It was a Sunday morning. The weather was beautiful, with a bright sunny sky without a cloud in the sky. If Flynn was outside, he was sure he would be feeling a gentle warm breeze brushing against his skin, just cool enough for it to feel refreshing.

  But he didn’t. In a dark corner, he sat, with his back against the wall and a book in his lap, pulled from one of the nearby shelves. His stomach was full and his pockets were empty of food, but he would fill them again once he left the library, not wanting to risk the ban from the library if Pince ever caught him with anything perishable near her precious books, but he knew he could simply fill them with a quick trip to the kitchens whenever he chose to leave. The air was tepid and smelled of old paper, but the leather that bound a majority of the books gave off a stench that was distractingly pleasant for some reason.

  He didn’t like studying in the library for that reason, having to spend too much of his energy simply focusing on his textbooks and not falling victim to lazy tranquility that threatened to invade his mind whenever he sat there, but he didn’t have a note from Snape that would allow him to take the books out of the library and he was certain that Pince would somehow notice if he borrowed one away without permission, no matter how ratty and worthless the books were.

  Currently, Flynn was looking down at a secondhand copy of the Third Year Charms textbook. It was about a hundred years old, and twelve versions outdated, if Pince was to be believed, but also worth a hundred times more than anything he’d ever amount to in his life. If Pince was to be believed.

  Flynn had to wonder if the crude scribbles of animated dicks in the textbook added to its value or not.

  Scowling at a scribble as it did unspeakable things to a wand movements diagram for the Cheering Charm, Flynn closed his book quickly at the sound of a loud thud as the library door was pushed violently open.

  “Quiet in the library,” Pince said, in a hissed whisper that somehow pierced through the air entirely.

  “I need to find a book,” a hurried voice hissed back, at an equal volume.

  Flynn frowned as he recognised the voice, but turned his attention back down at the book, committing the charm to memory as he tried to ignore the argument between the annoying girl and the annoying old bat, whispered at a volume and pitch that was just barely audible enough to not be understandable, but still be annoying.

  It was only when the girl let out a sound of barely audible frustration and stalked off, before Flynn frowned and closed his book, hiding it behind his back.

  His caution was quickly paid off in full, when Hernione, with her eyes sweeping the library wildly, spotted him sitting against the wall and quickly walked over to him, moving barely fast enough to avoid being yelled at by Pince.

  “Flintstone,” she whispered, once she got close enough. “Would you mind helping me with something?”

  Flynn scowled at her, his grip against the third year textbook hidden behind his back tightening as he tried to scare her away through sheer force of glare,but when Hermione met him with her own stare, he almost flinched back at the desperate, almost manic look in them.

  He scowled at her again, but when he realised that she wouldn’t be cowed, he hid the textbook away in his waistband, not wanting anyone to realise that he was reading ahead to ensure that he wouldn’t fall behind next year.

  “If I help you, will you leave me alone?” he asked.

  Hermione quickly nodded.

  Flynn sighed.

  “What do you want?” he asked, already regretting his decision.

  “I need to find a book on magical creatures, specifically snakes,” she said.

  “Why not ask the librarian?” Flynn asked.

  “I did, but she’s being frustrating,” Hermione said, scowling at her general direction, though her direct line of sight towards the old bat was blocked by a large shelf of books. “Usually, I can deal with her, but this is very important and I can’t waste any time arguing with her.”

  Flynn sighed, both grateful that the problem was benign enough to solve so easily and annoyed that she couldn’t have dealt with the problem herself in the first place. Walking forward, he pushed past Hermione and shook her hand off his shoulder when she tried to stop him from passing.

  “Flintstone!” she hissed. “You promised to help!”

  He didn’t bother dignifying her with a response as he ignored her attempts to stop him, and walked out from in between the shelves. Immediately, Pince locked eyes with him and steepled her fingers together as she glared at him with open hostility.

  “You heard her,” Flynn said, loud enough that he knew that his voice could be heard even from so far away. “She wants a book on snake monsters.”

  Pince immediately scowled at him and raised a finger to her lips, letting out a shushing noise that was so sharp it almost sounded like a whistle.

  “Quiet in the library brat,” she hissed. “I won’t have such blatant disrespect in this place of knowledge.”

  “Oh, fuck off with that,” Flynn responded. “We’re literally the only three people here, and you’re either stupid or deaf if you don’t realise that you’re being louder than I am. Just do your fucking job, you old bat.”

  Pince glared at Flynn, before she raised her finger in the air. Flynn grabbed at his wand out of instinct, but kept it in his pocket as he watched a piece of paper fly out from behind the counter. With his free hand, Flynn snatched it out of the air before it could fly directly into his eyes.

  “Could’ve saved me the fucking trouble of asking,” Flynn grumbled.

  “Watch it, brat,” Pince said, with the only thing stopping her from spitting being how dry and raspy her throat must have been, from the sounds of her voice. “One step out of line and I’ll skin you alive and use it to bind a instructional book on the history of latrines.”

  Flynn ignored her and turned around and walked away.

  “Is that one of my books in the back of your pants?!”

  A shiver ran down Flynn’s back in surprise that Pince had managed to notice the lump in his back underneath his robes from so far away, and simply decided not to acknowledge the question as he retreated, or walked rather, back in between the row of shelves that he’d left Hermione in.

  “Here,” he said, holding the note up to her. “Now leave me alone.”

  Hermione stared up at him, her previous mania replaced with a pale-faced and bug-eyed look of disbelief and fear.

  “Y-you shouldn’t talk to faculty like that,” Hermione squeaked out, whatever fears she had motivating her before being easily dwarfed by her reaction to the casual disrespect of authority.

  Flynn glared down at her.

  “If you’ve got a problem with it, I’m throwing this out,” he said, waving the note in front of her face once.

  Thankfully, either the threat or the movement of the paper seemed to snap her out of her fugue state as she snatched the paper from his hands and scanned it quickly with her eyes.

  “Thank you Flintstone,” she said, as she ran past him, bumping against his shoulder and nearly stumbling to the floor in the process. “You’ve done a good thing.”

  Pince screamed at Hermione to stop running in the library, all pretense of keeping quiet in the largely empty library completely discarded, but Hermione either ignored her or somehow managed not to hear her as she scoured the shelves and pulled out every book on the short list that Pince had written out for her.

  Flynn sat back at his previous spot, making sure to keep an eye out and hide the cover of the textbook in case Hermione came back, but surprisingly, she never did. It was only a few minutes later that he heard the loud thump of a book and hurried footsteps, followed immediately by a loud screech from Pince that Hermione didn’t respond to as she ran out of the library.

  Finally as the moment of peace settled back in the silence of the library, Flynn let out a content sigh and let himself fall back into the textbook for about thirty minutes before the doors burst open once more, but this time, it wasn’t followed by an ear-piercing shriek.

  “Irma,” McGonagall’s voice in the library, with no care given to the rules of the place. “Are there any students in here?”

  “Just one,” Pince grumbled, though Flynn wasn’t sure if it was because she was upset that the Deputy Headmistress was one of the few people she couldn’t yell at, or if it was her default way of speaking. “Hiding in the back corners like a little rat.”

  “Please don’t refer to our students as vermin,” McGonagall said offhandedly, not bothering to linger on the point before turning her voice in his direction. “If you would, student. Please come with me.”

  Flynn grumbled, considering the possibility of pretending like he hadn’t heard, but he knew McGonagall was the type of person who didn’t appreciate any bullshit. Especially with how agitated she sounded, he didn’t want to risk annoying her, so he stowed away his secondhand textbook on a tray, marking it to be returned to the shelves, before walking out from behind the shelves.

  “Mr. Fredericton,” McGonagall said, nodding quickly in his direction. “You are alone?”

  If it weren’t for the way that McGonagall’s wide eyes darted from left to right, as if frantically begging for her own assessment to be wrong, he might’ve assumed she was trying to insult him. As it were, Flynn frowned, trying to understand what was going on.

  “Yeah,” he said, resisting the urge to ask her if she had a problem with that.

  McGonagall grimaced, but barely look at Flynn before her eyes darted back to her colleague.

  “Irma,” McGonagall said. “Would you please escort Mr. Fredericton to his common room?”

  “What?!” Irma shouted, any respect towards her colleague forgotten as her face twisted in annoyance.

  “There’s been another attack, Irma,” McGonagall said, gravely. “Another double attack. Just outside your library.”

  Pince’s eyes widened for a split second, before reverting to her usual grimace as she glanced towards Flynn.

  “Fine,” she practically spat out. “Come on, brat. Better you dirty up your own den rather than this place of sanctuary, anyways.”

  “Irma,” McGonagall said, her scolding tone sounding like she would launch into a lecture on how to treat the students, but instead she nodded curtly towards both the librarian and to Flynn.

  “I must be off to warn the rest of the school,” she said. “Stay safe, the both of you.”

  With another quick nod, McGonagall turned around and walked out of the room as fast as she could without breaking into an outright run.

  “Come on, then,” Pince grumbled, standing up from behind her desk and walking out from behind it for the first time since he’d met her. She was surprisingly taller than he might’ve expected, and he almost had to jog to keep up with her quick walk out of the library.

  With neither of the pair interested in starting a conversation, Flynn followed Pince down to the dungeons until they reached the door to the Slytherin dorms, where Pince immediately turned around and left Flynn without another word.

  Not caring to pay her any mind, Flynn spoke the password to the dorms and walked into the completely empty common room and made his way to his dorm room, not interested in staying behind when the rest of the students eventually crowded in.

  It only took about fifteen minutes for Blaise to come into the dorm room, sighing and sitting down on his bed. It took about thirty more seconds for him to notice Flynn and let out a sharp hiss, grasping his chest in shock.

  “Don’t scare me like that, Fredericton,” Blaise hissed.

  Flynn shrugged. “I’ve been here for a while,” he said. “Not my fault you didn’t notice me.”

  Blaise scowled at him.

  “I can’t believe anyone could ever be worried about a prat like you,” Blaise grumbled.

  Flynn frowned and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

  “Not me, you prat,” Blaise said, rolling his eyes. “Your girlfriend accosted me at the quidditch game as soon as McGonagall came out on the pitch to cancel it. Said to make sure you were safe, as if I could do anything about it.”

  Flynn’s frown deepened into a scowl.

  “What girlfriend?” he growled.

  Blaise only rolled his eyes in response.

  “I can only imagine it was another monster attack, as if it could be anything else,” he said, ignoring Flynn’s question completely. “Honestly, it might do you some good if you were attacked. Would make you a better conversationalist, at the very least, and you’d be less liable to give me a heart attack by popping up randomly.”

  Flynn glared at him.

  “I was here first,” he grumbled.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Blaise grumbled back. “But it wouldn’t kill you to say hello instead of brooding in silence, would it? Oh, who am I kidding? I wouldn’t be too surprised if it did.”

  Flynn scowled.

  “Come on then,” Blaise said. “I was only coming in here to rest my legs a moment and use the washroom, even if you nearly took care of that for me, but we’ve got to go to the common room soon. I imagine Snape’s got an announcement to make.”

  Flynn grumbled again, even if he wasn’t sure why.

  Once Blaise retreated to the bathroom, Flynn left the dorm to see that the common room was full of Slytherin students and with the exception of a few giddy idiots like Draco who were loudly proclaiming that the “mudbloods” were getting what they deserved, a majority of the students murmured amongst themselves nervously.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Snape arrived a few minutes later, with a few stray students in tow, and made an announcement confirming that two more students had been petrified, though he didn’t announce who those students were even after Draco asked, only confirming that they were not any students from Slytherin.

  Flynn’s heart sank after each announcement that followed. Students were to be escorted between classes, to the washrooms, and a strict curfew confined him to the Slytherin common room and dorm room after 6 PM, when dinner was finished.

  But the last thing that Snape said before he closed the parchment he was reading off of was the most harrowing piece of news, overshadowing everything that preceded it.

  “It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. If you believe that you have any information regarding these attacks, do not hesitate to let myself or another faculty member know.”

  “Nobody knows anything here, Professor,” Draco shouted, with a smile. “And if they do, I’m sure they’d keep quiet about it, at least until the Heir’s done with purging out all the mudbloods first.”

  Snape scowled at the boy, in a way that almost made it look like he was trying to put on a stiff smile.

  “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” he said, before turning around immediately and walking out of the room, giving nobody else a chance to say anything stupid.

  Flynn’s mind raced at the possibility of the school being closed down as the murmur of students erupted around him, nervous whispers dominating the room despite the few idiots that were too stupid to realise that they lived in the same school that the monster was loose in.

  He scowled, unable to ignore the continued whispers of the students who were loudly wondering if it would just be better to go back home at this point, but for Flynn, that simply wasn’t an option.

  The school had to stay open, but could he even do anything about it?

  Flynn rushed out of the room, ignoring the shouts of the Slytherin Prefects, saying that it was dangerous outside.

  It was something he already knew, and Flynn gritted his teeth as he pushed open the door to the dorm and braced himself for the possibility that he might suddenly be frozen to the spot. He wondered if he would even realise it if he were to be petrified, and a quiet chill ran through him at the realisation of the possibility that the victims of petrification might be completely lucid, prisoners of their own flesh for months on end.

  He tried not to think about it as he ran out of the dungeons. Snape hadn’t left too long ago, and though the Professor had moved with hurried steps, Flynn couldn’t imagine him outright running. Hopefully he could catch up before he got too far.

  Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Flynn to hear the sound of echoing footsteps, the sound travelling easily with how empty the hallways were. Heading towards the direction, Flynn ran as fast as he could, his eyes darting around for any sign of danger, but not stopping to linger on anything as he focused on the sound of retreating footsteps instead.

  Thankfully, it didn’t take too long for Flynn to spot the black clad Professor stalking down the halls of Hogwarts.

  “Professor Snape!” he called out.

  Immediately, the Professor turned on his heel, whipping his cloak around him as he pointed his arm in Flynn’s direction. Flynn flinched back at the obvious threat behind the arm that Snape pointed in his direction, even if he couldn’t see any hint of a wand hidden inside his long dark robes.

  Snape was quick to recover from his surprise, thrusting his arms down to his sides, trying his best not to look like he hadn’t pointed a hidden wand at his student, and marched back to meet Flynn, with fury practically emanating from every step he took.

  “Mr. Fredericton,” he said. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Flynn felt a wave of heat wash over him at the thick tone of annoyance that coated every word.

  “You said I shouldn’t hesitate to talk to you if I thought I knew something about the attacks,” Flynn said defiantly, as if convincing himself just as much as Snape, that he was allowed to talk.

  “Fool boy,” Snape hissed. “Did you not hear me when I said that students were no longer allowed to roam the castle without teacher supervision, or did your hearing only begin to work long enough to hear the last thing I said?”

  “I thought it was important enough to risk it,” Flynn said, with a glare.

  Snape scowled at that, before he shook his head.

  “Follow me,” he said, as he started to walk back towards the common room. “I must meet with the other staff members to discuss how we should approach this topic, and I will not have you delay me any further than necessary. You may speak while I escort you back, and this time, I expect you to stay there.”

  “The monster is a snake,” Flynn said quickly, following alongside Snape.

  The professor froze midstep, but shook it off quickly, continuing to walk down the hall.

  “What evidence do you have to support this?” Snape asked.

  “I-” Flynn bit his tongue, stunned by the sudden request for evidence, but he couldn’t stop there. “The victims. One of them was Hermione, wasn’t it?”

  Snape glanced sideways at him, but didn’t pause in his stride.

  “I hardly see how that could possibly be relevant,” he said. “But yes. Ms. Granger is currently paralyzed in the Hospital Wing.”

  “I was with her,” Flynn said. “Right before she got attacked. She was researching snakes.”

  Snape’s turned around completely to look back at Flynn, his stride stopping completely this time to fix him with a look of utter disbelief mixed with disdain.

  “You mean to tell me,” he said slowly, as if unsure of his own words. “That you are confident of the cause of the attacks on the students. Because you believe that it somehow connects to Ms. Granger’s reading material? What, pray tell, would lead you to believe that this amounts to anything close to evidence?”

  Flynn scowled to hide the rush of heat that rose in his face at the tone that Snape spoke down to him with, a mixture of disdain, disbelief, and disappointment. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but couldn’t find an argument that he thought would convince Snape, let alone himself.

  “Hogwarts can’t close,” Flynn said instead. “It can’t.”

  A look of something close to pity flashed for a moment on Snape’s face, and Flynn couldn’t help but draw back his lips and snarl in response. Thankfully, the look of pity disappeared quickly, replaced almost instantly with disdainful annoyance before Snape turned around to continue walking towards the common rooms.

  “There are several magical snakes that could potentially cause long term paralysis such as the Bat-winged Deathsinger, or perhaps even a severely weakened Basilisk, but even if Ms. Granger happens to know something that the faculty does not, and chose to hide this information from us, it is important not to make decisions off of half-baked assumptions,” Snape snapped. “I expect you to not bring this to me again, unless you have more to back up your arguments besides a gut feeling. Consider yourself lucky that I will not dole out punishment for needlessly wasting my time.”

  Flynn almost didn’t hear Snape’s words, as a small horrified part of him realized that the heat in his face was stinging his eyes, making it look like he was crying tears of frustration. Wiping the water from the corners of his eyes, he glared up at Snape to make sure the professor hadn’t noticed.

  “Though I hadn’t believed you to be a dullard before this moment, Mr. Fredericton,” Snape continued, still walking down the hall with his back thankfully towards him. “But I suppose I must be explicit when I say that you are not exempted from the ban on any extracurricular activities, including your duties as an assistant groundskeeper. I highly suggest keeping away from Hagrid for the rest of the year, as well.”

  Flynn glared at Snape, wanting to challenge the Professor on the suggestion, to tell him to fuck off and not to tell him what to do, but he stayed silent, not confident enough that he would be able to say it in the way that he wanted.

  Snape seemed to take his silence as an answer, and didn’t bother to say anything else for the short walk back to the Slytherin common room, and not when he turned around and walked away either.

  When Flynn muttered the password to the door and walked in, a few eyes turned in his direction that he ignored in favour of heading towards his dorm room.

  Thankfully, the room was mostly empty aside from Blaise, who wisely turned away and closed the privacy curtains to his bed as soon as Flynn walked in. Flynn considered taking a shower for a moment, before walking to his own and sitting in it, trying not to think about whether his days with the bed, and the school, were numbered.

  Flynn didn’t know how much time had passed, or whether he’d fallen asleep, before he heard a knock on the dorm room door and an older Slytherin boy opened it.

  “Anyone in here?” he said, standing at the doorway and scanning the room lazily enough that he didn’t seem to notice Flynn’s figure at the corner of his bed, hidden in the shadows of his still opened curtains. “If you are, this is your warning that dinner’s in fifteen minutes. If you’re not with us when we head out to the hall, you’re not getting any.”

  Flynn glared at the boy as his eyes lingered on Blaise’s bed, with its curtains closed, but instead of coming in to make sure he’d been heard past the privacy charms, the older boy simply shrugged and left, closing the door behind him.

  Silence fell over the second year boys’ dorm room once more, and though Flynn knew from experience that he didn’t necessarily need the meal, he wasn’t going to turn it down just because he was feeling like a mopey little bitch. Not that he was.

  Pushing himself out of bed, he walked to the bathroom and quickly washed his face before grabbing Blaise’s curtain. He frowned when he realised he couldn’t open it, and wondered it he should just rip open the thin fabric to warn Blaise that he might miss out, but thought better of it.

  Pulling out his quill and inkpot, he grabbed one of the old assignments he had hidden underneath his bedsheets and scrawled a quick note on it, leaving it on the floor in front of Blaise’s bed.

  When ten minutes passed without any movement from the bed, Flynn got up and joined the mass of Slytherins gathering in the common room.

  Snape arrived a few minutes later, and with a small perimeter of Prefects and older students surrounding them, the Slytherins all marched down to the Great Hall in a semi-organised crowd.

  Though Flynn only had the Welcoming and End of School Feasts to compare it to, and the odd meal he had in the Hall when it was less busy, an air of silence hung over the school populace in the room that was much too big to justify it, unnatural and tense to the point that not even Flynn found himself able to enjoy it.

  The atmosphere felt too much like what Flynn imagined prison might feel like, and with how the seemingly inevitable threat of going there had hung over him for most of his life like a spectre, the idea that his school would be turned into one drew his lips down into an angry scowl.

  While Flynn had to admit that he was an angry person most of the time anyways, it was usually reasonable as there was a lot to be angry at. While that was still true, especially at this current moment, Flynn wasn’t used to his anger being so directionless.

  Flynn liked to think that he was different from the screaming druggies and the gangsters whose shouting matches devolved into knifefights on the streets of Fredericton, in that he tried to aim his anger towards a goal. He didn’t have any delusions that his anger was a good thing, but it was a part of him, and he would use it in whatever way he could. It wasn’t a matter of noble intent, but a matter of converting every single part of himself into fuel towards survival, simply not having the luxury to waste his energy on an emotion that would otherwise be useless.

  But as it bubbled under his skin, still simmering uncomfortably at the memory of how powerless Snape made him realise he was, he couldn’t help but clench his fist, barely conscious of the fact that he was gripping his wand in his pocket.

  The memory of the Professor’s disappointment ached like a hard kick to the stomach, and suddenly, with a clear target for ire appearing in the previously aimless fog of his anger, he turned his eyes towards the staff table at the end of the Hall.

  The atmosphere at the staff table was no different than that of the rest of the hall, with eyes turned downwards and frown lines etched even deeper into their aged skin. Forks clinked against ceramic, but no appetites seemed to be sated, as the plates in front of them remained full, and more floated awkwardly around them, looking as if they were hesitant to offer their contents.

  Of all the teachers sitting there, the teachers that seemed most unaffected by the attacks was Snape, but even as his eyes peered out over the Hall with the usual scowl on his face, he didn’t notice Flynn staring up at him, his eyes unfocused as a myriad of thoughts no doubt swirled behind them.

  Fury rose within him at the sight of the Professor. How the hell could Snape call him useless when he was being such a morose bitch himself? The fucking hypocrite.

  Flynn had to wonder if he’d voiced his thoughts out loud, when Snape’s wandering eyes turned to him and snapped into focus out of recognition. Flynn looked away quickly, not wanting to see what the older man’s expression might turn into at the sight of him.

  Bastard. Fucking bastard.

  Beside him, Theodore glanced at him for a moment, but looked quickly back to his plate, choosing to focus on his food instead. Flynn realised, with a bit of a start, that he was sitting down at the Slytherin table, with a plate full of chicken and eggs in front of him. Scowling at the food, he considered shoving some of it in his mouth, before grabbing it and putting it in his pockets instead, not feeling like eating despite not having had any food since breakfast, for some reason.

  Across from him, a familiar voice made a disgusted gagging sound, and Flynn looked up to glare at Draco.

  The small boy flinched at the glare, but gave Flynn a shaky grin regardless.

  “Careful there, Lord Slytherin,” Draco said, quietly enough that his voice wouldn’t travel in the empty Hall. “Acting so barbaric might have your monster mistaking you for a mudblood. We wouldn’t want you to get swept up while it cleans the castle.”

  Flynn couldn’t help but wonder if it would be worth it to simply get himself expelled if the school was going to shut down anyways, but a flash of anger ran through him at the thought that he would so easily give up his school life like that. In a way, he couldn’t help but be a little jealous of Draco’s idiocy, as the boy didn’t even seem to realise that the school was in danger of shutting down in the first place, but Flynn didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in ignorance.

  Flynn stood up from his seat.

  Draco’s eyes widened, as he leaned as far back as he possibly could without falling off of his seat, and Flynn saw from the corner of his eye that Snape was leaning forward, his tensed shoulders promising a quick intervention if Flynn tried to start anything, but Flynn paid neither of them any mind.

  He couldn’t give less of a shit about them. He had more important things to worry about.

  Turning around, he stomped towards the Gryffindor table and stood across from the table from an annoying duo, sitting with their eyes turned down as their forks clinked quietly against their plates.

  They didn’t seem to notice his presence, but thankfully, one of their classmates did.

  “Umm, Harry, Ron,” a pudgy Gryffindor boy said nervously. “I think someone wants to talk to you.”

  The two raised their heads quickly, and for a brief second, Flynn saw a spark of hope in their eyes, as if he expected him to be someone else, but Ron’s face quickly fell into a scowl.

  “What are you doing here?” he hissed. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating with the rest of your snakes?”

  “Tell me what you know about the monster,” Flynn said.

  Immediately, the Hall somehow fell into an even deeper silence, as even whispered conversations and the clink of forks quickly faded at the sound of Flynn’s question. He hadn’t spoken loudly, but he hadn’t bothered to quiet his voice either, but he ignored the stares pointed in his direction, especially from the staff table.

  “You know something,” Flynn continued quickly, not willing to give himself the opportunity to hesitate. “You know something about the monster, something that not even the teachers do, and for some fucking reason, you’re hiding it.”

  It was a shot in the dark, in Snape’s words, a half-baked assumption with no amount of evidence attached to it, other than a gut feeling, but Flynn’s eyes narrowed and an unwitting snarl escaped his lips at the reaction the two boys gave him.

  Surprise. Not confusion, but surprise.

  “You know something,” Flynn repeated, his growl echoing loudly around the halls. “I don’t know how, but you fuckers know something.”

  “N-no we don’t,” Ron said, his stutter seeming like more a result from surprise at being caught, than from fear of Flynn.

  “You heard him,” Harry said, more resolutely than Ron had, but still just as unconvincingly. “Now why don’t you leave us alone?”

  “Are you stupid?” Flynn couldn’t help asking, and a few nervous giggles erupted from the surrounding students, though it quickly faded under the pressure of the surrounding silence.

  “Gentlemen.” The gentle voice erupted through the hall, loud enough that Flynn was confident that it must have been enhanced by magic. “I understand that tensions are high, but I would ask that you calm yourselves and sit down.”

  Flynn’s head turned towards the source of the voice, slowly, as if unsure if he’d heard the old man correctly. Flynn could make the logical connection that the wizened old man sitting at the center of the staff table was the same Headmaster of Hogwarts that had the power to expel him on a whim if he wanted to, but something inside of him snapped at the sight of the kind, relaxed smile that he wore.

  “Are you fucking senile?”

  The quiet in the room threatened to become suffocating as every single person in the room fell completely silent, like they were afraid to even breathe. Even Flynn’s own stomach dropped, as he slowly realised that he’d insulted the most influential man in the school, but he scowled, not wanting to let it show on his face.

  “Do you not realise that your fucking school’s in danger, old man?” Flynn asked, his words echoing dangerously in the Great Hall, already having built too much momentum to stop himself. “Or do you just not care?”

  “I suggest you watch your words carefully, Mr. Fredericton,” Snape shouted, standing up from his seat with enough force that his chair clattered backwards. “I will not see such callous disrespect from one of my students.”

  Flynn glared up at Snape, watching the way that the Professor’s shoulders rose and fall, and the way that his left arm twitched, mostly hidden in the shadows of his cloak. Flynn gripped his own wand in his pockets, but Dumbledore raised his hand towards the both of them.

  “It’s quite alright, Severus,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head slowly. “I would not dare to punish a student for showing concern for his fellow students, nor for having the passion to display it so boldly.”

  Snape’s lips pursed together, and for a moment he looked like he would shout his own profanities in protest, but after a tense few seconds, he waved his hand and righted the chair he had pushed over before sitting back down.

  Dumbledore nodded at Snape, and then turned back to Flynn.

  “I know it may seem like I do not care,” Dumbledore said. “But I assure you that I do care greatly for every single one of my students, both young and old.”

  Flynn didn’t know why the old man’s smile seemed so sad, but he didn’t comment on it.

  “Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore said. “Mr. Fredericton speaks the truth. I would ask that the three of you stay behind once dinner is over, and we may discuss this further in my office. Does that appease you, Mr. Fredericton?”

  It did not. The casual, almost patronising smile made it clear that Dumbledore still wasn’t taking him seriously, but the promised opportunity to try and convince him later would be enough for now.

  Turning around, Flynn marched back to the Slytherins’ table and sat back in his still empty seat.

  Draco stared at him, wide-eyed and frozen.

  Flynn ignored him and stabbed a piece of chicken violently with his fork, the screech of metal against ceramic echoing throughout the Hall.