YEAR 6

Andrew had been in the third floor boys' bathroom changing out of his jeans and into his school slacks so he could go to Charms class when he thought he heard sobs coming from one of the stalls. Not being one to beat about the bush, he walked over and swung it open. Inside was a Slytherin first year with bright blonde hair not unlike his own, starkers from the waist down. Andrew was about to turn away and close the door when he noticed the toilet seemed to be clogged, and he knew all too well what with: the boy's pants and trousers had been firmly shoved inside. Luckily he still had his shoes on, but clearly it had not been the best day to leave the dorm without his robes.

Andrew reached for his wand in a practised movement, only to remember it was still in the pocket of his jeans, which were currently lying on the cold stone floor.

"Wait here," he instructed, though the poor sod couldn't very well go anywhere now, could he? The kid had a look of a deer in headlights, but nodded weakly as he pushed the hem of his dress shirt down.

Andrew was a Ravenclaw Prefect, but any first year was his responsibility. That's what he thought as he searched. After a bit of fumbling he found the blasted thing, pointed to the toilet, and wordlessly levitated the trousers and underwear within. With a twist of his wand, he made it so the bundle of clothes wringed themselves of excess water, though the wand protested being used for something so mundane.

Mr. Ollivander had said his new wand was suited to combative magic, but who could have expected it to actually have a preference? In their first days together, it had actually refused to perform any of the more simple, everyday Charms he liked to use. They had bonded since, of course—he reckoned it was taking down the Troll that did it—but it still behaved capriciously every now and then.

Andrew pointedly ignored it and gave the clothes one last tug before casting, "Scourgify!" to clean them up proper. Finally, with a complicated little wave he sent hot air blasting from the tip of his wand to dry them.

"Th-Thank you," said the boy, immediately grabbing his pants out of the air. They were superhero patterned, which Andrew found surprising for a Slytherin. Good taste though.

Andrew lowered the steaming trousers into the ground, then turned to give him some privacy. As he waited, he thought that maybe the boy did bring his robes. The first years tended to wear theirs everywhere, they weren't familiar enough with the castle to risk taking time to change, so most likely... he grimaced. Andrew hated bullying, he hated it.

"Who did this?" he asked, and hearing the familiar sound of a belt being fastened, felt it was safe to turn around again.

To his credit, the kid had finished dressing himself. What surprised Andrew were the tears streaming freely across his face.

Crouching to be at eye level with him, he hastily said, "Hey, hey, it's okay," but that only seemed to open the floodgates further. The boy was flinching now with each sob, the same sobs he'd heard earlier. Andrew reached out to dry his tears, but that seemed inadequate somehow. Feeling helpless, he instead pulled the boy into a hug.

They stayed that way for a long time. Maybe it wasn't the manly thing to do, but what did he care about any of that rubbish? He was a dog, and dogs were affectionate by nature. Andrew only briefly remembered Charms class, and quite rightly thought this more important. He was sure Professor Flitwick would understand.

Eventually, after one last squeeze, the boy pulled back. His face was red, though whether from embarrassment or from the crying, Andrew couldn't say.

"What's your name, pup?" he asked, drying the last of the tears from the boy's face.

"D-Donald, sir," the boy replied. Andrew noticed he was eyeing his Prefect badge.

"No need to call me sir," he said, ruffling the boy's carefully groomed hair. "My name's Andy."

"Andy," repeated Donald, somewhat dazedly. Then he straightened up. "You're not Andrew Ribeiro, are you?"

"That's me," he confirmed, holding back a sigh. Though it didn't bother him as much as it would have in the past, it did bother him.

Donald looked a little unsure for a second, but then relaxed. He'd already cried his heart out, no sense in getting all worried now. "I don't want to get in trouble," he mumbled.

"The one in trouble will be whoever did this to you," Andrew replied evenly, reaching out to Donald's hand and giving it a squeeze.

"What are you going to do...?" he asked, a little unsure.

"We're going to talk to Professor Snape." Andrew gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but Donald blanched at the suggestion.

"B-B-But he's evil!" he blurted out.

Andrew raised an eyebrow. Is this kid really a Slytherin or is he a Gryffindor in disguise? he thought with some amusement.

"Don't be silly. Professor Snape isn't evil, he's your Head of House," he said in a tone that brokered no nonsense, "and he hates bullies."

Well, that might not be necessarily true. He remembered Snape being quick to jump to Merula's defence in their first year... but maybe he didn't consider what Slytherin did to other houses to be 'bullying.' Even so, Andrew was sure he wouldn't take kindly to anyone tormenting one of his own first years.

"Donny," he said, holding his hand firmly as he did. The nickname had come to him in a flash, and seemed less patronising than 'pup,' which Andrew had decided just now to save for when the boy warmed up to him. "Donny, can you trust me?"

Donald gave him a long, hard look, which Andrew bore without complaint, determined not to look away for even a moment. This was a mistake, because the longer he stared into those black eyes, the more he could he see. Yes, he could see Donald hiding in the stall as distant voices mocked him... he could hear them easily unlocking the door with a spell, two boys, both Slytherin... they said such horrible things, pushed him against the wall... they took his wand, knowing he wouldn't fight back... then they took his robes and unbuckled his belt...

Andrew closed his eyes, unable to look any longer. He felt short of breath even though he hadn't moved. Legilimency was a terrible gift, terrible, and everyday he felt a little less in control.

"Did they hurt you?" he asked, he had to ask, people were easiest to read when they were hurting and Donald was hurting, but he dared not guess how much.

Donny shook his head, no doubt thinking Andrew Ribeiro was a very strange boy, no need for Legilimency to see that.

"Who were they? No, nevermind. I bet they're first years like you."

Donny nodded. That meant they shared a dorm. Andrew could barely contain his anger, and felt his wand pulsating in his hand, thirsty for blood.

"I do trust you," Donny said suddenly. "You helped me and you didn't have to. Nobody else did."

Andrew nodded too, his anger subsiding somewhat.

"Cowards. Tossers, the lot of them," he huffed. "Come on now, we need to go," he said, though it wasn't much of a request since he was holding Donny's hand.

They walked all the way to the door before Andrew felt the boy fidgeting.

"Um..."

"Yes?"

"M-Maybe you want to..." the boy trailed off, so Andrew turned to look at him. Doing so gave him an excellent view of both his jeans and slacks, still where he'd left them earlier. Andrew blushed furiously, but only for a moment, because right afterwards he doubled over laughing. Donny laughed too, which was a relief.

"That would have been a right scene, wouldn't it?" he asked amiably while beckoning his trousers with a wave of his wand. They floated over lazily, which Andrew attributed to his wand, but he needed a moment to calm down anyway.

Once he was dressed, they bolted out of the room, heading straight for the dungeons.

"So," he said conversationally, "you like comic books, huh?"

Donny paled, but Andrew squeezed his hand before it could get too bad.

"I had some too, in my first year," he confided. "Dad said he packed them by mistake, but I think he was having a laugh. I liked them, anyway. Very comfy."

"I like mine too," Donny said shyly. "The other boys have Quidditch prints and the like. I think they're weird, like having the UK flag stamped on your bum."

Andrew cackled with the mental image, though inwardly he was doing some thinking. Donny had to be Muggleborn. Maybe a Halfblood with a weird situation, wouldn't be the first one, though they tended to get Sorted into the other houses. Slytherin was a fine house and all, but only for ancient Wizarding families. Everyone else who had the traits usually picked another house, he knew the Hat let them do that, unless... unless they didn't know better.

"How do you know Professor Snape isn't evil?" Donny asked a little while later. "I heard he's a vampire."

Andrew snorted. "No, he just doesn't get out much. I think he's busy all day with potions. He sometimes has lunch with us in the Great Hall though, and he goes to the Quidditch matches."

"Okay, so he's not a vampire," Donny said, a little put out, "but that doesn't prove he's not evil. He's mean."

"He is mean," Andrew conceded, "but that doesn't mean he's evil. Potions isn't like the other subjects, it's dangerous, but everyone is always screwing around because there's no fancy spells. He's not evil, he's just grumpy."

"How do you know, though?" Donny pressed. "How do you know he's not evil?"

That gave him some pause. How did he know? Just a few years back, he'd laughed in disbelief when Penny suggested Professor Snape might not be so bad, but here he was fervently defending him. What changed?

Donny silently waited for an answer. They'd stopped walking. A beautiful barn owl perched on a nearby window, looking at them curiously.

"He saved my life," Andrew finally said. "I'd be dead if it wasn't for him, but even before that..." He sighed. "He gave me advice when he didn't have to. He taught me advanced potions when I needed them, even though he knew I was up to no good. He listened to me sing when I wanted to join the Frog Choir. He apologised for reading an embarrassing note of mine in class. He gives me points when I do well, and he even overlooked a mistake I made so I could have an O in Potions and take his N.E.W.T. level classes this year. Professor Snape cares, he just doesn't show."

There was a long moment of silence. Andrew stared at his little friend expectantly, feeling very vulnerable all of a sudden, but it was only after several minutes that Donny asked, in a shrill voice:

"He listened to you sing?!"

Severus Snape was, as per usual, in his classroom, brewing a second batch of Draught of Peace for Poppy. Many students had come to her the year before, cracking under the pressure of their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. So many, in fact, that her supplies were running low. Snape rolled his eyes. His supplies were running low too, especially patience, a rare ingredient indeed. What did he care what those nitwits got up to? The Draught would not serve them during the examinations. They needed to learn how to cope on their own, lest they cease to function without the substance. Snape had seen it claim many of his lessers, as well as some of his most promising students. Penny Haywood, he remembered, seemed intent on brewing it the year before, but someone had talked her out of it. Ribeiro, most likely. Haywood had confided to him that she had brewed a Forgetfulness Potion years earlier to relieve her of some inconsequential trauma, and he had talked her out of that, too.

Snape sighed. Why must it always come back to Ribeiro? The boy had a hand at nearly everything that happened in Hogwarts, and sometimes out of Hogwarts as well. How despicable it had been to hear his name in Knockturn Alley the other day. Sometime last year, he had apparently taken down one of the less savoury sorts that dwelled there in a duel, and attracted quite a crowd while at it. The witch in question had heard of Patricia Rakepick's most unfortunate departure from Hogwarts, and was vowing revenge now that Ribeiro no longer had his bodyguard. Snape discreetly put an end to that. If only she had vowed revenge on Rakepick herself, he needn't have bothered, but those cravens only preyed on the weak.

Not that Ribeiro was weak, he begrudgingly admitted. His exploits against the Hungarian Horntail guarding the Portrait Vault had been particularly... impressive. Whether the beast was enchanted to resist the Unforgivable Curses he did not know, but Ribeiro had defeated it when Patricia Rakepick could not, and that gave Severus no small measure of joy. Perhaps even an ounce of pride at his student. No, not an ounce, he decided, giving his potion the last necessary stir. A silver teaspoonful at most.

"Professor Snape!" an all too familiar voice called out from behind him. Snape groaned in annoyance. Clearly his student had placed a Taboo on his name, and would appear whenever spoken of.

"What is it, Ribeiro?" he asked icily, punctuating each word so as to make it crystal clear that he was not pleased to be interrupted, although in truth he had just finished the potion.

"We need your help, Professor," Ribeiro replied cheerfully, seemingly ignorant of his displeasure. That was another one of Ribeiro's infuriating traits. No amount of scorn could put him down, nor make it clear he was unwanted. Severus could not even claim that he could get nothing into the boy's thick skull, because as he had proven repeatedly, Ribeiro was most adequate at following instructions, unless said instructions were to leave.

Defeated, at least for the moment, he turned to look at Ribeiro, perhaps even send a disapproving glare at his undoubtedly smiling face and hopeful green eyes, only to find, instead, a diminutive figure hiding behind him, and holding quite firmly to his hand. Severus raised an eyebrow, and in response Ribeiro ushered the figure, a boy, forward. One of his own first years, Severus realised. Donald... something, he couldn't remember, it was too early in the year for him to have memorised every student. His eyes were that of a frightened rodent, but underneath them Severus noticed the unmistakable signs of excessive crying.

"Donny here is being bullied, sir," said Ribeiro. The fact that he squeezed the boy's shoulder reassuringly did not go unnoticed, but Snape decided to ignore the childish display of affection.

"By whom?" he demanded.

"His dormmates, sir," Ribeiro supplied.

Snape's nostrils flared at this. "I should think, Ribeiro, that Mister"—he discreetly looked at the attendance sheet, which was mercifully nearby—"Cartwright is perfectly capable of answering questions on his own. By whom?"

"Pucey and the others, Professor!" the boy squeaked.

Severus frowned. Adrian Pucey was a promising lad. He was proving adequate at most subjects, and Rolanda had reported he had a talent for flying. The same could not be said of Donald Cartwright, who excelled only in being completely unremarkable. Still, he would tolerate no animals in his house.

"What did Mr. Pucey do to you, Cartwright?" he asked.

Cartwright wilted under his glare, but nevertheless answered:

"H-He pushes me around and calls me names. He trips me in the shower, and makes me use his towels. They all do!" His voice was growing quite forceful. Behind him, Ribeiro was wearing a horrified expression, and Snape himself was having trouble maintaining his neutral, vaguely displeased visage. "They hide my clothes so the House Elves can't find them for laundry," he continued, "and make me wear them dirty to class. They hit me with a curse that gave me nasty cold once, and they locked me out of the dormitory in my pants last week, and hexed my bed, and, and, and I don't like it, Professor!"

By the end of his spiel, Cartwright was panting and on the verge of years. Understandable. No, laudable. Ribeiro was crying himself, which was enough to make Severus sick to the stomach. He would make sure to award Cartwright a few points for maintaining his composure.

"Why did you not come to me sooner, Mr. Cartwright?" Severus asked, though he knew the answer, he knew every possible answer to that question, and perhaps it wasn't Ribeiro's emotional outburst that was making him sick.

When Cartwright did not respond, Ribeiro stepped forward, wiping his eyes. "I found him in the third floor bathroom, Professor," he said. "His pants and trousers had been shoved in the toilet, and they stole his wand and robes. They..." He seemed to have something stuck in his throat. Releasing the boy's hand for a moment, Ribeiro stepped forward and whispered, "They undressed him themselves. I saw it, with my... with my ability. It was an accident, I didn't mean to, but he was hurt. He still is."

Unacceptable. In his own house? This was unacceptable—

Professor Snape stormed out of the classroom with a fury Andrew hadn't seen in all his five years at Hogwarts, not even once, not even that one time he'd mentioned the Marauders to him. He suspected no one had ever seen it, and hoped no one would ever need to see it again. Like a man possessed he'd bellowed that no one was to enter his classroom and dashed towards the Slytherin common room, causing frightened screams whenever he passed. They were in for it now, those bullies.

Andrew decided that he ought to close the door before anyone came peeping, so he did that, then walked over to Donny.

"You alright, mate?" he asked, again crouching to meet his eyes, although it was a little hard, seeing as his face was downcast.

"I think so." His voice was a little weird, too, but Andrew pretended not to notice.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he said, a tad uncertain. "No, I just want to lie down."

"I'm going to teach you a few charms later, so you can defend yourself," said Andrew, "but for now, can you promise to keep a secret?"

Donny nodded numbly. That wasn't much of a promise, but it would have to do. Andrew got up and made a show of stretching and pacing around the room. He walked over to where Professor Snape had been brewing his potion (a Draught of Peace by the looks of it, right nasty potion that one), and then—

"Heads up!" he shouted before jumping towards Donny, who yelped in surprise.

The transformation was over in a second, and when Donny looked up, there was a large, brown dog right on top of him.

Andrew retained his intelligence while in his Animagus form. His feelings, on the other hand, were much simpler. He enjoyed the tingly sensation his transformation provided, and felt much warmer with a coat of fur instead of school robes. He saw a boy staring up at him, totally nonplussed. The boy was very sad, he knew, so he wanted to make him happy. The easiest way to do that, he thought, was to slobber all over his face. Yes, that seemed quite sensible. Andrew did just that, and the giggles that filled the air were music to his ears. The boy was so happy now! Andrew was happy too. He climbed down from the boy's chest and ran around a little bit, wanting the boy to chase him, and he did. They played, Andrew nibbled at his pants, ran between his legs, nearly knocked over a shelf full of important ingredients, some of them tasty looking, then nuzzled against the boy's leg. As a reward, he received a very warm hug. The boy rubbed under his chin, and all over his belly until it tickled. Andrew slobbered him some more, and they played and played and played until the boy was exhausted.

Andrew settled in a comfortable spot on the floor and, with a most human nod, invited the boy to lay his head on him.

Once they were all cosied up, the boy said, "I don't know that he will fix anything, but you were right, Professor Snape isn't evil," and then fell into a very peaceful sleep.

I have a very, very long thread about Andy's adventures on Hogwarts Mystery, so if you're interested in that sort of thing, search for my nickname with the #HPHM tag on Twitter.