Trying | Hogwarts OC student

chapter 2

Shadows of the Past

Alistair walked slowly through the corridors of Hogwarts, the echoes of his footsteps mingling with the hushed whispers of the students around him. Detention with Snape loomed ahead, but his thoughts were far from the present. The confrontation with Snape had stirred memories he had worked hard to bury, memories of a past filled with pain and suffering.

He made his way to the Astronomy Tower, seeking solitude and the comfort of the night sky. The cool breeze ruffled his hair as he climbed to the top, and he found a quiet corner to sit, gazing up at the stars. They had always been a source of solace for him, a reminder that there was a vast, beautiful world beyond the darkness of his past.

Alistair closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him. He could still hear the angry shouts of his father, feel the sting of his belt, and see the cold, indifferent eyes of his mother. They had never wanted him, never cared for him. His childhood had been a relentless cycle of fear and pain, each day a struggle to survive.

Durmstrang had been his escape, a place where he could prove himself and find a sense of belonging. But even there, he had faced cruelty and prejudice. His peers had seen him as an outsider, a boy with a dark past and a reputation for trouble. The professors had been harsh, their methods designed to break the weak and mold the strong.

But Alistair had refused to break. He had fought back, using his intelligence and determination to rise above the challenges. He had excelled in his studies, earning the respect of some and the enmity of others. When the opportunity to transfer to Hogwarts had arisen, he had taken it without hesitation, hoping for a fresh start.

As he sat in the tower, lost in thought, the weight of his past pressed down on him. He pulled up his sleeve, staring at the faint, white lines that crisscrossed his forearm. They were remnants of his time at Durmstrang, a desperate attempt to gain control over the chaos of his life. He traced the scars with his fingers, feeling a familiar urge rising within him, an urge he had fought so hard to resist since coming to Hogwarts.

The razor blade he kept hidden in his pocket seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment. He took it out, holding it between his fingers, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin. He knew the relief it could bring, the temporary escape from the pain. But he also knew the shame and guilt that followed.

As he sat there, the memories of his father's abuse played like a twisted film in his mind. The beatings, the verbal assaults, the constant feeling of worthlessness. His father's voice echoed in his ears, telling him he was nothing, that he would never amount to anything. It was a mantra he had carried with him, one that had shaped his every action and decision.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he fought against the urge to harm himself. He clenched his fist around the blade, his knuckles turning white. He didn't want to give in to the darkness, but the pain was overwhelming. He felt trapped, caught in a cycle of despair he couldn't break free from.

Taking a deep breath, Alistair forced himself to put the blade away. He wiped his tears and looked up at the stars, drawing strength from their distant light. He reminded himself that he had survived this far, that he had the power to overcome his past. It was a battle he would have to fight every day, but he wasn't ready to give up.

The sound of the bell echoed through the night, signaling the end of curfew. Alistair stood up, feeling a strange mixture of exhaustion and determination. He made his way back to the castle, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridors.

When he reached the dungeons, Alistair took a deep breath and knocked on Snape's office door. The professor's cold voice called him in, and he entered, ready to face whatever punishment awaited him. Snape sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable.

"Sit," Snape commanded, pointing to a chair.

Alistair obeyed, his heart pounding in his chest. Snape regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

"Mr. Montrose, you seem to have a penchant for disregarding instructions and challenging authority," Snape said, his voice like ice. "This will not be tolerated at Hogwarts."

Alistair met Snape's gaze, his eyes steely. "I understand, Professor. But I won't apologize for trying to find a solution."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Your arrogance will be your downfall, Montrose. You may think you're clever, but you're not the first student to think they can outsmart me."

"I'm not trying to outsmart you," Alistair said calmly. "I'm just trying to survive."

For a moment, there was a flicker of something in Snape's eyes—pity, perhaps, or understanding. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"Your detention will be spent organizing the potions storeroom," Snape said, his voice regaining its usual coldness. "I expect it to be spotless by the time you're finished."

Alistair nodded and got to work, sorting through the shelves of ingredients and carefully labeling each one. As he worked, he felt the weight of Snape's gaze on him, a constant reminder of the challenges he faced. But he also felt a renewed sense of determination. He had faced worse than Snape, and he would not let the professor break him.

Hours passed, and the storeroom gradually took shape. As he finished, Alistair wiped the sweat from his brow and stood back to admire his work. Snape inspected the shelves, his expression inscrutable.

"Acceptable," Snape said finally. "You may go."

Alistair nodded and left the dungeons, the sense of relief washing over him once more. He made his way back to the Slytherin common room, feeling a strange mixture of exhaustion and hope. The shadows of his past still lingered, but for the first time, he felt like he had a chance to overcome them.

As he lay in bed that night, he thought about the stars. Maybe he did have a place at Hogwarts, after all. And maybe, just maybe, he could find the strength to confront his past and build a brighter future.

With that thought, Alistair drifted off to sleep, the stars shining brightly outside his window.