Slytherin common room was cold and dank, everything was washed in a shade of grey even with the fireplace roaring. He supposed it was nice enough, though his excitement for learning Magic was decidedly marred by the fact that everyone within Slytherin seemed to be a git.
His mother had been a Slytherin, she told him his father was a Gryffindor but on account of not knowing who he was and his mother's insistence on not prying further he largely knew nothing else about him other than he left before he was born.
"Oi, Davis, what are you doing?" One of the older years called to the Hogwarts first-year. It had not even been a few hours that he was in the school and the feast was moments ago.
"Reading," Michael answered in a clipped tone. He made no motion to look up from his book, not because he wanted to finish reading the page; he'd already read this book before; but because he'd rather not have a conversation with someone whose collective IQ might be lower than a house elf's.
"Ain't anybody tell you that it's not nice to not look at someone when they're speaking?" The older year pushed his book down and Michael looked up. "I'm Marcus Milton, your Prefect." Marcus stuck his hand out and Michael shook it.
"You really do look like em'," he commented after giving Michael a once over. "So the stories are true then?" The blonde boy had low cut hair and a smushed in nose, he hardly had any neck.
"What stories?"
"That you're Harry Potter's son."
"What do you mean?" He stammered. But the older boy was already waving off towards a gaggle of other older years.
"Don't worry about it," Marcus added as he disappeared off through the dungeon door with what was likely his fellow Prefects.
Michael couldn't sleep the whole night after that, even if he wanted to. In some ways it made sense, everyone knew the story of Harry Potter. He defeated Voldemort when he was a baby, then again when he grew up, he'd survived the unsurvivable killing curse twice and was the most dangerous Auror alive.
But for just how legendary his life was, it was also filled with scandal. An early marriage, early divorce, everyone talked about it in whispers and it was just now that Michael thought about it that it could've been because his mum was around. It wasn't true though, it couldn't be. Everyone also knew one thing about Harry Potter, he was a good person. He'd never have just left his son alone, would he?
The following morning, almost poetically, would be Michael's first Defence class and he was staving off sleep when the annoying Hypreius Malfoy had seated himself next to him and began badgering him about his expectations. The two of them had sat together on the boat, and the boy who was seemingly the same age as him didn't seem to want to hold his wonder into himself.
Especially his frankly annoying audible gasp when the Dragon of the lake raised its head to watch the children swim by.
"He winked at me I swear," Hyperius was maintaining to another boy across from him. Another first-year named Ahmed; a muggle-born. Blood status wasn't quite what it used to be if a pureblood like Hyperius Malfoy was chummy with that sort.
"He didn't wink at you, he winked at me," Michael felt the need to add anyways.
"No he didn't, if anything he winked at me," a blonde girl who sat in the boat with them but no one bothered to catch the name of said in protest.
As it turned out, her name was Amorentia Jones; Halfblood.
"What do you think Professor Potter is going to be like?" She asked him as they were walking out of the Great Hall.
"It's his first time teaching anything so it should be interesting."
The classroom was rather bare except for a few trinkets and a trunk. Most of the first years were already there and the Professor was nowhere in sight. If the atmosphere of Hogwarts was one of wonder and excitement, this was one of tension and anxiety.
He appeared in an instant, no one knew how he did and no one noticed him until the moment he made himself known in front of the class. His dark hair was slightly windswept and his eyes were piercing. You almost couldn't call them green the darkness behind them made you feel that they were black.
"Magic is nebulous, dangerous and incredibly powerful," he started slowly. His voice was low but the entire classroom listened to it intently. Professor Potter then stood very still and did a small motion with his fingers and extended the palm of his hand.
There was a wooshing sound and it looked like living magma was being created and them moulding itself above his palm, floating slightly above it. The entire classroom was filled with light in an instant and everyone looked away and shielded their eyes. He had a miniature sun in the palm of his hand and the mere presence of it burned sunspots into Michael's eyes anytime he faced it.
Then just as quickly it vanished leaving only a faint trail of smoke above the Professor's palm. His eyes glinted slightly and he looked at Michael directly for a moment before turning away towards the board.
"Magic is neither a religion, art, toy or tool. It is Omnipotent power that is given to us Wizards for a reason we do not know, what matters is that we use it and how we use it makes us the wizards we are. As you are a younger class I'll be teaching you a far simpler Magic but deadly useful."
He produced his wand from thin air in front of them and then waved it around himself. Suddenly a thin sheen had come off of the walls and many items and trinkets and potions revealed themselves. Hanging cloves of garlic, teeth and a collection of wands swayed at the top of the ceiling.
"Illusion Manipulation, Creation and Dispellment. When you are finished with my class you won't need an expensive invisibility cloak to turn invisible you will just need a wand, and then nothing at all.
"Now for the roster, bear with me if I get some of your names wrong."
Michael felt as if he was in a sort of warp with how quickly the mood of the classroom had changed. Afterwards, they were made to do duelling exercises.
"I thought we weren't mean to do any practical stuff in this class," Hyperius said smugly.
"We aren't supposed to."
"I'll put you all into groups of two," Professor Potter said. "Malfoy and Ijaz." The blonde boy did a small motion with his arm that let Michael know he was pleased with this decision.
"Davis and... Shlankov."
The glasses-wearing boy inwardly cursed. Evidently, Professor Potter thought that he'd pick the meanest looking boy he could find for him. He'd heard of Shlankov, they'd recently immigrated over from Russia; Purebloods but the kind that believed they were superior to all other Purebloods. Insufferable.
In Russia, they did things a bit differently; their wizarding school: Muscovia or something was an earlier start than Hogwarts. This boy had a year or two of education over Mike and he'd heard that duelling was their national sport.
"Got tired of riding on trees Shlankov?" Michael taunted and he held his wand aloft.
The Russian boy sneered.
"The trees seem to be in same place but different place for you," he retorted. Only garnering a confused expression from his duelling partner in turn. Michael wasn't sure if that was English or not.
"I want it clean between all of you. Emotions are what makes a spell fail or worse, you need clear heads; you will all learn the most basic duelling spell in a Wizard's arsenal—The Knockback Jinx. Incant Flipendo and jab your wand like this."
"Flipendo," Mike tried and in turn, his partner fell flat on his bottom with a jolt of colour leaving his wand.
"Excellent work Davis."
He was caught off guard and a rush hit him in the chest.
"Good power," he coughed as Shlankov helped him up.
"You too."
The rest of the class passed without incident, along with the rest of the day. For some odd reason, Mike felt oddly deflated. He had thought there'd be some sort of sign or some sort of acknowledgement on Professor Potter's part. Maybe he expected too much? After all, if Harry Potter was his father why would he suddenly decide to show interest in a son he'd never known?
He talked quite a bit with Shlankov as well, whose name turned out to be Aleksander with a k and an s.
"In my school, we are not allowed free time, we are either in schkola or komnita. Which in English saying I think means class and room."
"Why'd you leave? Wasn't your family there?"
He shrugged.
"No different from you leaving your family to come here. Better for both no?"
"My mum is sick, I think she's dying. I want to save her but I don't think I can."
Aleks patted him on his shoulder understandingly.
"My grandfather also died from Dark Witch, he was a good man. Your mother is good woman?"
"The best," he confirmed.
"It seems that is only one God chooses."
For some reason, Michael felt truer words had not been spoken in a long time.
"Maybe we can get strong enough to kill," Aleks said passively as if he was saying what he was going to eat tomorrow.
"Maybe," Mike agreed. "I have to go talk to a Professor. I'll be back."
"Can come with you?"
Michael nodded, not too sure of how this would work. He wanted to confront his Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and do what? Tell him that he was likely his father?
They made their way through the moving stairs which both of them seemed to just be getting used to. Aleks nearly got caught on the vanishing step but corrected himself in a halfway fall.
Making their way towards the classroom they could hear a scuffling. Making their way closer, only low taps accompanying their movement their very breaths could be heard in the quiet. Professor Potter was there alright but the sight they were greeted with was not of him teaching a class or casting a spell. Instead, he seemed to be currently ravishing their Transfiguration Professor on his desk.
Michael's eyes felt like they'd pop out of their skull; he imagined Aleks' were much the same.
"We have to go," he tugged the blonde boy's arm. "Now."
"Who's there?" He heard someone say far off down the floor. Professor Potter's eyes immediately flicked onto the still watching Michael, it seemed that his Russian charge was already gone.
He broke off into a mad dash down the corridors and through varying doorways. Somehow he ended up in complete darkness. He groped for his wand in his robes.
"Flitwick don't fail me now, Lumos." Sure enough, a bright light produced itself on the tip of his wand. The area around him was complete darkness despite this and Michael had the distinct feeling that he was being watched from some unknown vantage point. As he moved his legs made sloshing noises as if he was moving through a very shallow body of water.
Was this place flooded? he thought as he recalled the out of order bathroom with a ghost in the second-floor corridor that perpetually flooded. Walking in the complete darkness felt almost pointless. He had no idea how to gauge how far he had gone only a rough estimate of how long he'd been there.
His trainers were starting to get soaked through and he could feel his socks getting heavy around his feet. Finally, he was so tired of walking that he decided to head back. By now surely no one was looking for him, unless Horace Slughorn, his head of house, made special note of his absence.
For now, Michael was confident that Professor Potter wouldn't risk getting him into trouble if he didn't want Michael exposing his illicit relationship with another Professor. Or at least he hoped. His heart was still beating at an odd rate from the image he had seen, he had not really noticed Professor Greengrass in that light before. But now that he had, he couldn't quite unsee it.
As he made to walk back he saw a small light in the far distance of darkness. Fear told him to turn around and run deeper but he was certain that that would only further the predicament he was in. Whatever punishment it was, he knew it wouldn't be expulsion at the very least.
Though the oddest thing happened as he walked closer towards the light, instead of the size of it increasing as most open doorways do when you move closer to them it stayed small in size. For a moment he thought he was stuck in a perpetual motion loop.
He'd read about these kinds of enchantments before in his books but reading and doing were entirely different things, it wasn't like there were just spells plastered over the margins to tell him how to undo it. But as he moved closer he noticed that his fears were quite misplaced. The light, he noticed was actually a small gem of some sort stuck to the ground, he fixed his glasses slightly to make sure.
As he grew closer to it he noticed that further on there was no exit out of here. The only option he likely had was this stone which looked like red glass in the shape of a hand almost. This was what they called the binding agent of enchantment, but typically it was supposed to be locked behind a challenge or a test of worth.
How long had this been in Hogwarts castle? Decades possibly? Centuries? Could it be that Michael Davis stumbled upon a rare Magical Artefact placed there by one of the founders? Or better yet by someone stronger looking to hide their prize?
He made to grab the stone and suddenly a pillar of fire engulfed him.