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What Would Slytherin Harry Do: The First Year Duel
Disclaimer: Not Mine. No Profit. No Shit.
by Big D
"Dammit, Potter, this is stupid!" Blaise whined. His eyes scanned the corridor nervously. "We're going to get caught!"
"No we're not," Harry replied calmly.
"Yes we are!"
"What makes you say that?"
"Are you daft? You have to know that Malfoy's not going to show. He's setting you up!"
Harry chuckled. "Of course I know that. He tipped off Filch where to find us."
"If you know that, then why are we walking right into his trap?"
"We're not. The trap is in the Trophy Room. We're going to the kitchens."
Blaise stopped for a second and blinked. "Oh... well that's okay then. Wait, why are we going to the kitchens?"
Harry had continued walking. Blaise hurried to catch him. "Because I'm hungry and that's where they keep the food."
"What about Malfoy?"
"What about him?"
Blaise sighed. Getting answers from Harry was like pulling teeth sometimes. "I mean, what are you going to do about him? Are we just going to hang out in the kitchens for a while and say that he didn't show up for the duel? Make him look like a coward?"
Harry snorted. "He doesn't need our help with that. Besides, that would be pretty lame, seeing as we're not going to show up for it, either."
Blaise rolled his eyes. "How do you know where the kitchens are, anyway? I thought it was like some sort of state secret."
"You know Billings? That bloke who sells stuff from Hogsmeade?"
"The sixth year? Yeah, I know him. Bloody wanker charges a fortune."
"Depends on what you're buying. Besides, that's not all he sells. He sold me directions to the kitchens."
"Cool. Must have cost you an arm and a leg, though."
"Yeah, but it's worth it. I also picked up a couple of other things."
"Like what?"
"Some Dragon Ink and a whole bag of those time-delayed Dungbombs. You know, the really big ones."
"The Diarrhoea Detonators?"
"Yeah, them."
"What are you going to do with them?"
"Already used 'em."
"How?"
Harry grinned. "Well... you know how Malfoy always locks his wand in his trunk before he goes to take a shower?"
"I can't believe that moron fell for it!" Draco laughed loudly. "I mean, he actually thought that I was going to meet him in the Trophy Room for some stupid duel! How dumb can you be? I just wish I could see the look on his face when Filch shows up! How did he even get into Slytherin?"
Crabbe and Goyle snickered witlessly. Draco strolled over to his trunk, still laughing softly, opened it, and blinked.
"Hey... where's my wand?"
He reached in and pulled out a small piece of folded parchment that hadn't been there before.
Git,
It's not going to be quite that easy.
Your wand is laying on the floor of the Trophy Room. If you run fast, you might get there before Filch does. If you run really fast, you might even get there before the dungbombs go off. If you don't run at all, then you'll get caught in the morning once the teachers start looking for the student who doesn't have a wand.
Good luck.
XXXOOO,
Scarhead
PS: This is your last warning. Don't fuck with me. And, by the way, you should really get a trunk with a better lock on it. I picked this one with a paper clip.
Draco's eyes widened. Suddenly, the ink on the parchment flashed red and the entire thing burst into flames.
"GAAAA!!!!" he screamed shrilly, jumping back and letting go of the flaming letter, which crumbled into ashes before it even hit the floor.
His heart pounded in his chest and he found himself staring ahead blankly. After a second, he realized that he was looking right at Potter's trunk, a great, ghastly-looking, iron-bound thing with no less than three complicated magical padlocks on it. When he had first seen it, he had burst out laughing at how ugly it was, and had asked Potter if he planned to hide in it to get away from the big, bad Slytherins.
Now he wished he'd had one just like it.
With five locks.
Breaking into a dead run, he shoved Flint to the ground on his way out of the Viper's Den. He ran up the tunnel as fast as he could, cursing the Founders for placing the Slytherin dorms all the way out under the Black Lake. It seemed to take forever to reach the exit into the dungeons, then twice as long to navigate the still-unfamiliar twists and turns that led to the first floor. He ducked a water balloon from Peeves as he passed the Muggle Studies classroom and shouted over his shoulder at the foul creature that he would be sorry he did that.
"AAAHHHH!!!"
His feet flew out from under him as he slipped on a puddle left by one of the balloons the poltergeist had already thrown and crashed hard on his back. His right elbow hit the ground awkwardly and he thought he heard something pop as a vicious, stabbing pain filled his arm. Grasping his injured arm and holding it close, he staggered up the stairs to the third floor. It looked empty, and he couldn't smell any Dungbombs. Maybe Potter was bluffing.
He crept towards the door to the Trophy Room, glanced around carefully, and eased it open.
Only to see Argus Filch standing in the center of the room, holding his wand and looking at it curiously.
He blinked and peered at Draco. "Aren't you the little beast who told me that someone was going to be slinking around in here after hours?" he croaked.
Draco couldn't speak. He couldn't think. He couldn't even breathe.
Filch opened his mouth again, and at that very second there was a sound like a thousand fat men all breaking wind at the same time. From every corner of the room, foul, rancid, partially-liquified brown sludge exploded outwards, coating everything in a thick, dark, curdled mess.
All Draco could do was shut his eyes as he was hit by the shower of disgusting filth. When he opened them, it was to see Filch spitting out mouthfuls of brown goo and trying not to retch. Every inch of the man had been covered in dung, and it was only then Draco realized that Mrs. Norris was also there with him. The skinny, bad-tempered cat looked like a pile of runny elephant droppings with wide yellow eyes. Eyes which stared at him with a look that promised murder.
It was then that Draco found his voice.
"I hate you, Harry Potter."
(End)
AN: Someone asked for a little first year Slytherin!Harry and this came to me last night while I was at work. Not too long, but loads of fun to write.
Big D
What Would Slytherin Harry Do: The First Year Duel
Disclaimer: Not Mine. No Profit. No Shit.
by Big D
"Dammit, Potter, this is stupid!" Blaise whined. His eyes scanned the corridor nervously. "We're going to get caught!"
"No we're not," Harry replied calmly.
"Yes we are!"
"What makes you say that?"
"Are you daft? You have to know that Malfoy's not going to show. He's setting you up!"
Harry chuckled. "Of course I know that. He tipped off Filch where to find us."
"If you know that, then why are we walking right into his trap?"
"We're not. The trap is in the Trophy Room. We're going to the kitchens."
Blaise stopped for a second and blinked. "Oh... well that's okay then. Wait, why are we going to the kitchens?"
Harry had continued walking. Blaise hurried to catch him. "Because I'm hungry and that's where they keep the food."
"What about Malfoy?"
"What about him?"
Blaise sighed. Getting answers from Harry was like pulling teeth sometimes. "I mean, what are you going to do about him? Are we just going to hang out in the kitchens for a while and say that he didn't show up for the duel? Make him look like a coward?"
Harry snorted. "He doesn't need our help with that. Besides, that would be pretty lame, seeing as we're not going to show up for it, either."
Blaise rolled his eyes. "How do you know where the kitchens are, anyway? I thought it was like some sort of state secret."
"You know Billings? That bloke who sells stuff from Hogsmeade?"
"The sixth year? Yeah, I know him. Bloody wanker charges a fortune."
"Depends on what you're buying. Besides, that's not all he sells. He sold me directions to the kitchens."
"Cool. Must have cost you an arm and a leg, though."
"Yeah, but it's worth it. I also picked up a couple of other things."
"Like what?"
"Some Dragon Ink and a whole bag of those time-delayed Dungbombs. You know, the really big ones."
"The Diarrhoea Detonators?"
"Yeah, them."
"What are you going to do with them?"
"Already used 'em."
"How?"
Harry grinned. "Well... you know how Malfoy always locks his wand in his trunk before he goes to take a shower?"
"I can't believe that moron fell for it!" Draco laughed loudly. "I mean, he actually thought that I was going to meet him in the Trophy Room for some stupid duel! How dumb can you be? I just wish I could see the look on his face when Filch shows up! How did he even get into Slytherin?"
Crabbe and Goyle snickered witlessly. Draco strolled over to his trunk, still laughing softly, opened it, and blinked.
"Hey... where's my wand?"
He reached in and pulled out a small piece of folded parchment that hadn't been there before.
Git,
It's not going to be quite that easy.
Your wand is laying on the floor of the Trophy Room. If you run fast, you might get there before Filch does. If you run really fast, you might even get there before the dungbombs go off. If you don't run at all, then you'll get caught in the morning once the teachers start looking for the student who doesn't have a wand.
Good luck.
XXXOOO,
Scarhead
PS: This is your last warning. Don't fuck with me. And, by the way, you should really get a trunk with a better lock on it. I picked this one with a paper clip.
Draco's eyes widened. Suddenly, the ink on the parchment flashed red and the entire thing burst into flames.
"GAAAA!!!!" he screamed shrilly, jumping back and letting go of the flaming letter, which crumbled into ashes before it even hit the floor.
His heart pounded in his chest and he found himself staring ahead blankly. After a second, he realized that he was looking right at Potter's trunk, a great, ghastly-looking, iron-bound thing with no less than three complicated magical padlocks on it. When he had first seen it, he had burst out laughing at how ugly it was, and had asked Potter if he planned to hide in it to get away from the big, bad Slytherins.
Now he wished he'd had one just like it.
With five locks.
Breaking into a dead run, he shoved Flint to the ground on his way out of the Viper's Den. He ran up the tunnel as fast as he could, cursing the Founders for placing the Slytherin dorms all the way out under the Black Lake. It seemed to take forever to reach the exit into the dungeons, then twice as long to navigate the still-unfamiliar twists and turns that led to the first floor. He ducked a water balloon from Peeves as he passed the Muggle Studies classroom and shouted over his shoulder at the foul creature that he would be sorry he did that.
"AAAHHHH!!!"
His feet flew out from under him as he slipped on a puddle left by one of the balloons the poltergeist had already thrown and crashed hard on his back. His right elbow hit the ground awkwardly and he thought he heard something pop as a vicious, stabbing pain filled his arm. Grasping his injured arm and holding it close, he staggered up the stairs to the third floor. It looked empty, and he couldn't smell any Dungbombs. Maybe Potter was bluffing.
He crept towards the door to the Trophy Room, glanced around carefully, and eased it open.
Only to see Argus Filch standing in the center of the room, holding his wand and looking at it curiously.
He blinked and peered at Draco. "Aren't you the little beast who told me that someone was going to be slinking around in here after hours?" he croaked.
Draco couldn't speak. He couldn't think. He couldn't even breathe.
Filch opened his mouth again, and at that very second there was a sound like a thousand fat men all breaking wind at the same time. From every corner of the room, foul, rancid, partially-liquified brown sludge exploded outwards, coating everything in a thick, dark, curdled mess.
All Draco could do was shut his eyes as he was hit by the shower of disgusting filth. When he opened them, it was to see Filch spitting out mouthfuls of brown goo and trying not to retch. Every inch of the man had been covered in dung, and it was only then Draco realized that Mrs. Norris was also there with him. The skinny, bad-tempered cat looked like a pile of runny elephant droppings with wide yellow eyes. Eyes which stared at him with a look that promised murder.
It was then that Draco found his voice.
"I hate you, Harry Potter."
(End)
AN: Someone asked for a little first year Slytherin!Harry and this came to me last night while I was at work. Not too long, but loads of fun to write.
Big D
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