A/N: Hey all, that was the most hits/reviews I've ever gotten over the course of a single weekend, I'm glad you liked the story so much! Up next is our dearest Michael Corner, who I'll admit kind of seems like a prat in the books but is really awesome in this story, I swear. This is also based off a brief mention from DH, and I'm sure you'll be able to figure out which one. All usual disclaimers apply, including characters and title (song by Motion City Soundtrack). Enjoyy! Feedback is always appreciated!
II. Better Open the Door
There were certain points in his life when Michael Corner wished that he had been born Squib, instead of his twin.
Granted, they occurred rarely. It was an unspoken agreement between them that he was, obviously, the lucky one. He was able to jaunt off to Hogwarts each September; spend his school year transfiguring tea cups and laughing merrily with his magical friends. Caroline, however, remained home with Mom and Dad, adding letters together (Michael would never understand how aljiba was necessary or possible) and making excuses every time her friends showed interest in coming over.
Michael pitied Caroline, a little, although he tried not to show it. Squibs were forced into this awful sort of half-life – never fully muggle, never fully magical, stuck waiting at some awkward park bench in between. Caroline was an expert in Quidditch and feetball, Floo powder and tilivesion; two worlds, neither of which could ever truly embrace her.
But math and light switches seemed like an awfully good trade-off to Michael at the moment. Why did he even volunteer to do this? He was a Ravenclaw, for Merlin's sake. His strengths lay in sucking up to Professors and solving seemingly impossible riddles – not late-night excursions that would probably end with his poor ass getting Crucio'd. He should have executed his common sense, for once in his life, and left the bravery to the Gryffindors. It was the natural order of things! They were lions! He was a raven! What were ravens good for, anyway?
(The only reason he'd agreed to do this in the first place was because the Patil twins had been there, standing beside Neville as he'd asked for someone willing that morning at breakfast. Oh, Merlin…So good-looking, and there was two of them? It was almost cruel. Michael could not be blamed for his momentary lapse in judgment.)
So, thanks to bloody Padma and Pavarti, Michael currently found himself creeping down past the Potions classroom, even further down a corridor that made him downright uncomfortable. Dim torch light flickered along the walls; there was a constant shuffling noise as rats scattered along the terrifyingly moist floor.
(Why was he doing this, again? Oh, right. Padma, Pavarti. They'd better make this worth his bloody while…)
As he tiptoed along, Michael began to grow a bit wistful. Oh, if only he knew how to Apparate. Oh, if only Apparation was possible on school grounds.
As he made his way, he kept track of the doors on his right side; according to Neville, it was the fifth door past Slughorn's class. Oh, hell. How could Neville feasibly know that? If he was so sure which dungeons it was, anyway, why didn't he just do it? Neville certainly had the guts necessary, which Michael seemed to be lacking.
The notion that Neville Longbottom quite possibly could be more courageous than him motivated Michael to carry on. He could do this. Raven pride, and all that. If either Carrow jumped out, Michael would simply…lull them to sleep with a detailed summary of eighteenth century goblin rebellions.
Well, then. It was good to have that all planned out.
After roughly three more kilometers of grimy dungeon (or so it seemed), Michael reached what he hoped was the proper door. He gripped the door knob for a moment, gritting his teeth and doing his best to dredge up the nerve to venture inside. As he contemplated his next move, a large drop of liquid – water, slime, Michael didn't dwell too long on the possibilities – plopped from the ceiling, directly on to his head. Oh, gross. If that wasn't a blatant sign from the heavens…honestly.
Michael wished once more to be home with his twin sister, watching a muggle match on the muggle telly their parents had bought specifically for her. (They'd had to get it specially installed, seeing as how a majority of the family was still struggling with the concept of electricity. The man who'd come to set it up had eyed the owls nervously and remarked that he must be going nutters, because he could have sworn he'd seen that portrait move out of the corner of his eye.)
And while he watched Muggles kick a ball around, Caroline could come to Hogwarts. Let her deal with the Carrows and the beatings and the constant threat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named swooping in and killing them all. Squibs didn't have to worry – okay, Michael faltered, that was an outright lie. You-Know-Who wasn't equal opportunity concerning a variety of things, but mass murdering was most certainly one of them. But Caroline would have done this ages ago, anyway; she'd already be back upstairs, sipping tea and chatting pleasantly with house-elves.
…Caroline had always been a natural Gryffindor. Michael never told her that, though. It wouldn't have helped.
Closing his eyes, he turned the known and – oh, right. It was locked. That should have been glaringly obvious from the get-go. Michael whipped out his wand and tapped the lock, muttering Alohomora. Just like that, it clicked. Michael was in, You'd think the Carrows would have booby-trapped the place or something.
Probably the thought no one was stupid enough to come down here, Michael thought bitterly to himself as he pushed the door open. I'm the only one bonkers enough to attempt this.
After a second of hesitation, Michael stepped inside, and was nearly knocked over by the stench. It was said that Filch rarely ventured into the dungeons; that was fairly easy to validate after one noseful of the piss and the grime and possibly vomit this place reeked of.
"Hello?" a small voice called softly. "Professor Carrow? I am terribly, terribly sorry…If you'd just let me try again, I'm sure I could do better this time…"
Michael shut the door behind him, squinting in an effort to adjust to the rank darkness that hung over the room like a musty, disgusting blanket. He held his wand up and whispered lumos, illuminating a small girl crouched in the corner. Her wrists were encased in shackles that must have been magically shrunken to fit. Her eyes were wide and blinking rapidly to adjust to the light. Michael was momentarily reminded of the small rabbit Caroline had received as a birthday present the year before they left for Hogwarts. It'd run away after a few weeks; they'd later found its remains scattered outside a gnome hole.
"I'm not Professor Carrow, I promise…" he called back. "Just a friend, here to…help you." Taking small, careful steps, he made his way over to the terrified first year and squatted next to her. "I'm Michael Corner, a Ravenclaw sixth year. What's your name? Are you alright?"
"I'm – I'm Abby Windsor. I'm in Ravenclaw, too, first year," she replied that same, small voice. "And I'm not hurt. I'm – I'm fine."
Michael was struck by how tiny and out of place she seemed in this looming, stinking dungeon; he softly inquired as to how she ended up in here.
"In Professor Carrow's class, we had to – had to hex students who had detention. My p-person was this really nice b-boy who'd shown me how to get to Transfiguration class the first day when I'd been terribly lost. I t-tried, b-but I – I just – I couldn't –" A small tear slid down the girl's pale cheek. "I b-begged Professor to just give me more time, another chance, so I c-could do it –"
"It's not a weakness, you know," Michael informed her. "That you couldn't hex some random person in your second term here. It's – it's not a bad thing. Don't listen to the Carrows; you should be proud of yourself."
"B-but the rest of my year did it!" Abby protested tearfully.
"And now they have to live with themselves, knowing they cursed good people for no apparent reason. Just because they were told to, really. I'm sure a lot of them regret it."
"M-maybe," she said quietly, looking down at her shackled wrists. Remembering that he did, in fact, have a purpose in being down here, Michael set about unlocking them. "You know…" Abby muttered softly as he freed her left arm, "It's not like I imagined it would be."
"What isn't?"
"Hogwarts. Everyone said it would amazing, and fun, and I would learn a lot and make new friends and get hit with Peeves' water balloons – but – it's not – it's not like that. I don't like it here. It's…scary."
Michael poked his wand into the lock on her right shackle and sighed. "I know what you mean. Hogwarts is different this year. The Carrows – this isn't usually how it is. Everything will be better next year, though," he offered hopefully as he struggled with the spellbound lock, "once Harry Potter comes back and we run them out of the place. We're going to fight, don't worry, we're going to get them out of here. We just have to wait for the right time."
"Good. Because sometimes I even wish I was born Squib. If I was a Squib, I wouldn't have to come here and listen to them be mean to muggles and c-curse nice boys –"
"My sister's a squib," Michael admitted softly as he finally unlocked her right arm. It was the first time he'd ever told anyone outright; ever spoken the word aloud. "My twin. Let me assure you, she – she'd do anything, to be here, right now. Anything. She has to go to a muggle school, and be with muggles all day, and yet – she knows about us, about Quidditch, about Hogwarts, about – everything. She knows, and she can't be a part of it."
"I guess that's kind of awful," Abby admitted as Michael helped her to her feet. Wiping away tears, she nodded, "I'm glad to be here, really. I just – it's not like I wanted."
"This Hogwarts isn't the real one – it'll all be over by next September, I promise. Detention will once again be scrubbing floors and polishing trophies, like it used to be. You'll never have to hex anything ever again…if you don't want to, that is. I've found a few smartly placed Bat-Bogey hexes here and there do wonders to keep annoying gits in line. But that just might be me."
She giggled; grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door. She reached for the doorknob, eager to get back to ground level, but he halted momentarily, hushing her.
"Did you hear that? It sounded like footsteps!"
"No, I didn't hear anything," she said cheerfully. "But tell me more about Hogwarts without them, please?"
Feasts with the house elves. Random, unofficial Quidditch matches that usually ended in minor injury. Charmed snowballs and candies that lifted you aloft. Staircases that chose which direction to take you and paintings that shouted advice and greetings as you walked past. A room full of kids bellowing Patronus and laughing when they only produced a wisp of silver smoke. Michael grinned, not even sure where to begin. Gripping his hand tightly, Abby opened the door.
