Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition - Season 2- Round 5. My prompt was 'in their favourite class at Hogwarts'.
Alex Montgomery was many things, but smart or intelligent was none of those. His key point laid in sports – Quidditch to be more accurate. It had been his dream since he was a child to soar through the sky, bringing victory to whatever house he was in. He remembered badgering his sisters to play with him, to the point where they had grown thoroughly sick of it.
And now, his dream was a reality. He had gotten on the Gryffindor Quidditch team just the other day, and he was still beaming from the high. The look on the keeper's face when he blew the ball past him was momentous.
That, however, didn't excuse him from his studies. A fact which his very best friend, Richard, reminded him of with a sharp hit to the back of his head.
Alex frowned at him, rubbing the wound with a grimace.
"What was that for?" he whined.
He didn't get a response, and a moment later, he found out why. McGonagall loomed over him ominously, a severe look on her face. Alex gulped, shifting nervously.
"That'll be five house points from you, Mr. Montgomery," she stated, before gliding away to the front of the classroom again.
The Gryffinfor half of the class groaned, and Alex winced at the punishment.
He flopped down of his desk, ignoring the sympathetic look Richard shot him.
"Couldn't you have been more subtle?"
"She was already heading here," he offered.
Alex sulked for another moment, before accepting the somewhat apology. Rising from his location on the desk, he picked up his quill, twirling it around idly in his hand. Sighing in boredom, he finally decided to tune into McGonagall.
"—and that's your homework for today. Make sure you have it finished, as I will be checking on it. You are dismissed."
Alex spared his blank parchment a quick glance, before shoving it unceremoniously into his bag. He rose from his chair with a stretch, before beaming at Richard.
"Finally! Are you ready for DADA?" he asked excitedly.
Richard rolled his eyes at him. "I don't get why that's your favourite," he scoffed, packing his things into his bag much more carefully than Alex had.
"Because," Alex enunciated carefully. "It's the coolest!"
"Sure, sure, whatever you say."
"It is," he insisted. "We get to fight bad buys and prove ourselves to be heroes!"
He struck a pose, and Richard steadfastly ignored him. Pouting, he ran to catch up with the other boy.
"Geez, you didn't need to leave me behind."
"I was afraid of catching your idiocy," Richard said, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.
Alex flicked him on the cheek in return.
The two of them entered the cold classroom together, choosing a desk near the center of the room. It was a compromise of theirs, because Alex like sitting in the back, while Richard would prefer the front over anything else. The others slowly began trickling in, and Alex snuck a doodle on Richard's parchment while he wasn't looking, snickering to himself.
The professor filed in, and the class hushed.
"Today," he announced. "We're moving onto our last unit: Werewolves."
The class exploded into whispers, and Alex blinked, startled.
"Get out your textbooks, and turn to page 312, please."
Werewolves. The word sent a vivid image of glowing golden eyes, and he was frozen in fear at the hatred and vicious pleasure in them.
A hard elbow to his side jerked him out of his reverie, and Alex turned to face Richard, who looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Are you daydreaming again?"
"I am not!" he hissed back, grabbing the heavy tome from his book bag. He idly flipped to the page, feeling a dull ache begin to throb at the back of his head.
The professor began his lesson, writing notes on the board, asking questions, answering questions… the usual. Normally, Alex would be eager to learn anything and everything about DADA, but he just couldn't focus today.
The throbbing in his head just wouldn't go away.
Alex clutched at his head, throwing away all pretence of paying attention. The pain was splitting his head in half. He couldn't focus, couldn't think, couldn't, couldn't –
"Mr. Montgomery?"
Alex raised his head, a grimace set firmly on his face, and looked into the concerned face of his professor.
"Mr. Hardner," he said, glancing at Richard. "Please escort Mr. Montgomery to Madam Pomprey."
"Yes, sir," Richard said, quickly standing up and grabbing Alex's elbow to help him up. He shot him a look when he opened his mouth to complain, and tugged him out of the classroom.
They were halfway to the nurse when Alex stopped suddenly, and jerked his arm out of his grasp.
"I'm fine," he insisted, although his migraine had upped another notch, and he was getting dizzy.
"You're not fine," Richard said, frowning. "The class is almost over anyways, and it's the last class of the day. You should just get some rest before dinner, and then you'll be fine in the morning."
The worried gaze was too much for him. Alex averted his gaze, muttering a 'fine' before allowing Richard to lead him to the hospital wing. Once they reached the spacious room, he dropped into a bed, and allowed the throes of sleep to take him, letting Richard do the explaining.
He had a funny dream that night.
It was all a blur of darkness and loud noises and painpainpain, but the thing he remembered seeing was a pair of golden eyes glowing at him from the darkness. He feels fear and all things bad, and all he wants to do is return to reality, where none of these things exist.
He woke with a start, eyes flashing open and a pounding heartbeat thundering in his ears. It was dark in the hospital wing. There was nothing but silence in the room, and his own harsh breathing.
Slowly, he reached for his wand, calling out a quick spell to check the time. He groaned.
8:00am.
Just in time for classes.
He slipped out of bed mindlessly, heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast. It occurred to him, in the back of his mind, that he missed his detention with McGonagall, but he couldn't seem to care. His whole world felt blurred, like in his dream, and as he walks down the hallways, it occurs to him he doesn't even know that the tapestries look like.
Wasn't that odd, for a third year like him?
He filed that bit of information in the back of his mind, and went through his work in a daze. Nothing registered. Everything was just a mass of incoherent noise.
The day passed like that, and before he knew it, it was time for DADA again.
Werewolf. The word was stark on the chalkboard. It jumped out at him, the focal of this new world where nothing made sense anymore.
Werewolf.
Why was that familiar?
The golden eyes seared itself into his mind, the bright, bright, golden eyes and –
Oh, he thought. His blurry world is gone, and in its place, is another one with crystal clear clarity.
A hand landed on his arm, and he startled. Richard panted, having apparently run after him.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked. "Since yesterday, you've been acting weird."
"It's nothing," he smiled. "Sorry."
You're not real, he thought as he turned back to the black board. But let me enjoy this a little longer.
"Are you daydreaming again?" Richard asked, and it's such a familiar phrase that he laughs.
"Maybe I am," he grinned.
On April 5, 1997, Alex Montgomery, aged 5, died of a fatal wound on his chest by Fenrir Greyback.
He was smiling.