Better Be Slytherin
XL
Pureblood Pride

Slytherin banners in silver and green lined the walls; the floating candles making the huge silver snake on the largest of them almost glisten. Breakfast was usually a calmer time than lunch and supper but nowadays it was almost eerily silent in the hall.

Gregory was eating a grapefruit with a spoon. It squirted in his face. "Ruddy thing!" he growled loudly, scaring a couple by-passing second year Slytherins, and he switched to bacon and eggs. Vincent was moving his spoon around his bowl of porridge. This day was boring, he needed something to happen.

On the way out from the Great Hall, Vincent pointedly bumped into Longbottom.

"Oi, Longbottom! Watch where you're going," he grunted maliciously as he blocked the other boy's way.

"Move," said Longbottom through gritted teeth. Vincent pushed him with his shoulder again, as he tried to move past.

"Ooh, brave little Gryffindor aren't we?" he sniggered.

"Shove off, Crabbe!" snarled Longbottom and a group of passing-by Ravenclaw girls looked between them.

Vincent laughed and so did Greg by his side. "Or what? You best start showing some respect to your superiors..."

"I'm impressed you can even pronounce all those words correctly," muttered Longbottom and drew out his wand, looking surprised at his own bravery. "Now g-get out of my way or I'll hex you."

"Do it and you'll feel the Dark Lord's wrath," he snarled. "Do it, go on! I'll get the Carrows on you; we'll see how you like that..."

"Leave me alone!" said Longbottom with such finality that Vincent let him pass.

"You be careful, Long-arse!" he called after him derisively. "We'll get you whenever we feel like it." Greg tittered next to him.

Vincent turned to him. "Fat lot of good you did me back there! You should be backin' me up, shouldn't ya!"

Gregory apologised all the way to Potions.


When they were kids, Draco wrote letters to Harry Potter, telling him how he was looking forward to meeting him on the first day of school, and how he hoped they were going to become good friends.

"What you bothering with that bellend for?" Vincent had grunted at him, one time when he found him doing it. He was in his dad's study at the manor, a room they rarely had access to, and even more rarely had permission to be in. "He finished the Dark Lord!"

"That's the point," had Draco said, "Imagine the glory it'll bring my family if I'm friends with The-Boy-Who-Lived," he had gripped the quill so hard his hand was deathly white against it, "Then maybe they'll stop saying my dad's a Death Eater..."

Vincent knew why Malfoy wanted this. He didn't want the years at Hogwarts to be like the Academy before. He didn't want people bullying him for having a Death Eater father.

"But he's never responded to any of your letters," said Vince slightly carefully. Malfoy glared up at him, suddenly vulnerable and angered.

"I put the address wrong!" he exclaimed, hiding the parchment quickly. "Now get out, Crabbe, if you know what's best for you!"

Vincent wondered why Malfoy had to put an address down – usually wizards could just tell their owl what person to deliver to. Maybe Malfoy's owl was different. Or else he was lying.

Then, on the train, months later, when they had finally met Potter, it hadn't exactly gone as planned. "Self-righteous git," muttered Draco and then he mocked, "'I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks' who does he think he is?"

Draco had scowled for the rest of the evening, and Vincent had felt sympathy, almost pity for him.

After that, it had never turned out quite the way they'd wanted it to. The teachers and the headmaster had been biased and unfair, they'd lost all the house cups and Quidditch cups, the bullying had been fun but somehow always backfired in the end. The slight stint of power they'd had in their fifth year had been wonderful but brief. Malfoy's dad had sent all of their fathers along with him to prison and then Malfoy had got his job for the Dark Lord and everything bad had become worse. He'd treated the two of them with even less respect than usual, probably due to stress, but had become such a failure that Vincent was surprised Greg hadn't caught on.

Malfoy was a loser. And so was his dad. And Vincent wouldn't have it anymore.


The smell of baking pumpkin spread throughout the school – the Halloween feast was coming up. It had even reached the Slytherin dungeons by Saturday morning.

"Ah, it stinks!" said Greg, pinching his nose with his sausage-like fingers. Vincent knew he rarely liked anything without heaps of added sugar or fat. Pumpkin, he supposed, counted as a sort of vegetable – meaning they deemed it uneatable.

"It's certainly unpleasant," said Zabini haughtily, a bundle of dark fabrics in his arms, "I'm going down to the laundry."

Zabini always seemed to need his robes and sheets washed more frequently than the rest of them. Posh twat, Vincent thought.

"Oh, can you see if my dress robes are finished, please?" squealed Daphne Greengrass from the sofa, her mousy eyes peering up from behind Secrets of the Darkest Arts.

"I'm not a House-Elf," snarled Zabini. "Ask Malfoy."

Vincent and Pansy tittered. Zabini missed Malfoy's death glare as he turned around and left the common room.


They had spent every summer together, every single one, since the day they met. The Quidditch world cup was the best yet. Lucius had managed to set up, with the help of ten or so House-Elves, a vast, magnificent tent, that looked more like a palace, in the middle of the best area, closest to the arena. He'd even brought the peacocks with him. Both Vincent and Gregory had been allowed by their fathers to come with Draco and stay in the Malfoys' rather humongous tent.

"Father allowed me to try Fire Whiskey yesterday evening," drawled Malfoy. Both Vincent and Gregory exclaimed with cheerfulness and envy.

"Yes," he went on, looking pleased with himself, "We had a drink together before he went out with your dads and the rest..."

Then he laughed loudly. "Those Muggles got what they deserved, didn't they!"


"Crucio!"

The word came easily over his lips; he'd said it enough times now to do it without thinking. The screams echoed over the classroom.

This was what he was good at. He was finally appreciated, people finally knew of him as more than one of Malfoy's cronies.

He'd never been this good at anything.

"Well, you certainly seem to know what you're doing," grinned Amycus as he passed him. "Five points to Slytherin."


Everything started getting more rebellious. Chaotic. It stressed him out, it needed to be exterminated. He patrolled the castle corridors and staircases with Greg and the Slytherin Prefects and the Carrows. One evening, he found a couple of Hufflepuff girls out of bounds.

Sneering, he raised his wand. They looked terrified. Just like he wanted.

Even the lessons started getting out of hand. The Carrows tried having their iron grip on the pupils but many fought against it. He wasn't sure why – he'd never been more pleased with the way the school was run.

"Muggle illnesses" was written on the black-board when they entered Muggle Studies one rainy, dark and gloomy afternoon. The classroom was on the fourth floor so they had a spectacular view of the castle grounds out from the small windows. He usually found himself looking out there, realising he'd not been paying attention to the professor.

She was speaking to them about some epidemic called the Plague.

On the black-board, below the headline, she had written a few subheadings in crooked writing that was difficult for him to see.

Typhus (including bleeding out of every opening), The Plague (instant death), small-pox (similar to our Dragon Pox)

"... also known as the Black Death, wiped out a third of Europe's Muggles a couple hundred years ago," she sneered, "None of our community, of course. We were immune to the Muggles' filth... British and French Healers had the cure, naturally, and there was a big discussion in the Wizarding world at the time – should we let the Muggles have the cure, or keep to ourselves?"

Before anyone had time to answer, she went on. "A lot of the wizards back then thought it humane to help the Muggles. But the Statute of Secrecy won. We were not to interfere! If we helped cure their diseases, they'd want magical solutions to everything. We were not to be used by the Muggles! If ever we were to break the Statute of Secrecy it would be to rule over them, not to help them overcome their weaknesses!"

Spit flew from her mouth, like an angry dog foaming at the mouth before attack. She breathed heavily, and then seemed to calm down slightly.

"All of these diseases procured boils and were infectious by air—"

"So which one is it you have?" said a voice from the far back of the classroom. Neville Longbottom, was looking at the professor with anger and defiance. Oh Merlin, Vincent was sick of him. "Must be Bubonic Plague, right? By the look of you." Everyone was silent. Vincent could her Longbottom's breathing all the way to the front of the classroom. "Or was it Typhus?"

Alecto was gaping at him.

Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were cringing, hiding their faces, and he heard a distant whisper of, "You shouldn't have done that, Neville..."

"DETENTION, LONGBOTTOM!" screeched Alecto, beet red in the face.

"That's new," said Longbottom coolly. He briefly wondered if he was mixing Longbottom up with somebody else. Hadn't he been the most frightened, most cowardly little Gryffindor all their Hogwarts years together? Who was this new person? Longbottom had been the centre of the rebellion for several months now.

"On second thought!" roared Alecto, more provoked by Longbottom's statement. "Mr Crabbe!" she bellowed and at once he felt a certain excitement rise in his chest. "The Cruciatus Curse, I think!"

"Yes, professor," he grunted eagerly, getting his wand out and rising at once.

The standard chorus of shouts of protests came like a storm at him, but he stood strong against it. He knew he had the power. They could do nothing to stop it happening.

They could protest all they wanted, but he already had his wand raised.

Alecto walked briskly to the back of the classroom, grabbed Longbottom by the scruff of his neck and dragged him to the front.

The first Crucio was always the best one. When they were frightened and anticipating, hoping against hope for a way out. The second and third one was often less intense. They were used to it by then and just wanted it over with. But the fear in their eyes before the first one was the best part about this whole thing.

Smiling, he said, "Crucio!"

Longbottom writhed and screamed, falling to his knees at once, swaying. The rest always fell down onto the floor, Vincent knew; Longbottom was fighting against it.

"Stop!" screamed Lavender Brown from the back of the classroom. She ran forward and grabbed Longbottom. "Stop it!"

"Sit down, Brown!" barked Alecto at her. "If you do not wish to replace him."

"He's a Pureblood," shouted Lavender in an ear-ringing voice, looking pleadingly up at Vincent. He didn't like meeting her eyes. Not when she pleaded. He looked away, glancing at the professor unsurely, his wand arm still raised.

"What's that to us?" croaked Alecto.

"You don't want to spill more Pure blood, do you?" she gasped, tears forming in her eyes, "Now there's so few of us left!"

"Well, by all means, choose one of lesser blood to take Longbottom's punishment for him!" said Alecto, "And you shall be the one to do it!"

"No, no, no, please—"

"Then I'll choose for you," Alecto's eyes scanned the classroom. "Finnigan, what's your blood-status?"

Finnigan was trembling, but his eyes found the professor's defiantly. "Half-blood."

"Perfect." Alecto's yellow teeth were plainly visible in a vicious grin. "Brown!"

"No way," said Brown silently. She was still holding onto Longbottom who was stirring now. "I'm not doing it. She rose and dragged Longbottom with her. Alecto suddenly pointed her short, thick wand at Brown.

"Do it, you filthy blood-traitor!"

Suddenly, violently, Lavender Brown spat in Alecto's face. Daphne Greengrass gasped but other than that, the class was dead silent as every single pair of eyes watched the clear liquid slowly run down her nose and mouth.

With a look of utmost hate, Alecto brought her sleeve to her face and wiped it off on her robes. She then pointed her wand at her own face and uttered a cleaning charm. Then she turned to Brown, and slapped her hard across the face. The sound of the loud smack echoed across the class-room. Pansy gaped.

"I would apologise for that, if I were you," Alecto said in a threatening tone, as Brown clutched her cheek, her face turned away.

Brown said nothing, but seemed stunned, because she wasn't moving either. A large, red mark was already appearing on her cheek.

"You will show me respect," breathed Alecto. "You've got one last chance to apologise to me and do what I told you."

Needless to say, she didn't do as she was told. Unfortunately for him, Alecto was too angry to let him do the Crucio on Brown, and so she did it herself.

He was itching to put the Cruciatus Curse on both Finnigan and Brown. Still, he felt good about what he'd accomplished today. It was always a pleasure putting those ruddy Gryffindors in their place.

He and Gregory were finally doing something worthwhile on their own. Draco wasn't worth following anymore. He proved to be weak and didn't have any influence left. Now he was the one following them like a scared puppet, out of habit. They were going to do something great, and the Dark Lord would reward them.

It was their time.


Sometimes when he slept he dreamt of her. The warm, loving figure he'd only known for a few years. The first few years of his life. Then she'd left him cold and alone with a strict father. Perhaps if she hadn't left him he wouldn't have turned out this way. But he couldn't dwell on her too long in his waking state, for he could never remember just how she looked.

Perhaps it was all her fault.