Fenn awoke at the crack of dawn, wondering where in the world he was. Slowly, memories of the previous day began to form in his mind. Of his mother, struggling to hold back tears, and his father, eyes shining with paternal pride. He remembered the crowded train, his brand-new friends, and most of all, Hogwarts.
Headmaster Dippet had clapped politely along with the rest as Fenrir was sorted into Slytherin; and fat Professor Slughorn, in particular, had applauded loudly to welcome the boy into his own house. Fenn had been delighted. Both his parents had been in Ravenclaw, but he was certain that they would be as happy about his sorting as he was. Grinning from ear to ear, Fenn hopped out of bed and looked happily about his dormitory.
It was still very dark; as the Slytherin house was located in the dungeons, and there were no true windows to speak of in the dormitory. However, there was one enchanted window through which magical sunlight could enter. Now, at scarcely six o’clock AM, a glimmer of light was only just beginning to shine about the room.
Fenn walked to the center of the large, square room and looked around him. His three roommates--Albert Sylvan, Byron Ratha, and Augustus Rookwood--were all fast asleep in their four-poster beds, snoring quietly. The room was a rather plain one, with a cold stone floor and a single portrait of Salazar Slytherin adorning the walls. It was very sparce compared to Fenn’s own luxurious quarters at home, but the young boy loved it already.
After spending another moment admiring the darkened room, Fenn felt his way over to where his trunk lay at the foot of his bed. Shaking sandy hair out of his eyes, the young Slytherin groped through the trunk until he managed to extricate his robes, hat, and undergarments. Then, almost skipping in his eagerness to start the day, Fenn hurried into the shower.
By the time Fenn was finished with his long shower, two of his roommates had already awoken. Albert and Byron greeted him enthusiastically; the four Slytherin first years had already bonded strongly the previous day. Then, Fenn headed straight to Augustus’ bedside.
“Augustus!” Fenrir all but yelled into the other boy’s ear. Groaning, the scrawny blonde opened his eyes and turned to look at Fenrir.
“Fenn,” groaned Augustus tiredly, pawing sleep out of his beady black eyes. “G’morning, mate.”
Grinning happily, Fenn dragged his new best friend out of bed.
“We don’t want to be late for classes today, so come on! I’m starving.” The last comment was untrue; Fenn had stuffed himself thoroughly at the welcoming feast the previous night, but it seemed a good excuse to get his roommates to hurry. In truth, Fenn was simply itching to go down to the Great Hall and begin the day.
Finally, all four Slytherin boys left the common room. On the way they passed a sneering Abraxas Malfoy, the Head Boy who was reputed to be the cruelest seventh year at Hogwarts. Catching Augustus’ eye, Fenn and his friends sped up and did not halt until they had reached the Great Hall.
And so the day went on. Fenn decided that he loved Hogwarts, loved his classes. The young boy proved more than adept at all the simple spells and charms they practiced that first day of Hogwarts. He excelled particularly in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms, but Fenn decided that his favorite class by far was Transfiguration. It was interesting and engaging, and the teacher, Professor Dumbledore, seemed very talented, if a little odd.
Fenn had already formed a close bond with Augustus and the rest of his fellow Slytherin first years. His teachers were nice, his friends were true, and the handsome young boy knew with out a doubt that the next seven years would be the best of his life.
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Fenrir Grey woke up late on the morning of Halloween. It was Sunday, and the stormy weather matched Fenn’s mood perfectly. Almost all of the upperclassmen--actually, third years and up--had left for a trip Hogsmeade village, while Fenn was stuck in the drafty old castle with nothing to do.
Fenn sighed heavily. His fellow Slytherin first years were all in the library working on the extensive Transfiguration essay that Professor Dumbledore had assigned, whispering answers back and forth under the beady eye of old Madame Lyse. Fenn, who now regretted finishing the assignment days ago, was left with nothing to do and no one to talk to.
It was the first time since Fenn had come to Hogwarts that he was truly bored. So far he had been so busy with classes, schoolwork, and extracurricular activities that he had hardly had time to relax, but now--faced with an afternoon of nothingness--Fenrir could not help but feel bored. The young boy lay apathetically on his bed, the curtains drawn around him to block out the enchanted sunlight. A copy of Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 lay sprawled across Fenn’s broad chest, but the studious boy had already read through the book several times. How he wished there was something, anything, to do...
Suddenly, Fenn heard quiet footsteps ascending the stairs into his dormitory. He sat up happily, shaking hair out of his eyes.
“‘Gustus, mate, is that you?”
Grinning brightly, Augustus Rookwood tore open Fenrir’s curtains and dragged his friend out of bed.
“Come on, Fenn, stop moping about in there. One of the second years says that he’s managed to break into the broom closet downstairs, d’you want to go to the Quidditch pitch and practice a couple of new moves with me?"
Fenn nodded happily. Both he and Augustus had tried out for the Slytherin Quidditch team earlier that year, but predictably, neither had made the cut. However, they were not put out in the slightest; the youngest player in the past fifty years had been the Gryffindor Minnie McGonagall, and she had joined the team as a second year. The two friends had vowed to each other that they would make the team next year, and in order to do that they knew they must practice.
Twenty minutes later, the two Slytherin boys were on the Quidditch pitch, windswept and drenched with rain. Fenrir felt a jolt of disappointment as he saw the red-robed figures of the Gryffindor Quidditch team soaring through the sky. Exasperated, he turned to Augustus.
“Argh, we shouldn’t have come out.” Fenn shivered slightly, drawing his robes closer about him. “How long till they’re done, do you reckon?”
Augustus smiled evilly. “Not long, I expect,” he smirked. The scrawny boy raised his wand to where a young Gryffindor girl was watching the team play from the stands about six feet away, muttering a quiet curse under his breath.
“No!” Fenn’s cry mingled with that of the girl as she screamed in horror. Yelping, the second year attempted to stamp out the fire burning its way up her robes, but the enchanted flame--however basic magic--was hard to put out. The entire Gryffindor team plunged earthward as the Captain raised her wand to emit a powerful jet of water that bowled the girl over.
Augustus dragged Fenn under the nearest set of raised bleachers, stuffing his fist into his mouth so as not to laugh. Fenn, however, was appalled.
“Augustus!” he whispered, outraged, watching the Gryffindor team members staring around the pitch, searching angrily for the culprit.
Augustus clapped Fenn’s mouth with his hands, looking frightened for the first time. “Shhhh!” he hissed, drawing further back under the bleachers as the Gryffindor Beater--brandishing his wand in one hand, his club in another--sweep past. Both boys held their breaths until the burly seventh year was out of earshot. “D’you want to get us caught?”
Fenn wanted desperately to point out that it had been Augustus who had cursed the girl, but he thought better of it. Pushing drenched, sandy-colored hair out of his eyes, Fenn brushed Augustus aside easily. However, the husky Slytherin knew better than to speak--for now, anyway.
Finally, after what seemed like eternity, the Gryffindor Captain turned to her team. “Well, whoever did it is gone now. We’ll report it to Professor Dumbledore, and he’ll see to it that the culprit is caught and punished. It was a weak spell, probably done by some first or second year. C’mon.” Putting a comforting arm around the shaken second year, she gestured imperiously for her team to follow. They all obeyed.
As soon as he deemed it safe, Fenn whirled around to face Augustus. “What in Merlin’s name was that for? You could’ve hurt her badly, she didn’t do anything to you!” He was shaking, from a combination of both cold and anger. But Rookwood, ever-superior, just gave Fenn a scornful look.
“Well, I got the Gryffindors to leave, didn’t I? Who cares if she almost got hurt--she’s alright, isn’t she?” Fenn nodded grudgingly, unwilling to pick an argument with his aggressive best friend.
Augustus smirked triumphantly. “Fenn, when’ll you learn? We’re Slytherins, and this is how things go at Hogwarts. So pull yourself together... Dumbledore is probably going to come out here in a minute to see if he can catch us; we should go back to the common room.” He shot Fenn a dirty look as though this was his fault. “Just please, next time, don’t be such a wimp.”
Fenrir flinched at Augustus’ cutting remark. He may have been a Hogwarts student for almost two who months, but Fenn still wasn’t comfortable with the way his fellow Slytherins behaved. But he wasn’t about to tell Augustus that. He’d rather eat the giant squid than lose any of his friends, and he knew better than to try and talk them out of their ways. With one last glance at the backs of the retreating Gryffindor team, Fenn stepped out from under the bench, taking a deep breath as he did so. Augustus was right... It was time for him to behave like the Slytherin he was.