A Smile from Slytherin

A/N: Okay, now to explain stuff. Oliver and Mayella are in seventh year and so is Marcus since he stayed back. It takes place in Harry's third year and I will be following events in the story. This is my first fan fic ever! R&R.

I can't believe I actually said that.

Hopefully there are some improvements in A Smile From Slytherin this time around because I was looking back at this story and I swear, every two seconds I was cringing like you wouldn't believe.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J.K Rowling. I am not making money off of anything. It's all just for fun. Don't sue me. I am only saying this once.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Chapter 1: Diagon Alley

We were always close in age yet always so different. He thrived in the air, loved heights, loved to fly and loved anything that included a broom. That was his specialty. I remember every day during the summer, when he hadn't gone out with his friends the previous night, he'd wake me up early just to drag me out of bed to fly with him. Quidditch was just a plus of his flying though it never really appealed to him like the freedom of soaring through the air did.

However, I was not someone who enjoyed Quidditch. It was too violent, too shallow and too useless. I felt like the only Roman not going to the Coliseum to watch the games. I amused myself by calculating curves of throws and solving mathematical equations. For that reason, but mostly for the sake of my brother,I would swallow my apprehension and pretend to enjoy it. All for him.

I usually did things like that for him.

I did like to watch him fly though. He was so graceful and precise, his exact turns causing his black hair to flurry back and forward and whichever way he intended it to but never in his face. As always, he'd have that sly, surreptitious smirk on his features that he saved for games. It was that smirk that signaled to me and, most of the time, his team mates that he was up to something and that something was always fun for us, and never good for the opposing team.

As children of the pureblood elite, it was all about having fun.

Marcus was not one to be the impassive Slytherin statue like most of us though. If he wasn't carrying a smirk, it was a grin or a scowl or a sneer. Anger was a constant companion to the muscular mass of smooth skin and the occasional five o'clock shadow of Marcus's features. Anger came most easily to him. But it was that emotion that helped him to his victories in Quidditch games and propelled him to the top of the brutal Slytheirn hierarchy.

Not only did it benefit him but by association I was Slytherin royalty, an advocate of Slytherin beliefs whether I practiced them or not. To me of course, my true morals were practiced quietly. They were small actions: not tripping a mudblood as they passed, not sneering at the halfblood, not thinking myself higher than anyone else. Those minute details of my quest for detachment from my immoral background did not work.

I was drawn to my brother's world of self promotion and false sense of elite superiority. I still did not go out of my way to trip the mudbloods but it was now a common term of my expanding vocabulary. My nose was at it's record high by sixth year, using my blood and family name to get me what I wanted. My dreams of being an Auror were beginning to diminish into ones of being a housewife to some rich bachelor like most of the rest of my house. One thing I didn't have was my own list of exboyfriends. In fact, I was never a fan of men at all. Love was just over zealous lust. At least that's what I thought.

I suppose it started a week before the first day of my Seventh year. Marcus had been out with his friends the other night doing who knows what and couldn't seem to wake up.

"Marcus! Marcus get up!" I said, throwing a pillow at my older brother as I jumped on his bed. He groaned, pulling the blanket over his head. "Father said to be up by eight. It's one."

"Alright, alright! I'm up," he said throwing the pillow back at me causing me to crash down on his bed in a fit of giggles, mainly at his upturned hair. "Get out so I can change. And take your bloody cat with you. You know I'm allergic." Azure, my tabby cat, was on Marcus's bed biting his sheets.

He kissed my head then proceeded to push me off his bed amidst sneezes. We were the affectionate sort of siblings. Kisses and hugs were common when it came to us, more so than rough play was at least. Marcus didn't like to touch me in public though. Not hugs, not kisses, not playful hair ruffling. He had an appearance to uphold after all. In the pureblood world, appearance was everything.

At this point in our lives, Marcus was focused on appearing a big, tough Quidditch god while I was more focused on appearing like the innocent, mindless sister of the big, tough Quidditch god. It is not wise to have a mind of your own when your main priority in life was to marry the richest man who'll have you.

Anyone who knew me though wasn't fooled, especially with a look at my grades. I was near the top of my class (bloody Percy Weasley), I always quickly caught up with missed studies, I was a tutor, a prefect, and the epitome of high achiever. Again, I contrasted in my brother greatly when it came to academics which showed since he was staying back his seventh year. When he was supposed to be studying for NEWTs last year, he used the time showing off to the Quidditch scouts. I suppose it paid off in one way—he was accepted onto three different teams—but father forced him to redo his seventh year which was both a burden and a grace on me.

Marcus threw a pillow at me. "Out, May!"

Sighing dramatically, I picked up Azure and trotted downstairs to the dining room for lunch. My father, Victor Flint, was seated on one of the plush crimson seats discussing things with Lucius Malfoy who had just arrived a couple minutes ago. They were speaking in hushed voices and by that age I knew that meant they were discussing matters that were not fit for a girl of my stature to hear.

"He escaped Azkaban of all places, Victor, he's—"

"Mayella, dearest!" my father interrupted, rising from his seat with an overly happy smile. I forced a smile of my own, nodding my head toward Mr. Malfoy in greeting.

"Good Afternoon, Mr. Malfoy, pleasure to see you again," I practically recited. Courtesy was another aspect of my life I had perfected.

"Indeed," he said with boredom, inclining one of his perfectly arched blond eyebrows. Malfoys viewed themselves above faking emotions with private company. "How are you, Miss. Flint? Having a good summer?"

"Yes, it's enjoyable," I said unenthusiastically.

"Where's your brother?" my father asked. Right on cue, Marcus came downstairs, still yawning. It was obvious he didn't run a comb through his hair as a large blotch still stuck up at near verticality. His shirt wasn't tucked in or fully buttoned, his jeans were low on his waist and his shoes were untied, living up to the casual dishevelness he'd grown to be trademarked for. Asking for his heir was the first thing my father always did in the morning. "Ah, there's my boy. Marcus, you remember, Lucius, of course?" my father asked Marcus who nodded groggily.

"How can I forget? Especially after your generous donation to the Slytherin Quidditch team last year. We would have probably won the cup too if the finals weren't canceled because of that Weasley that was taken into the chamber," Marcus said bitterly, taking a seat. He never did get over missing the cup the previous year.

"Ah, yes and that Potter boy just had to go act hero," Mr. Malfoy said with shadowed contempt. "No worries, however, I'm sure you'll show him this year. I must be going now, Draco is waiting for me to take him to Diagon Alley."

"Bye, Mr. Malfoy," Marcus said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Tell Draco I said hi and not to throw away the magazines I gave him."

I smirked inwardly when Mr. Malfoy's eyebrows shot up and he did little to hide a scoff. I was pretty sure Marcus was oblivious to this but it was a well known fact that Mr. Malfoy thought Draco needed better role models than my brother of all people. With parting last nod, Mr. Malfoy disapperated.

"What were you talking about before with Mr. Malfoy, Father?" I asked as our house elf served Marcus some late lunch.

"Oh, nothing that you should be worried about dear.. Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban."

"What?!" I exclaimed, standing up. Marcus spit out his milk.

"He escaped? How?" Marcus asked.

"No one knows. Now don't worry about it you two, I just want you to worry about school work and Quidditch," Father said patting my back lightly, as if I was still five years old. Marcus frowned but shrugged, going back to his food but the mere thought of someone escaping from that place was still running through my mind.

"Lessons today father?" Marcus asked. He was referring to his training in the Dark Arts with Warden Macnair's son Hector Macnair and Terrence Higgs.

"Not today," my father answered with a slight scowl. "The Prophet wants another article on Black and everyone else has their hands full at the Ministry. It's a busy week, son. How are your applications to St. Mungo's coming along, May?"

I lied, shrugging for effect. "Oh, great father. Nearly done filling it all out. Just have to wait until after the NEWTs and after my recommendations are written until its official."

I was lying a lot. Truthfully, I had no intention of being something as dull as a caretaker or a nurse in St. Mungos. Where was the math in that? Yes, it was a proper job and yes, I'd probably have to give it up once I married my pureblood prince anyway but ever since I was young I had the dream of becoming an Auror. Once I became absorbed as Slytherin Royalty however, such dreams were put on hold. It was fifth year during Career Counseling with Professor Snape that my dreams were reawakened. Being an Auror however, was not something my father would approve especially with that skull and snake on his left arm.

"Good, good," he said stepping into the study. "Marcus, come in here. I need to show you something."

Marcus followed Father into the study and I rolled my eyes as he finished his food. Father was beginning to call Marcus into his study a lot lately. It started the beginning of last year with small little objects here and less than harmful curses there but soon, with some prodding from my father's fellow "business associates", Marcus became enamored in the world of the Dark Arts, from his lessons in the curses to his talks with Father. I didn't think much of it at the time—it was just harmless Durmstrang Dark Arts teaching methods—but everything has its limits.

"Father, are we going to Diagon Alley for school today or not?" I called into the study. No answer. I scowled, mainly because I had grown short tempered and slightly bitter at Marcus receiving all the attention though were just a year apart, and headed there myself.

The study could be mistaken for a medieval library. The walls were made of thick stones with portraits of old wizards and witches who pompously sneered at anyone who dare look at them hanging. There were dusty bookshelves of red oak filled with old books, some of which were never even opened because they were supposed to be cursed. There were desks stacked with old parchments that looked like they hadn't been touched in years. There was also a cabinet were father kept his Dark Objects. It was currently wide open.

Marcus and Father were talking in hushed voices, Father carrying a glass eye that he bought a Knockturn Alley last week. Even from where I was standing I could tell Father didn't look happy.

"What is it?" Father sternly asked me. Somehow my presence in the study always made him short tempered. My Father was exactly the opposite of those emotional "talk about your feeling" types. Unlike Marcus, he did not show any sort of emotion easily. I liked to think he felt bad whenever he caused me to cry which, unfortunately, was fairly often. My tears always seemed to shine through no matter how hard I tried to hold them back. I was terrible at keeping my composure when I was upset. When I was angry or happy it was easy but sadness was a complete different matter.

"Are we going to Diagon Alley today or not?" I asked.

"I told you I have to work today. Honestly May, pay attention!" he shouted as he roughly put the eyeball away. "I'm going to kill Borgin when I get my hands on him!"

Father stalked out of the study and Marcus and I followed. "Christmas, Marcus," Father began after an afterthought, turning to face him, "Christmas is when your training will advance to the Unforgivables."

Marcus would have beamed if Father wasn't there practically glowering before us.

"Christmas? Already?" I asked, frowning. Marcus raised a brow while Father scowled.

"What on earth are you talking about, Mayella? It's about time he starts. I started the moment I turned 17. Of course.. with the current situation... Christmas would be best."

"Yeah, I can't wait," Marcus said with a grin, looking over at me as if waiting for me to congratulate him. It was the same look he would give me after he had just beaten the tar out of a sarcastic Hufflepuff or after he had just been greeted with warm welcoming after putting his cheating methods in play.

"Yes," I said, forcing a smile. "I was just.. surprised is all. Congratulations, Marcus."

Father nodded, pleased with this answer and continued on his way up the stairs. Marcus kissed my head and followed him after a thank you. I watched him walk away with a frown. The last thing I wanted was my brother to learn curses that could put him in Azkaban for life, curses that made him a murderer, curses that I wanted to fight against the use of. I eventually sat down in the room, alone, until Marcus was right by my side again.

"Hey, May?" I heard him ask as he opened the door of the parlor in time to see my frown. "Are you okay?"

I quickly nodded, smiling smally. "Of course."

He scoffed, coming over and taking my hands. "You're a terrible liar, a horrible trait for a Slytherin you know."

I smirked as our hands begin to sway, something we hadn't done since we were children. "I'm working on it, really."

"You have to do better than that," he said smirking, our arms swaying faster. "Now tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing," I lied again though I knew he wasn't going to take that for an answer. "It's just sometimes I feel Father like despises me.."

Marcus frowned, the swaying slowing down. "Don't be daft, that's not true and you know it."

"But I feel as if it is!" I whined like a child, slowing down the swaying even more. "I feel like he can't even look at me without.."

"You just remind him too much of mother," he said quietly, the swaying ceasing. "Blonde hair, blue eyes, same face.. you're just like her."

"Doesn't he miss her?"

"Of course. That's why he doesn't want to be reminded of her. Now, come on. Father is waiting for us. He's taking us to Diagon Alley."

"I thought he had work."

"Rita Skeeter just owled saying she can take his story off his hands and he let her. Now, come on. The Firebolt is on display and I want to see that before it gets too crowded."

He led me out of the room hand in hand. I desperately did not want to let go of him just because the swaying had stopped.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

At Diagon Alley, which was packed as usual, father left us with about ten gallons each and went to talk to Mr. Parkinson and Mr. Goyle who had just dropped off their own children for school shopping. After we bought all our supplies for school, I persuaded Marcus to leave me alone and he went to Quality Quidditch Supplies to stare at the new Firebolt on display and I walked around to see what has changed since last year. Other than the wanted posters of Sirius Black everywhere and no one out after sunset, everything looked the same.

I walked alone, not for lack of company as I had recognized many of my classmates yet chose not to make myself known. Marcus would have preferred me to walk with someone but the bustling streets were crowded enough as it is and I did not need someone to keep up with. Marcus had developed a sort of over protective personality when it came to me. It was sweet in its own way but I had quickly come to detest it. At school he barely let me go to the bathroom alone.

I suppose I was partly to blame for this. I did enjoy going off by myself a lot and he tended to worry easily. It was my relationship with my last serious boyfriend which really sent Marcus over the edge. He sent him to the hospital wing for a week when he tried to go too far with me. Naturally, being the girl of morals that I was, I didn't stand for it and immediately got rid of him but when Marcus found out he was furious and took matters into his own hands. He tended to do that. After that incident, I never cared much for relationships.

It was at about that time, as I was passing the large crowd in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies, that I saw a man, about the same towering height as my brother with dark skin and a bald head walk past me. What really caught my eye was his badge. It wasn't just any badge either, it was a certified badge of a fully trained Auror. I gawked sice I have always wanted to see one of them and began running toward him. I wasn't sure why I was doing so—perhaps it was excitement perhaps just a reflex reaction—but I should have paid more attention to where I was going. Before I got even progressed three meters down the block, I bumped into someone and fell down hard on the ground.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, annoyed, from my place on the ground. I scowled, looking past the person I had bumped into to see that the Auror had disappeared into the crowed. "Thanks a lot, prat!"

"Hey yourself! You're the one who bumped into me."

I immediately recognized that voice and perked up. Standing in front of me with his muscular arm extending toward me, was Gryffindor's own pride and joy, Oliver Wood.

"I can do it myself," I spat as I stood, still angry that I had missed the Auror, perhaps the only Auror I would ever see if my father had it his way.

"Fine, just trying to be gracious since, you know, it was my fault," he said sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Don't mock me. And yes it was," I stated brushing myself off, blushing slightly at the fact that my butt was probably covered in dirt. By reflex, I stuck my butt out and in retrospect my chest out as well, patting away the dirt. "How is it?" I asked then bolted my body back to it's default position which did not include my butt sticking out for Oliver Wood to have a perfect view of. I looked up horrified to see that Wood was staring. He noticed my flustered glare right after I reverted back to my normal position and showed a blush himself.

"I-It's very nice—I mean that's it's clean, nothing on it, it's perfectly.. perfect. As in clean of course. Not that it isn't nice because it is, not that I was looking, um—"

"What is going on here?"

At this point, I didn't know whether to laugh or go pale at the sight of my brother and his cronies suddenly standing beside me. I chose embarassed indifference instead. Oliver's stuttering and blushing ceased and he exchanged a glare with Marcus.

"What are you doing with my sister, Wood? Is he annoying you, May? Because if he is, I could—"

"No, Marcus, really, it's fine," I said, allowing him and his sneering cronies to stand in front of me and block my view of Olvier. Warrington and Montague were beginning to advance toward Wood and my brother was doing nothing to stop it. I bit my lip, thinking that if they started something, Oliver would surely tell my brother that I was leading him on with my butt talk. Besides, duels in the streets was strictly against the rules. I pushed my way to my brother, taking a hold of his arm.

"Didn't you graduate last year?" Wood asked Marcus taking notice of the bag Marcus had in his hand filled with supplies for school. I could have sworn he was deliberately not looking at me.

"I decided to stay a while longer," Marcus said smiling devilishly, mainly at Warrington and Montague whose wands were out. "To kick your ass at Quidditch mainly. And to protect my sister from gits like you so don't look at her like that again or I rearrange your insides."

Oliver came closer to Marcus, as if challenging him, and was about to object when Marcus added, "Remember you are out numbered, Wood, and I can just call for back up." Already, most of the Slytherin Quidditch team was behind Marcus, wands out and itching for a fight. All they were waiting on was a word from Marcus.

"Wood, get out of here already," I ordered, stepping in front of Marcus with my arms crossed over my chest, resisting the urge to give my brother a scolding look. Oliver looked at me and nodded, giving Marcus another glare as he left. The Slytherin team groaned with disappointment but I ignored their complaints about my ruining the first fight of the year.

"You okay, May?" Marcus asked his tone getting softer as the team dispersed.

"I'm fine, Marcus. You didn't have to interfere. I could have taken take of it," I said frowning, my hand still over my chest.

"I know, I just wanted to make sure," Marcus said then added, "And to get on his nerves. You know how much I hate that idiot. Come on, I'll buy you a butterbeer."

"Alright," I said with a sigh, looking back at Oliver who was far along on his way.

"Ladies first," said Christopher Warrington as he held the door to the Leaky Cauldron open for me. I smiled at him and we took our seats. There were wanted posters of Sirius Black all over the place and it was getting very annoying seeing his disgruntled face on every wall.

We took our seats as the classic conversation about Quidditch was started. I began to tune them all out—hanging with boys always had its downsides—but soon I was too bored to function and I rose from my seat.

"Where are you going?" Marcus asked. "Need me to go with you?"

"No, Marcus," I answered with a sigh.

Ignoring anything else he might have wanted to add, or any of his friends he was about to assign to me, I walked to the bar and was about to order a butterbeer, when I heard a very loud strawberry blonde who spoke with her hands talking to her raven haired friend. I withheld a groan and turned around on the bar stool hoping they didn't recognize me. Six years with the same people, even in different houses, can do that.

"... Think Oliver looks very cute this year, huh, Wendy?" said Christa, a classmate of mine. She was heavily into Divination and the Faux Arts as I called them.

"Is it that obvious that I like him?" Wendy asked with a dreamy sigh, looking into her butterbeer as if it had all the answers for a perfect love life.

"More than obvious. But, I think he likes you too. Its like you two are like, soul mates, I mean, you have so much in common and he likes talking to you, AND I looked up both your star charts and you're in the same house!" she answered enthusiastically, tucking a lock of her raven hair behind her ear. Wendy looked pleased, that stupid smirk I would come to hate growing on her too small, too tan face.

"You better make your move soon. I heard his fan club has extended to Slytherin house and you know what tramps they all are," Christa said and I flushed with anger. I was a Slytherin advocate through thick and thin, if not for myself then for my brother, and I would have hexed her right there if it had not been for my upbringing. She was half true though. Girls in my house do seem to be more promiscuous than in others.

"I know. George Weasley, you know, Percy's brother—"

"Who can forget those hilarious trouble makers?"

"Yeah, well he said a Slytherin bumped into Oliver this morning, just to show off her butt. It was no doubt on purpose just to get his attention."

"How desperate is she to resort to an 'accident'?"

"Pretty desperate especially since it was Marcus Flint's sister."

"No way, that Maryelle?"

"Yes, I can't believe her. I mean, aren't there enough horny guys in Slytherin house she can attempt to seduce?"

"I can't believe Flint's own sister is going for Oliver," Christa said, shaking her head as if it was a mortal sin. "How horrible of her."

"I know right, she almost got Ol crushed too," Wendy said with a frown.

"Oh poor Oliver. I'm sure you would love to go comfort him."

"Oh, you know I would," Wendy said as they let out a fit of giggles. I sat there with my mouth open in shock.

Before that point I had never heard any negative talk about me. Well at least nothing that went past "that bastard Marcus Flint's sister". I had lived in my own little bubble filled with my false sense of security that everyone loved me and nothing could touch me because my brother would touch them first. I could have done many things at that point but I chose to live up to the bitch people seemed to make me out to be.

"Excuse me," I said. Christa and Wendy turned around to face me.

"Yes?" Wendy, obviously not noticing who I was. She didn't even know my name and we were in three classes together to add insult to injury.

"You have something on your shirt," I said to her.

"Oh I do?" Wendy said, looking at her tacky shirt which was probably a Madame Malkin's "off the wand" design which everyone knew was for poor people. I took out my wand. "I don't see anything."

"Sordes!" I shouted and Wendy's shirt was instantly drenched with mud including her gawking face. People nearby began to snigger, gasp or openly laugh. "My mistake."

"You—You..!" Wendy scowled and ran to the bathroom, Christa tailing behind her hiding her own giggles.

"Wendy, wait up! It's not that bad!"

I smiled smugly and walked back to my table, that smile not showing any signs of diminishing. "What's up with you, May?" Marcus asked as I sat down. Frieda, one of the more notoriously promiscuous girls in my year was on his lap feeding Marcus his food, much to my distaste.

"Nothing." I sat there in silence and listened to Marcus tell everyone how the Slytherins will whip Gryffindor's arse this year in Quidditch. At least, that's what he did when Frieda wasn't touching him. All of Marcus's girlfriends were basically clone copies of each other, the only difference being that the current one always had a worse reputation than the last. Of course I viewed my brother as handsome, but hearing other girls talking about him in ways that made me cringe was something I could never get used to.

I looked to another table where a newly clean Wendy and Christa were. I saw Christa kissing another Gryffindor in my year named Danny and Wendy flirting with Oliver. Though she was giving him about fifty signs that showed she was definitely interested, he wasn't biting and soon he rose from his seat and walked away, leaving Wendy alone to watch Christa and Danny snog.

I smiled to myself.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

A/N: You may notice a few changes, my old readers. Tim is now Chris and I decided Mayella wasn't going to be virtually unknown. I figured these people have been in school together for six years, they're bound to know at least of each other by now. Speaking of my old readers, I love you guys, you got me back into this story, hope you especially enjoy it.