Okay, this is my very first attempt at a fanfic, so take it easy when you rate and review. This story is set in the magical world but does not directly relate to Harry Potter, but if all goes well, the story should follow a similar plot line just with a few twists.
I want nothing more than to say that I'm the hero of this story, but that's nowhere near the truth. I'm a good person, at least I think, since I've never gone to bed with that sick feeling in your stomach that makes it impossible to sleep, you know 'guilt'. But, I'm a Slytherin.
That means I'm the bad guy. Or at least that's what society (majorly influenced by the ministry) says.
See, about 20 years ago, there was this huge war, and trust me when I say the main baddies were Slytherins, there's no denying it. It was a rebellion, led by Marvolo (the really big baddie), to seize power and put purebloods (again mostly Slytherins) at the top of the food chain.
Many people died. Both sides suffered major losses, and the rebels, nicknamed the 'Slys', were losing major ground. Eventually the only thing keeping the rebellion going was Marvolo and the threat he made to his enemies, nicknamed the 'Triads' (due to the alliance between the three remaining houses).
The 'threat' was nothing more than a promise that if he couldn't win, no-one could. He promised the extinction of all wizards. Now this may appear to be nothing more than a hollow threat and it would have been taken as such, if Marvolo hadn't promised it. Marvolo had a reputation for always keeping his promises. It was a running joke in the wizarding community that the most honourable wizard was the wickedest.
Anyhow, back to the story. The 'Triads', had Marvolo cornered at Hogwarts, where he had setup his main base of operations, and the Triads were preparing to storm the castle (I've always wanted to say that). When, all of a sudden, there was a burst of bright yellow light shining through every window in the castle, the Triads angered over possibly losing their prey charged in and found… nothing.
Marvolo was gone. There was absolutely no trace of him or his allies in any corner of the castle, they even fully examined the room of requirement, no mean feat, for months until they were certain that Marvolo had truly vanished. With this, the school slowly began to rebuild preparing to take its first influx of students, whilst the ministry scoured the planet for any sign of Marvolo, relying heavily on any Muggle news that smelled of magic.
Over the years, the ministry and society began to accept that Marvolo was gone from their lives. But, they were stuck with Slytherins, and the prospect that such a rebellion could happen again. As such, Slytherins were ruled with an iron fist. Society shunned them and the law hunted them mercilessly. Becoming a Slytherin was the same as having a huge target painted on your back.
My name is Avaric 'Alec' Hawthorne, and I come from one of the oldest wizarding families (that's not me showing off, it's just true) and the one thing my family prides itself for above anything else, even more than my great-great grandfather having been the minister of magic, is every member of our family is/was a Gryffindor (until me). Some rumours, which I don't believe, say that we are direct descendants of Godric Gryffindor.
I had a relatively sheltered childhood. I grew up in a cottage that was bigger on the inside than on the out, from the outside it was a modest two storey, thatched roof house with old windows and an old squeaky wooden front door with a lion head shaped knocker. Whilst on the inside it was spacious with a fireplace in the lounge large enough to stand in, an orderly kitchen that was referred to as 'Dad's zone' (Dad did all the cooking and wouldn't let me or Mum near the kitchen saying our 'ability to poison food could be transmitted through proximity') and four bedrooms. I may have no siblings but the other bedrooms are nearly always occupied, my parents may not have wanted to live in the centre of the wizarding community but they didn't want to be completely alone in the country either, with work colleagues, family friends and distant relatives nearly always staying over.
My room is in the attic (out of choice, by the way, my parents weren't seriously ashamed of me and want to stash me in someplace out of the way, like the cupboard under the stairs (I mean, seriously who does that?)), with these big high beams that I hang posters and streamers from about my favourite quidditch team the 'Chuggly Cannons' and astronomy charts depicting the stars. That's the main reason I love my room, it's as close as you can get to the stars without a broom, or a muggle rocket.
You're probably sick of my house and childhood by now, but I really need you to understand that I never grew up in direct contact with Slys and their plight and that my parents are, or were, good caring parents that I adored. Every story has a beginning, middle and end, right? If I had to pinpoint the very beginning I would say it was the moment the sorting hat was placed on my head, but I had better start a little before that as I need to introduce you to a few people.
My Mum had linked arms with me as I jogged through the wall to platform nine and three quarters, I had wanted to go alone to impress Dad, but I my mum had given me that look that said, 'you owe me for all the sleepless nights you gave me'. I was secretly glad my Mum was there otherwise I would have slowed down upon reaching the wall, I mean c'mon who sanely runs into a brick wall? Whilst we waited for Dad I took in as much as I could, but I found it terribly hard to pull my eyes away from the majesty that is the Hogwarts express. And then, before I knew it, Dad was with us and was leading us over to two other families, the Bartleys and Woodcombs.
'Johnathan and Marisa, good to see you!' Kathleen Bartley was probably the loudest person I've ever met, and also the friendliest, both of which had served her well with her three raucous sons, Leo, Frank and Luke. Her husband, Donald, was small, and the least domineering person I'd ever met, he had calming aura that somehow counter-balanced his family's nature.
Upon seeing them, I ducked around the back of the large party to stand next to Luke, who would be starting Hogwarts this year as well. Luke and I weren't particularly close yet I felt a connection with him as we were about to both go through the same thing. I also got the impression that he was happy to see me.
Luke, like his elder brothers, was small with close cropped dark brown hair and broad shoulders, and unlike his brothers had his father's green eyes to his mother's grey. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a quote on it that I couldn't read because of his overly-large black robes. Luke struck quite a contrast to me: I was tall for my age, with lanky, untamed blonde hair, patched and ripped jeans from too many 'emergency broom landings'.
Whilst Mum and Dad were striking up a conversation with the Bartleys, I compared my provisions with Luke's.
'Did you get all your books?' I asked nervously remembering frantic buying that had taken place in Diagon Alley (I swear my Mum punched out three of this other Mother's teeth for the last book on transfiguration).
'Yeah, I think so. Hey, how hard was that herbology book to find?'
'I know, you'd think, 'rare plants and their obscure uses' would be readily available.' Luke laughed at that and I felt slightly more at ease especially when I heard Maggie's laugh.
Maggie Woodcomb, a year older, she was the same height as me with long, dirty blonde hair and flashing green eyes. Her parents were known for being reserved and distant whilst she was known for speaking her mind, an easy-going manner and an ability to empathise with just about everyone.
'I know, it's weird how in herbology you start with the rarest plants and it's not until your seventh year you actually find out how everyday plants can help you practically, it's like want you have to stick around for as long as possible before you find out something of use.' And with that, the three us settled into an easy conversation, with Maggie slowly prepping us for our school year.
Before we knew it we were on the train on our way to Hogwarts, my Mum had hugged me and kissed me until the point it was embarrassing, even my Dad hugged me (and my Dad is not big into public displays of affection). Luke's brothers kindly helped us with our luggage and found us a compartment before leaving us to meet up with their friends (only afterwards did I learn that the brothers had been bribed to do so, regardless I was still touched by the gesture).
Maggie joined us in our compartment even though she has friends she hasn't seen all summer. When I told her we wouldn't mind if she left to catch up with them, she looked me hard in the face and said with all seriousness, 'I've got all year to talk to them, but I may have only a train ride to make friends with first years, as not many survive crossing the lake'. It wasn't until Luke and I exchanged are fearful glance that Maggie cracked up with laughter.
The train ride would've been uneventful, with only the hopping of chocolate frogs as action, if Derek hadn't entered our compartment. Derek was huge, there's no easy way to put it. He was the height of a fifth year, with doeful brown eyes and dark, mahogany brown hair; he cut quite a shape in the doorway. He knocked first, and slid open the door just a crack to speak to us.
'Um, is there any, um, chance that I could, um, join you? As there's, well, nowhere else for me to go?' Derek's juttering speech and the way he hunched over to avoid eye contact revealed just how painfully shy he was. Overwhelmed with sympathy for him, I was on my feet in an instant throwing open the door and ushering him in.
Maggie gently probed the boy, who also turned out to be a first year, with questions to make him feel included, whilst Luke stared at Derek with clear suspicion, and upon learning that Derek's last name Platt his face turned to open disgust and loathing.
'You're a Sly'. Luke spat Derek who was directly opposite him.
'Don't, you dare, call him that'. Maggie backlashed with such a look of wrongful injustice that Dragons would have given up meat to placate her; Luke, though, was much harder to please than a dragon.
'Why would you call him that?' Though, I was angry at Luke for the unfairness of his comment, I wanted to understand what had provoked him in the first place. See, I had this naïve view of the word that if you could understand what caused someone to act a certain way, you could show them how hurtful their actions are with their own logic (this though, depends on the idea that people's views are based upon logic and rationality).
'The Platt's are well-known for always being Slys, it runs in their blood.'
'But, he's not a Sly yet, is he?' I tried to counter.
'Not yet, but the chances of him not becoming a Sly are the same as being able to guess the flavour of a Bertie's Bott 'every flavour bean'.' I tried to come up with something to disprove what he was saying, but there was truth in his argument, 98% of the time a child will go into the same house as one of their parents, but I disagreed that it had anything to do with blood; it was how they were raised. And anyway, what's the problem with being a Sly or a Platt? Last time, I checked there was no report in the Daily Prophet about the Platt family going on a murder spree.
I looked over at Derek, curled up in the corner doing everything in his power to avoid a confrontation, whilst Luke was leaning forward looking for any reason to cause the boy pain.
That's when I made a decision. I didn't think it was a big deal at the time, just the right thing to do. But looking back, I think this act may have been the cause of everything especially when it comes to the sorting hat. And yet I still don't regret it, not for a second.
I turned to Luke and calmly spoke two words, 'Get out'.
'What!' Luke yelled incredulous.
'You heard him'. Maggie said it just as calmly but her wand was drawn and pointing at Luke (the phrase: 'actions speak louder than words', sprang to mind and Maggie's actions screamed potential violence). Luke stared at her and me for what felt a year before stamping out, remembering to slam the door behind him.
My heart beat was sky-rocketing. All I could think about was my 12 inch, black ash piece of wood, embedded with a chimera feather that I would have had to rely on had a fight come. In all honesty, my wand terrified me to the very core; the idea of that amount of power in my hand gave me a cold, clammy sweat.
Maggie looked me and nodded as a small relieved smile appeared, and suddenly everything was better, my heart rate dropped back to normal, Derek came out of his shell to reveal a wicked sense of humour and even the chocolate frogs seemed to jump higher.
Yet, all I could think about was that stupid quote on Luke's shirt, which I had seen as I he had stormed out: 'Some are born great, some achieve greatness, others have greatness thrust upon them.'