1.
Oliver Wood never saw the likes of Hogwarts. He had been told by family, friends, and friends of family that it was a glorious, wondrous place. Words could not describe it despite everyone's attempt to do just that. Ever since he got his Hogwarts Letter, he had been dreaming of the place with images of what it would look like on a constant mental rotation.
But nothing could prepare him for the majesty that was Hogwarts.
When the boat carrying the first-years turned around the narrow bend of large rocks, the castle, perched atop a high mountain with its many turrets and towers, illuminated the sky with its sparkling windows.
Everyone was quiet, slapped speechless by the very sight of their new home. Everyone, that is, except the tall, spindly redhead boy with the pronounced nose who befriended Oliver on the Hogwarts Express.
"I got to see it when I came to visit Charlie, my brother. He's a phenomenal Quidditch player... did I mention that?"
Yes, he had. Several times, in fact.
"Anyway, I've seen it before," Percy Weasley continued, "at the Head Boy ceremony. My other brother, Bill, is Head Boy... did I mention that?"
Yes, he did. Several times, in fact.
"I hope I get to be head boy..."
He prattled on, but his voice trailed to virtual nothingness. Oliver could only hear the singing, the wondrous melody of magic as it filled his lungs, ears, and eyes. Wide-eyed wonderment etched across his face, Oliver shuddered as they sailed closer to the castle, passing a wall of ivory that hid the wide opening in the cliff face and revealing just how immense Hogwarts truly was.
His dreams paled in comparison.
Oliver did not remember stepping off the boat. Suddenly, he found himself walking up a flight of stone steps towards an oak door big enough to allow two dragons plenty of room to enter.
Dragons...
'What if there were dragons here?' Oliver wondered, in a slight panic, 'What if there were goblins under the bed, orcs behind each door, or trolls in the loo?' Oliver took another deep look at their escort, a big, oaf of man with bushy hair on his head and face. He seemed jolly enough, at first, but now... Oliver was not so sure.
He inched closer to Percy, who seemed to stretch even taller. If anyone knew what to expect, it would be him; . He did have two older brothers here, after all.
"The first-years are here! New meat!" yelled Damien Weatherbee, a third-year of questionable scruples, as he rushed up the stairs out of the dungeon with a fleet of other Slytherins – including one Marcus Flint.
Marcus was a simple lad, unfortunate in his mien. His brow furrowed on a regular basis, as if he was in a constant state of confusion, and his teeth looked more as if they belonged to some ragged beast than on a boy of almost thirteen. His frame was sturdy enough, certainly. His olive skin was deep and rich, a light mahogany. He had the air of a yob or one of those surly hooligan lads one hears about on Muggle London's football games.
The Slytherin boys made their way to Grand Foyer just as the great, oak doors swung open. They barked and bellowed as Hagrid, the Groundskeeper, ushered in the new students. Nervousness coloured their cheeks and glossed their eyes.
"Oi, look it here," the second-year Slytherin named Jakob Lestaire called out, "looks like Hogwarts started letting squibs in after all!"
A round of laughter boomed through the halls. Hagrid waved them off with a dismissive hand, "Ach, tha's 'nuff out o' you, lot. Not'ing t'see 'ere! Move 'long, then!"
Marcus peered over Damien's shoulder to get a better view.
"Oi!" Damien huffed, delivering an elbow to Marcus' ribcage, "Geddorf me, troll!"
Rubbing the soar spot, Marcus retorted with a frown, "Don't call me 'troll', Weatherbee."
Damien turned on his heel, scowled hard at Marcus and jabbed him in the chest with his finger.
"Mind your place, troll," he warned, adding even more derision to the offending word.
Suddenly, the quick, shrill voice of Professor McGonagall cut the air behind the Slytherins, "That's quite enough of that, boys. Off to the Great Hall with you."
The boys scurried down the stairs, almost tripping over themselves as they ran past the first-years, making sure to give them an intimidating glower as they passed them. Everyone but Percy seemed affected.
Damien, Jakob, Marcus and the others made their way to the Great Hall, immediately finding their seat. Some second-years were sitting in their accustomed spots. Damien gave Marcus 'the look' and Marcus, nodding, yomped over to the unsuspecting boys and stood. Towering over them like a basilisk ready to devour them whole, his message was clear: move or be removed.
Without so much as a word, the boys quickly gathered their belongings and scuttered off to the other end of the table. Damien and the other older Slytherins took their seats, with Marcus beating Jakob to the seat beside Damien, who pushes him nearly off the seat.
"Food chain, Marcus!" he exclaimed, looking disdainful.
Marcus scowled, pushing the boy next to him out of his seat.
The first-years made their way in front of the Sorting Hat, Marcus eyed Oliver, with his slight features and thin lips. His shoulder-length shaggy hair, riddled with thick, soft curls and natural highlights, seemed to glow as if made from magic.
"Oi, she's a pretty one," Marcus announces.
"Too bad she's too young," Damien adds, though he does not disagree, a good sign for Marcus.
"Blimey!" Jakob gasps, "Not another Weasley!"
Pointing at the tall, thin redhead standing dangerously close to Oliver, he continued, "Oh, lookie. He's putting the moves on your girl, Marcus."
The others laughed. To his credit, Marcus seemed nonplussed.
They took turns razing the first-years as they were sorted into their prospective houses. Even the Slytherins were not protected from the taunts.
"Wood, Oliver."
The 'pretty girl' stepped up to the hat. Marcus and Jakob burst out laughing, looking with shocked expressions at Marcus, whose brow furrowed deep.
"Ha! Your 'pretty girl' is a bloke!" Jakob exclaimed between gasps for air.
"Hey, everyone! Marcus fancies the new boy!"
"The troll's a shirt lifter!" Damien guffawed as he held his stomach for fear of bursting.
Marcus finally turned a deep shade of rose, breathing deep and slow as the crowd around him chuckled mercilessly.
"Shut up," he muttered, but few, if any, heard him.
"Gryffindor!" the Sorting Hat boomed.
The boisterous laughter of the Slytherin table is quickly drowned out by the exuberant cheers next to them. Marcus watched Oliver hop from the seat and run to the Gryffindor table. Immediately, he was embraced by beaming students of varying years, including one Charlie Weasley, who grasped Oliver's shoulder, gave him a firm, side hug, and whispered something in his ear. Oliver blushed. Even as the cheers died down, people continued to congratulate Oliver, patting him on the back or ruffling his hair until Dumbledore held up his hands for silence.
Over at the Slytherin table, Marcus was still the crux of some grand joke. He was not even a day into the school year and he had already been made a fool by some squib of a first-year with a poofter name. Marcus already knew he would make Oliver pay, never mind that Oliver had no idea what he did to deserve it. In just a few short minutes, Marcus Wood came to the realization...
... He hated Oliver Wood.