AN: Happy friday. I'll be working the weekened so I decided to go on ahead with the chapter. I thank you for your reviews and thoughts, they keep me a float. Thanks again for reading. Follow/Fav/Review the shizniz out of this story. Thanks!

Mortimer can honestly say that he felt completely and utterly – Lost.

After breakfast, Mortimer, Draco and the others received their timetables. From there, he decided to send a letter to Aunt Cissy to tell her about yesterday's 'exciting' adventure.

Draco insisted that they stick together when Mortimer suggested they meet in Charms. He didn't want to be followed. Instead, assured Draco that he'd be fine on his own. When Mortimer thought he might debate him on the subject, his cousin let out a sigh before nodding, leaving him to his vices.

Standing near the many tables of his Slytherin house, Mortimer made his way towards exiting the Great Hall.

There was a tightness in his chest as he walked through the short halls. He had to constantly remind himself that he was no longer in the human world. He also kept himself from jumping every time he watched the unusual paintings move.

He still hasn't gotten use to seeing ghosts strolling about as of they went through walls and doors. Not a care in the world, almost if they weren't aware that that they were dead.

Mortimer became very much distracted that he had become quickly lost.

With enough pride, he mustard up the courage to ask any willing bystanders.

After asking countless students and receiving reluctant answers, he was able to find the Owlery.

Ascending towards the tower, mortimer had to repress the urge to gag. The harsh smells of owl excrements - decaying rodents and old-aged carcasses lying at every corner.

Dismissing the nausea developing in the pit of his stomach, he approach the woodland creatures. He retrieves small pieces of bacon from his morning meal.

Mortimer held up the offering and raised his voiced out loud. "Who wants to send this letter to Narcissa Malfoy?"

Almost rapidly a grey owl with patches of white – larger than his head came swooping down onto a sealed barrel.

"Take this to Malfoy Manor." He commanded.

Attaching the letter around its wrinkled slender leg, mortimer rewarded him the salt-cured pork. When he finished, the owl lifted its wide wings and soared into the skies.

There was something majestic about watching them surge through the bright clouded sky. The unworried, carelessness they emitted as they flapped in liberation was one he's been craving for. The freedom to roam around without having to look after his shoulder. Without being glared at and sneered at the sound of his own name. He could only dream of such luxuries.

It was barely the start of the first day and he's already experienced their unfriendly aggression at the Great Hall.

Their small peering, but observant eyes that followed him as he slithered towards his table. He honestly could not blame them. He was the closet thing to being Bellatrix. He was her son… obviously they would vent towards the closest thing to her.

Further saddening was when the name 'Black' came up, Mortimer could easily sense the dread seeping through their small bodies. Matters were made worse when he heard that another Black had been imprisoned for the murder of the chosen one's parents.

Expelling a frustrating breath. He was having hard time fitting in.

Blinking once, Mortimer gazed at the morning sky one last time before leaving.

Scratching his head, there was more thing he had to do before beginning the day.

A visit to Dumbledore.

Entering the school's halls there was much action. A commotion on children going left and right. The first day is always the busiest, and Mortimer found it somewhat comforting, knowing he wasn't the only one.

There was a convenient moment when Mortimer spotted a fellow slytherin.

"Hey!" Mortimer shouted, waving his hand to catch the attention of the older student.

It seems to have worked as the boy peeps at his direction. He has a hard accent. "What?"

Mortimer is slightly taken aback. "C-can you tell me where I can find Dumbldore's office?"

"Why on earth would you want to go there in the first place?" Scoffed the boy.

Without thinking, Mortimer racked up with, "I-I heard he was once a professor in transfiguration an' I was wondering about the history of the various incantations, there's a lot, you know? I could ask the current professor, but I believe Dumbledore can possibly tell me more... You see i'm intrested in-"

"Alright alright kid." The slytherin said, waving his arms. "Shut it already." He let's out a huff. "It's at the headmaster's tower, through the gargoyle corridor."

"And where's that?"

"Second-floor, it'll take you to third." Scratching his chin, he tells mortimer. "That's as far you'll probably get anyhow."

"How come?" Mortimer became slightly annoyed that he frowns in response.

"You need a password to enter."

Mortimer starts moving his feet. "Thanks - " Trying hard to think of a name.

"Marcus Flint - don't be daft now." He snarls, reminding him of an angry bulldog.

"Right thanks again Marcus." He says again.

As he leaves, mortimer hears Flint replying whatever before he too makes his way. Heading at the oppsite direction.

Mortimer's intuition tells him he was was going the right way. Noticing the moving staircase, he felt slightly nervous. Nervous he might fall, nervous he'd get lost, it was nerves all around.

A sense of determination hits him, giving him the strength to head forwards. He climbs the long stairs case until he reaches what he thinks is the second-floor corridor.

Yes! Mortimer cheers inside. Exposing the hall, it wasn't overly long, nor short. The dim lighting of the candles gave it an eerie look to it. What stood out was a giant gargolye settled in the middle. It appeared to be guarding, seeing as how it was the only barrier between him and the stairway.

A good walking distance, mortimer paced cautiously. Afraid it might jump him at any moment.

Drawing near, Mortimer nearly screamed in shock once the gargolye began to speak. In a low, deep, close to growling tone. "You may enter."

Scouting around, he pinches himself rather harshly to make sure he wasn't suffering from any manic episodes.

"Enter." The guard repeats.

A pause, it took a while for his to find his voice again. "I-I thought I needed a p-password..."

"The headmaster has been expecting you." The gargoyle says before he calls upon the stairs.

Rolling a circular motion the stairs descend, inviting the boy to enter.

Pinching himself again, he walks upwards. The stairs taking him into a messy, yet animated office. There were particular trinkets, unknown objects that made the strangest of noises and several portraits, one's that were currently arguing about the lack of space.

"My dear boy." It was dumbledore, sitting comfortably back in his high chair. "It's good to see you again."

As mortimer walks suspiciously to the large desk, the headmaster offers mortimer a chair; only for him to take it.

"Care for a peppermint toad?" He displays a bowl of the moving candy. It gives a solid croak sound, causing mortimer to shake his head in disbelief.

Setting down the small bowl, Dumbledore asks. "How are things? Are the Malfoy's treating you well?"

Forgetting the toads, that were now making several ribbit sounds, Mortimer response. "Ye-Yes they're fine - Everything is fine."

A seconds pause was made by the headmaster, thinking before smiling. "That's great to hear my boy. I was concerned for a while."

"You were?" He raises a brow.

"Oh yes. I was worried you might have a hard time adjusting to the lavishing life style."

Pressing his lips into a thin line, "That so?" he asks.

"Of course." He says, smiling brightly.

Mortimer swinged his dangly legs, he lets out a sigh. "Right... Not that i'm saying I don't believe you - But I don't believe you." He hesistates. "Is there something else?"

"Hm - It seems to be the other way around, don't you think?" Dumbledore tilts his head.

Mortimer stays quiet, glancing away. Dumbledore was correct. Though it was more of a request.

Occlumency...

A skill mortimer desperately wanted to learn. Create a barrier within his subconcious to protect himself from harrowed thoughts. Shelter himself from any incoming invaders who would gladly dig in his skull to uncover unwanted secrets.

Invaders like Dumbldore.

Had it not been for his excessive probing, Mortimer might of kept part of his dignity in tact. Instead he was left feeling vulnerable, to the point of betrayal. Dumbledore already knew what most people didn't. The only thing mortimer was able to keep to himself was life with Nana.

Stupid old bint.

Mortimer shook himself mentally, bringing his attention back to the headmaster, waiting for mortimer to respond.

Here goes nothing.

"I want to learn occlumency." He said with blunt force.

Dumbldore shifts into stillness. A hard glint of light reflects in the headmaster's eyes. A twinkle that appeared more dangerous than the previous times. Mortimer did not need to guess. The answer was clearly written in the walls.

"I am afraid that it will not be possible."

The premeditated reponse came to no surprise. Still, did not soothe any of the hurt Mortimer was feeling. His rejection made the boy grip his hands tightly against the chair's edges.

Learning occlumency was of great importance to him. But dumbledore didn't not seem to care. A sensitive topic for the man, mortimer had a horrible feeling that reason behind it was out of concern.

The headmaster might come to regret his decision later if Mortimer were to learn. Anyhow, it wasn't the case and that's what the headmaster didn't understand. Mortimer was tired of memories, he wanted to forget.

"Why not?"

"My dear boy, you are not ready for such lessons. You are still young and inexperienced. A mind as yours will not be able to handle the harsh infringements of power."

They both were focusing while they sat, facing each other; the headmeaster was calm and serenely, his palms closed together. Mortimer's teeth gritted, eyes were fiery in anger.

Mortimer nearly jumps out of his seat. "You think i'm weak!"

"No." He blinks. "You are not prepared."

He was quickly getting upset. "It's not fair! You owe me this." Mortimer pierced him with a sharp glare.

Dumbledore does not react. "How do you figure?"

"You said you want to help me. So why don't you help me with this?" A breath of frustration releases. "You went inside my head! Do you know how that feels!? I want to trust you. But how can I when you've been secretly reading my mind!" Mortimer shakes his head. "How could you?" He voice becomes faint.

An expression of emotional pain crosssed his sarrow face, his hands clamped tight. Mortimer hated feeling this way. He doesn't know what to do. If Dumbledore wouldn't help who left was there? As of now, he was the only person in this world who knows the internal suffering he's been forced to live with.

It was hard not to run away.

"I apologize." Dumbledore voiced softly. Remorseful flashes through his half-moon spectacles. "Much of the public has placed me on top of a high pedestal. Incapable of doing no wrong, no faults, no limitations on what I can and can't do." A small nod of his head. "But even I know better. Curiousity has always been a weakness of mine. Who knows, maybe someday it will be that curiousity that ends me."

Mortimer is quiet. Eyeing him bitterly, he tries finding any signs of decpetion; he could not find any. Nothing but genuine sincerity in his confession. Dumbledore's soft eyes was reassuring, it almost seemed personal. A side most people will never see.

"I will understand if you choose not to forgive me. But please know my intentions are for the better."

"Does that mean you won't teach me?"

"For now."

Mortimer nodded, muddled across his face. Not much more was said, only to bid farewell, this will not be the last time they would meet.

The boy arose from his seat, exiting his office. His heart was heavy and was having difficulty wrapping his mind around what he had told him, of him not being prepared.

Was he too far down to be helped? Beyond saving? Was that what dumbldore meant? Or was he too weak?

The idle chatter of student, along with pitter-patter footsteps made him eternally grateful. A reminder that he has yet to start the day. It will be good to forget, even it is for a short while.

He gulped down his nerves and walked towards the ground floor that lead to Transfiguration.

By the time he set foot inside the classroom, majority of the tables were already taken. The lessons haven't started and thankfully he was given time to situate himself.

Scanning the area, he heard his name being called.

Mortimer had not listened at first until they were practically yelling his name.

Looking over he spotted Theo and a couple of girls. It took only mere seconds to walk towards them. Seeing how confident he appeared, most children took it as him being domineering.

"Hey Black." Greeted Theodore from his seat. He was prepared on account of his belongings being set up.

Mortimer was standing when he greeted back with. "Nott."

A girl mortimer has never seen before had propelled an introduction. "Hi, I'm Tracy and this is Daphne." The girl, Daphne, didn't say anything but gave an affirming nod.

"Over there is Millicent." Tracy pointed at a plump girl with a round face. "Heh, We seem to be the only Slytherins here."

Mortimer quickly scanned the room; she was right. Majority of the class consisted of Gryffindor's. Excluding himself, that only left four from his own house. He wasn't sure why the girl found it concerning. Regardless of House, Mortimer was willing to show the rest that class means nothing.

"Can't decide where to sit?" Theodore asked sarcastically. The other girls looked at him as the answer laid before him.

Tracy eyes widened, nearly in panic, before she rapidly asked. "If you prefer – You can sit with me instead!" She nearly yelled out loud.

Daphne scoffed and rolled her eyes while Theo smirked.

Mortimer however made a face. He winced. "Some other time, perhaps..."

He stepped away slowly from the group until he reached a bushy-haired girl. Gazing back at Nott, Mortimer commanded. "Have Millicent sit with you."

Ending their little conversation, he turned away to approach the girl and the empty seat that was next to her.

Everything became still when her eyes went up to meet his.

There was no closeness, no friendship, just fear and tenseness. And after seconds of their staring contest had commence, mortimer greeted. Acting every bit as a good-natured, polite welcoming wizard.

"Hello." A brief pause. "Do you mind if we share a desk? Everywhere else seems to be taken." He asks, offering a warm smile.

The girl however stared up, uncertain what to make of the question. To her, mortimer's words could barely be heard over her pumping heart beat. She was nervous, mortimer could tell.

Taking one step closer towards her, he leans in. "May I?" He repeats.

"Ye-Yes." She manages to force out of her voice.

Her confirmation leaving her small lips, mortimer pulls out the wooden chair and positions himself. Lowering down next to her, he begins. "I'm Mortimer." Avoiding the surname.

"I'm Hermione." She presents herself before averting her eyes away. "You're a Black." She says in a accusing tone.

Clenching his jaw together, he cursed the name he was given. Not only did it bring fear but it brought up a sort of panic, panic that violated their innocence and replaces it with unpleasant dread.

Hermione had a right a to be nervous, to defend herself. But that didn't necessarily mean he had to like it. Mortimer felt his heart slowly sinking from hope, belief of ever having a friend. Pureblood families respected the name, others were afraid of it.

"I am." Mortimer simply stated. There was not much to add considering it was true, anything else would be brushed aside.

"W-why are you sitting here then?" Curious, she asked while still holding down her breath.

He did not respond instantly. Instead he glances back at Theodore and the others, who had been watching the two.

Mortimer knew where her weariness emerged from. She was a muggleborn. Taught and probably influenced by other witches and wizards who despised his kind; the purebloods as he was told.

She was probably informed how her kind was hated here and did not belong by other families. He would be less surprised if she had already countered her first prejudice remark from any other child.

Which for the most part, was true. The biased belief of blood status tarnished the very foundations of magic was one he could not stress enough. It was maddening to have to sit back and watch as others were bullied because of blood. It was even more sickening to be related to one.

Draco for example was one who had often expressed the distain, disgusted feelings for muggleborns. In his eyes they were nothing but a stain on magic. It still didn't help having to spend hours upon hours hearing him ramble on about their impurities. Had they not been related, mortimer would have gladly shut him up himself. But out of survival, had endured him and his family's beliefs, even if he didn't necessarily agreed with them.

Associating with Purebloods such as the likes of Malfoy, Mortimer was given the same treatment as them. Treated with unfriendly hostility.

"I-I don't really know honestly... I didn't want to be coddled by them." Signaling his eyes. The girl looked behind him to find three slytherins watching; worried.

"Why would they do that?" She wondered, raising an eyebrow.

"We both know the answer to that. Looking at your expression, it's clear why they would want to get to my good graces." Mortimer nearly grunted at the frustrating treatment he was receiving from his own house.

"They fear you..." The bushy-haired girl answered in a wispy tone. Her eyes clearly shocked at the effect he had within his own.

Mortimer merely nodded and looked away. He was ashamed but of course the girl did not notice it. "I just want to learn..." he confessed quietly. "I don't care if you're a 'muggleborn', I don't care that you're a Gryffindor and I certainly don't care about what others think."

It became increasingly awkward and for a while, mortimer thought she would never answer. That is until the buck-toothed girl responded by gesturing her head, nodding vigorously. Kindly accepting his response, she offered him one last look. Which mortimer then gratefully took, solidifying a new found sense of understanding between the two children.

From then on, the two said nothing more as class had begun. Looking around him, he was surprised to see how no one made a fuss about the arrangement. The only person who seemed bothered was Lavender. And that was only to shoot Granger daggered glares while giving mortimer a sad expression.

What also caught his eye was the same scrawny round-spectacled boy. Along with the redhead, their constant eyes peered towards them, observing the impossible. Ever so often glances were shared amongst students.

Mortimer can honestly say he's never received this kind of attention. It was unwanted. The way Theo gawped when Hermione offered Mortimer her advice was made more visible when he in return took it appreciatively. Mortimer had to suppress an eye roll.

Each passing moment became easier when his desk partner slowly arose from her previous fidgety state. When she knowingly grasped that Mortimer wasn't behaving like the other spoiled children, she was able to get a sense on the type of person he was.

He was very shy, very quiet. His eyes were visual focusing on the Professor's teachings as she demonstrated the wand movement against a needle. Jolting down every word she said, Hermione could see the determination in Mortimer's eyes. His willingness to learn was one she could easily appreciate. Understanding the need, she was willing to forget who he was for a moment.

It was very strange indeed. A few mere words can change a person's perspective. Mortimer hasn't given her a reason to distrust him when so far he's been nothing but polite. It was also made clear that he was practically a formidable minor within his own house.

The rest of session went without any issues. Both had successfully manage to make decisive wand movements that would make it easier for their next lesson.

Once their session had finally concluded. Mortimer grabbed the many books he carried before leaving. He turned to look at the gryffindor girl who was chewing on her lower lip.

Choosing not say anything, Mortimer grabbed the remainder of his supplies and walked out the door. His next class would be shared with his cousin. He was still in the south tower so traveling to charms class wouldn't take long to reach.

He ignores his name being called as he makes his way through the small crowded hall.

Happening within seconds, he barely registers the fact that he was dragged away towards a nearby brick wall.

"You're Mortimer Black aren't you?" Snarled a boy. He had dark short hair. Wearing what every student had on, the only distinction trait was the colour of his uniform. A Ravenclaw. Mortimer didn't recognize the older boy. He could have been a fourth – to – fifth year.

The ravenclaw wasn't alone however. Two other boys were right behind him in support. Mortimer assumed they were friends of his. Why else would they stand by and watch as their friend picked on the small?

Mortimer didn't respond. In turn made the other boy angry. His vest was then gripped. "You're the reason why my mother never got over my father's death."

Again no response.

His eyes didn't waver, forgetting the fact that he was being shaken, Mortimer's only defense was to endure. Muting the unknown Ravenclaw, the mumblings of gibberish filled his ears. Nothing but incomprehensible words and insensible emotion that coursed through his small body.

It reminded him of a time where moments like these often occurred, a previous life. It was a life Mortimer stopped thinking about. Yet, could never really get rid…

What was he saying again?

"What's wrong? Can't fight back snake?" The boy was nearly spitting. His body was close to mortimer's that he could feel the ravenclaw's body as it radiated heat.

The other boys witnessed as Mortimer was then pushed down on the hard floor. Books and parchments heading to different directions, he can only lay there.

Unbeknown to the group, an ink bottle rolls across the hall, hitting against the tip of a cap-toe shoe, it stops.

Behind the group a voice emerges. "Is-Is there a-a-a problem?"

The group of boy quickly turn their heads to see the Professor wearing a turban walking towards them. They realise Mortimer's dismayed figure as he tries picking his books.

"No sir." Their leader says. "We were just helping this first year. He tripped on the floor."

His friends nod in agreement. Mortimer, in question, was preoccupied, trying to gather his supplies. Brushing off the puzzled looks, their excuses were obvious lies. Despite that little fact, mortimer decided turn a blind eye.

Mortimer knows he should probably speak up but was against creating further problems. The way things usually worked came in numbers. It was three against one and odds are the teacher will most likely believe their word against his.

It no longer mattered to him either way. The incident will be forgotten by the end of day and Mortimer could easily move pass it. The only concern that preoccupied his thoughts was the fear of being late on his first day.

Resting a hand against the hard cover of a first year potion's book, he stops midway, staring absently onto the floor. He frowns when a sudden hit of unpleasant touches overcomes his head. Very unusual for him – he hardly gets them – he had not expected this kind of reaction. It wasn't as of the boys had physically hurt him. And mortimer highly doubted the older idiot was strong enough to create such an effect. If anything was hurting right now, it was his ego.

The other students at this point had all but left, leaving Mortimer and the Professor.

Professor Quirrell's tall stature loomed down onto Mortimer. Pausing again he looked up to see the shadowy figure. Taking a step forward to come near the boy, he addresses Mortimer with shaky, almost nervous expression. "Ar-Are you al-alright?" The teacher asked, his intense stare made him uncomfortable as he tried not to show anxiety.

His head still hurting, it took him a few moments to gather his words to reply. "Yes…" Sounding jumbled, mortimer got up from the floor. Along with his books, he looks away, yearning to relax.

The twitchy professor's eyes become wider and his mouth opens to speak. Not sentence is said. Instead he searches inside his robes to retrieve a handkerchief. "H-He-Here ta-take it." Quirrell offers.

Mortimer doesn't immediately take it, but merely stares at it in question.

In response, professor Quirrell gestures his hand, pointing to his nose. "You-You're b-b-bleeding."

The young slytherin quirked a brow, not catching his meaning. So he repeats the motion only to feel a wet trickle glaze coming from his nostrils. "Wha…"

Thinking more clearly now, Mortimer registers the fact he was indeed bleeding. Cursing in humiliation, his eyes dark with anger was aimed at himself. Viciously, he starts wiping his face. And after a few seconds, he stops, the red smear of bloody spots were displayed for the Professor to see.

Mortimer squared his shoulders, trying his hardest to not let the apprehension show, he takes the small piece of cloth that was offered to him. "Thank you." He almost in a bitter tone.

"B-Best hu-hurry up n-n-now o-or you'll be la-late." Quirrell stammered.

The professor was observing Mortimer intently; even he started to take note, it made him nervous for some reason beyond possible. "Right… Um- Thanks again." He nearly falters, before he finally decides to leave.

He didn't think about it, he just did it. Running pass the curious professor, mortimer fled the scene, making his way towards Charms. He did his best to wipe the horrible event that happened minutes prior.

The encounter left a bad a taste. Momentarily grateful no one was there to see making a fool of himself. The last thing he wanted was to be the laughing stock of school. And for what? For letting a couple of bullies push him around. He was angry for many reasons. For letting them get away. Showing vulnerability in front of a teacher. In actuality, mortimer was more upset that the only reason it happened in the first place was because of who his parents were, specifically his mother.

Why he let Dumbledore convince him to keep his surname, he didn't know. The headmaster might as well announce to the whole world he was Voldemort Jr. If this was the kind of effect he would get by being a black, he wondered what else was there once everyone found out he was the dark lord's heir.

Clenching his jaw, he follows the path leading straight towards his next class. He let's a silent sigh. He never asked to be born – No one really does. Trading one world for another had brought on a new sense of hope. Thinking life will be better because he was a wizard. He thought he would fit in, gain a friend or two, no longer would he be different because in this world, everyone was the same. But boy… Mortimer was far from right. It was a dog-eat-dog world, no different from the 'muggle' world. A life that was political in every sense. The crowd you associated yourself with determines how well you fit in society standards.

Mortimer was already seen to be among the highest of sorts. The sole reason for that was because of the Malfoy's, had it been another family, mortimer might have been seen to neutral; indecisive. But being related to Draco, it was obvious that they viewed him in a horrible light, while the higher class deemed him worthy of their attention.

It was stupid.

Reaching the doors, mortimer opens to reveal several first-years, children no less than him, excited to learn about the changes in properties. Much to his relief, he discovers to find that will be learning alongside the house of badgers.

"Mortimer!" Turning over, his name was called. ""There you are." It was Draco and one of his croons. They were both sitting next to each other.

Walking towards his fellow house mates, mortimer took the empty spot they had saved for him. "I was telling Crabbe about flying lessons. Aren't you excited? We'll finally show them who really belongs in the skies. I know you don't have much experience considering you weren't raised proper but don't worry I'll happily teach you…"

The more Draco rambled on, the more he was contemplating punching him straight in the jaw. Mortimer didn't consider himself to be the violent type. But there was something about Draco that irked him the wrong way. It probably had to do with the self-entitlement he kept parading.

"Can't wait." Mortimer merely grumbled. Resting his chin on his hand.

He tunes out his chatty cousin when class begins. Professor Flitwick was a teacher Mortimer could get behind from. His lessons were easy to follow and can honestly say he had a wonderful time. The levitation charm, defying gravity by lifting objects had made him awe. If felt amazing, to be able to use his wand to create such a feat.

It also to know he was able to snag a few points for participation. Anyone could have done it really. Even a few Hufflepuffs were able to score.

"Can you believe it? Did you see how high the feather went? It must have been higher than anyone in the classroom." Draco exclaimed.

Mortimer inwardly rolls his eyes. "Mmhmm…" he replies.

Following throughout the day, Mortimer had made the effort to speak less and work more. It challenging, more than that, there were many instances where he was forced to bite his tongue, retaining any sort of remark that could upset the heir.

Thankfully the rest of day was all but uneventful – A small lie of course.

The day was more than eventful. But miraculously, mortimer wasn't at the helm. Most of the occurrences came from the boy-who-lived and his idiot friend. The two had managed to lose a number of points, causing strain amongst gryffindors.

Professor Snape made his dislike for Potter evident by today's lesson. The way he belittled him, ridiculed him for his lack of knowledge. He made it made seem like Potter was the aggressor. A stuck-up boy who defeated the evil man that was once terrorised wizarding world.

Least he forget Defense against the dark arts. Mortimer had high expectations. That tower quickly came tumbling down once he found the teacher teaching was none other than Quirrell, the poor stuttering professor.

The man could hardly complete a sentence without interrupting himself. Why the school deemed him worthy to teach children was anyone's guess.

Scratching his head, Mortimer took a much-needed break from the first day of classes, he made his way towards the dungeons, stopping lazily against the walls of the school. He lets out a sigh, distractedly he snaps his neck, trying to mind off thoughts that worried him.

"Black." Theo raised a hand to greet him as he walked towards him.

Mortimer didn't respond but instead pushed himself from the wall. He looks to see Nott, unsurprisingly that he had been tailing him, orders from Draco probably…

"Where have you been? Dinner is about to start."

"I'm not hungry." He answered, steadily, he begins to walk away.

Theodore observes before going after him once more. He frowns, a little confused. "Is something wrong?"

"No." Just the fact that you following is reason enough…

"Than why are you standing there completely miserable. I thought being here would make you happy."

Irritated and feeling slightly drained by the day, he had lost the will to care. Talking to Nott. "What do you want? Did Draco send you? Tell him to bug off, I'm fine. I don't need a babysitter."

Theo sighs, shaking his head calmly. "You know you don't need to pretend…"

"Pretend?" Mortimer raised.

"Yeah. The whole high-and-mighty pureblood façade. I get it, appearances and what-not. But it doesn't always have to be like that. At least not with me."

Theo waited for a response. "And what would a Nott know about pretending? Your kind relishes in being the stiff-necked aristocratic boozes that can't help but brag every minute about how pure and how superior you really are."

Mortimer seethed under his breath. "What? Did your father tell you to befriend me? Trying to get under father's good graces? I bet Malfoy already told the other families, that the dark lord's heir has arisen."

The Nott boy stayed quiet for a few moments, preparing for some kind of retort, but the Black's dark eyes shot hole into him. "I-I saw what they did..." He said silently.

"Saw who did?"

"The ravenclaws, I saw how they pushed you around, you falling – And you just stood there. It was like you weren't really there. It was very strange…" Theo takes a break. "I know why they did it. But it isn't fair. Draco said you don't know much of our world nor do you know anything about your parents. An-And I wanted to tell you that it's ok."

"I get tired of pretending too." Theo finishes, lowering his eyes. Hoping mortimer will understand.

His heart skipping a beat as it begins to race; mortimer falters. He tries to keep his worried flushed face from rising. He doesn't know what to think. Instead, stares at Theo for another moment, figuring out his next move.

Glancing over his shoulder, he looks to see if maybe other students were present, any signs of trickery. But no. It was just the two of them

Mortimer doesn't say anything. He wasn't a talkative person to begin with. Having in mind, he wanted to tell the Nott boy to bug off with the rest of Draco's croons. At the same time, he too was tired of pretending. And for the longest time has not been able to confine in anyone.

Self-preservation has kept him going. So why change that? Why fix what isn't broken? If he couldn't trust his own family why trust a boy he only met a couple of weeks ago?

A loud huff, he berated himself as he went against his judgment.

Nothing else was said but a mere signal. A small hand, he motions it, letting theo know to follow as he begins to walk away. Slowly fading from the dungeon halls.

Theo blinks at him, very much surprised by his answer. He of course does not question it; there was not enough time to. Nodding his head, theo makes haste, following mortimer deeper into the dungeons.