Harry Potter: Made in Slytherin (Harry Potter as a Slytherin)

Chapter 7:

The Room of Requirement

8:30 p.m.

Harry panted fiercely as he stared at the eight dummies laying on the ground in front of him. Two were still burning in the corner of the room, the clothes completely gone at this point, leaving the endoskeletons the room created for the dummies. Another one was basically on his feet, completely beheaded with an axe he'd conjured and launched at it before he had grabbed it and manually decapitated it. The other five were sprawled around, all of them killed with powerful variations of either the expulso, reducto, or diffindo curses.

He'd been at this for the past three hours, doing duelling test runs over and over again, not even bothering to ask for realistic scenarios to simulate, the flaming ire inside him being the only thing managing to keep him from getting tired. He could tell that the room had slowly but surely reduced the difficulty of the dummies as he asked for more of them to fight, but he didn't care. The only thing on his mind was taking his anger out on anything he could.

"Cut it," Harry told the room as he dropped the axe to the floor, and immediately, all the dummies began gradually disappearing.

He walked out of the arena section of the room and into the bathroom that had just materialized. He hadn't even bothered with placing the usual charms on himself or his clothes, leaving him dripping wet and in need of a new outfit before he returned to the dormitories. Stripping naked, Harry went into the shower and began cleaning himself as best he could.

He was barely conscious of what he was doing, his body was acting on its own as his mind was still focused on his argument with Pansy. Who the hell did she think she was? She didn't know him, she didn't know how good he really was, she didn't know shit about his life. She had no right to piss on his day just because he wasn't in a particularly sharing or caring mood. Besides, Umbridge hadn't done anything to him, she was not his problem.

What did she want from him? Did she really expect him to be like Longbottom and ruin his life to play the hero? That wasn't his bloody job, and besides, who was her to judge him. She was just as selfish as he was, she had constantly bullied Granger and Longbottom, she had never done anything for anyone unless it benefited herself. And now she wanted to get on her high horse and shit on him? And he was supposed to, just what? Let her? No ma'am, no, thank you.

Before he knew it, Harry exited the shower and was shocked when he found a clean Slytherin uniform hanging above his old, bloody one that was crumpled on the floor. "Thanks," he mumbled before proceeding to dry himself and put on the new uniform. His emerald eyes stared back at him on the mirror as he straightened his similarly-coloured tie. His eyes seemed distant and unfocused, he must be tired after everything.

Harry yawned and walked towards the door. "See ya, tomorrow, room," he muttered. "Good night."

It wasn't until he'd walked away from the room that he realised he had forgotten to ask it to leave him somewhere closer to the Slytherin Common Room. However, he was too lazy to turn back, knowing that it would still be a shorter way if he did, and kept on going.

The way back to the dormitories was fairly quiet, it still wasn't curfew, but by this point most students were either in their respective common rooms with friends, or in the library cramming for the next day. He didn't encounter a single student on his way there, at least not until he reached the second floor.

There was a stairway that lead straight to the dungeons and was right beside the Slytherin Common Room, but it only went up to the second floor. So when Harry reached that floor, he left the path he was taking via the Grand Staircase and took the lesser known path. It was then when he heard it, he'd just passed the Defence classroom and was about to turn a corner, but stopped when the sounds of whimpers and cries echoed across the corridor.

A part of him wanted to turn back and forget he even heard it, to be on his merry way and never think of it ever again, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He slowly turned the corner, and saw a small kid sitting against the wall. He had jet black hair and was wearing green robes above his uniform - it was one of the first-year Slytherins. Harry hadn't interacted with the first-years this year, or for the past three years, for that matter. He wasn't picked as a prefect and wasn't looking to befriend small kids, so he just kind of ignored their existence.

Harry hesitated for a second before he walked towards the kid, but it seemed that he wasn't as quiet as he thought, because the kid almost instantly looked up, looking panicked.

"Hey," he told him as he crouched down. "What's your name?"

"M-Michael," he stuttered. "Michael F-Flint."

"Hello, Michael." Harry stopped, he didn't really know what to say - he'd never really been in this situation before. "How are we doing, tonight?" He asked lamely.

Michael bit his lip, his eyes getting redder as if he was about to begin crying again. "Good," he choked out.

"Good?" The kid nodded at his words. Harry stared at the kid for a few seconds before he slowly extended his hand. Michael recoiled away, almost as if he expected him to hit him, and Harry stopped mid-air until he was sure the kid was okay. Once he didn't flinch, Harry wiped the tears away from his face.

"Never let them see you cry," he told him with a small smile. "It doesn't matter what they do to you or how bad they hurt you, never give them the satisfaction. Cry when you're alone, when no one can see you like that, but never in front of them, okay?"

"O-okay," he answered, slightly more relaxed.

"What happened, Michael?"

"I- I- Professor Umbridge- she-" The kid couldn't continue, he broke down and began crying again. He tried to continue talking, but it was mostly whimpers rather than words.

"Hey, it's okay, it's okay." Harry tried comforting the kid, but failed miserably at it. A part of him felt the need to grab him and give him a hug, but he couldn't do it. He kept trying to calm him down by rubbing his arms, but abruptly stopped when he caught sight of his hands.

"Michael," Harry told him gently as he grabbed his hand and inspected it. The hand was bleeding profusely, and there was a large carving on it.

I MUST NOT DISOBEY MY BETTERS

Harry's blood began to boil, he could feel himself fuming with anger, the rage in his chest felt like an added weight to his body. He wanted to smash into Umbridge's office, to rip her apart with his own hands, her and any other person who would dare treat a child like this. Never had he ever wanted to kill someone with the fury he felt at the moment.

It was close, extremely close, it was honestly a miracle that he managed to force himself to stay right there and not break his calm demeanour.

"It's going to be okay, Michael," his voice was trembling, and he had to remove his hands from the kid's arms out of fear of gripping them too tightly. "You're going to be okay. I promise."

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