA RISING
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I expected that.
