Trying | Hogwarts OC student

chapter 11

Unleashed Anger

The following day dawned with a heavy weight on Alistair Montrose's shoulders. He awoke unrested, his mind still clouded by turbulent emotions. The usual routine of Hogwarts felt suffocating, each passing glance and whispered comment adding to his sense of isolation.

Unable to face the scrutiny of the Great Hall, Alistair slipped away unnoticed after a meager breakfast. He wandered aimlessly through the castle corridors until he found himself in a deserted bathroom on the fourth floor.

With trembling hands, he retrieved a small pouch from his pocket. Inside was a stash of dried herbs, carefully concealed from prying eyes. Alistair had brought it from home, a secret indulgence he turned to in moments of desperate need.

He crumbled a small amount into a makeshift pipe and lit it with a flick of his wand. The pungent aroma filled the air as he inhaled deeply, the smoke curling around him in lazy tendrils. Alistair closed his eyes, letting the familiar numbness wash over him, pushing back the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm.

But the relief was fleeting. The guilt and shame crept in like shadows, twisting his thoughts into a knot of self-loathing. He had promised himself he wouldn't rely on it, that he could control it. Yet here he was, seeking solace in a haze of smoke.

As the minutes ticked by, Alistair's mind drifted to darker places. Memories he had tried to bury resurfaced with painful clarity. He thought of his family, of their expectations and disappointment. He thought of Snape's piercing gaze and the weight of his own mistakes.

Alistair clenched his jaw, fighting back tears of frustration and despair. He couldn't let them see him like this, weak and vulnerable. He had to be strong, for himself if not for anyone else.

But the mask was slipping, the cracks widening with each passing day. He was drowning in a sea of uncertainty, struggling to find solid ground amidst the tumultuous waves.

Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open, startling Alistair out of his reverie. He hastily pocketed the pouch and tried to compose himself as Snape entered the room, his expression a mix of surprise and disapproval.

"Montrose," Snape's voice cut through the thick air, cold and unforgiving. "What are you doing here?"

Alistair's heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to find an excuse. "I... I needed a moment alone," he managed to stammer out, avoiding Snape's piercing gaze.

Snape's eyes narrowed, his gaze flickering to the faint smell lingering in the air. "And what is that smell?" he asked sharply, his voice betraying a hint of suspicion.

Alistair's mind raced for a plausible answer, but he knew Snape could see right through him. He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "It's nothing, Professor," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Snape took a step closer, his presence looming over Alistair. "Do not lie to me, Montrose," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I can't have students indulging in illicit substances."

Alistair's hands shook as he struggled to maintain his composure. "I... I just needed something to take the edge off," he admitted bitterly, his anger bubbling to the surface.

Snape's expression hardened, disappointment etched on his features. "You're better than this," he said firmly, his voice tinged with frustration. "You have potential, but you're squandering it."

Alistair's chest tightened, a mixture of shame and defiance coursing through him. "What do you care?" he snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. "You've never cared about anyone but yourself."

Snape's dark eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do not presume to know me, Montrose," he warned, his voice low and menacing. "You have no idea what I've faced."

Alistair met Snape's gaze, his anger flaring like a wildfire. "Maybe I don't want to end up like you," he shot back, his words sharp and cutting.

Snape's jaw clenched, his control slipping for a moment. "You have a choice," he said quietly, his voice strained. "Do not let this define you."

Enraged by Snape's calm demeanor, Alistair's temper snapped. Without thinking, he lunged forward, his hands curling into fists. "You don't understand anything!" he shouted, his voice raw with fury. "You think you can just lecture me and everything will be fine?"

Snape's reflexes were quick. He sidestepped Alistair's attack with practiced ease, but not before Alistair's fist grazed his shoulder. Snape's eyes flashed with a mix of surprise and concern, his usual stoicism momentarily shaken.

Alistair's chest heaved with exertion, his anger pulsing like a heartbeat. He stared at Snape, breathing heavily, the rush of adrenaline leaving him trembling.

Snape's voice was low, almost a growl. "Control yourself, Montrose," he warned, his tone cutting through the tense air like a whip. "You will not find solace in this."

But Alistair was beyond reason. The rage consumed him, blinding him to everything else. With a cry of frustration and anguish, he struck out again, his fists connecting with Snape's chest this time.

Snape staggered back, caught off guard by the ferocity of the attack. Alistair's blows were fueled by a torrent of emotions—anger, self-hatred, and the overwhelming desire to lash out at someone, anyone.

"Stop!" Snape's voice echoed in the small bathroom, commanding and authoritative. His wand was out in an instant, but he didn't raise it against Alistair. Instead, he stepped back, assessing the situation with a mixture of concern and restraint.

Alistair's chest heaved as he stood there, fists clenched and trembling. His mind raced, filled with a chaotic whirlwind of regret and defiance.

"You need to calm down," Snape said, his voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. "This won't solve anything."

Alistair's breath came in ragged gasps. The adrenaline began to ebb, leaving behind a hollow emptiness. He looked at Snape, his eyes burning with unshed tears, a mixture of shame and confusion swirling within him.

"I... I can't," Alistair muttered, his voice barely audible.

Snape studied him for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. "You need to learn to channel your anger," he said finally, his tone softer but no less commanding. "There are better ways."

Alistair's shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. He sank to the floor, feeling defeated and vulnerable. The weight of his actions settled heavily on his conscience, a painful reminder of how far he had strayed.

Snape approached cautiously, kneeling beside him with a rare display of empathy. "You're not alone in this," he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of understanding. "But you must choose a different path."

Alistair looked at Snape, seeing him in a new light. The anger still simmered beneath the surface, but so did a flicker of hope—a possibility that maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to navigate the storm raging within him.