Trying | Hogwarts OC student

chapter 13

Consequences

The next morning, Alistair woke up with a strange mix of emotions. The prank had been a temporary relief, a brief respite from his internal struggles. But the weight of his mental turmoil quickly returned, settling over him like a dark cloud. He glanced at the clock, realizing he was already late for breakfast.

Determined to avoid the Great Hall, he skipped breakfast entirely and headed straight to his first class: Potions with Professor Snape. His stomach churned with anxiety as he entered the dungeon, trying to ignore the glances from his classmates.

Snape was already in a foul mood, his sharp gaze darting around the room as he barked instructions. Alistair took his seat, attempting to keep a low profile. However, the Slytherins' whispers and glares were impossible to ignore. They had clearly not forgotten the prank by the lake, and their resentment was palpable.

As Snape moved around the classroom, inspecting the students' work, he stopped in front of Alistair's cauldron. "Montrose," Snape drawled, his voice dripping with disdain, "what do you think you're doing?"

Alistair looked up, trying to maintain his composure. "Brewing the potion, Professor."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Poorly, it seems. Your technique is abysmal."

A few Slytherins snickered, and Alistair felt his anger rising. He clenched his fists, struggling to keep his temper in check. "I'll do better," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"You had better," Snape sneered. "Or you will find yourself scrubbing cauldrons for the rest of the term."

Class continued with Alistair fighting to focus on his potion. His mind kept drifting to the tension between him and his housemates, the resentment that simmered beneath the surface. When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the lesson, Alistair felt a wave of relief.

But his reprieve was short-lived. As he exited the classroom, a group of Slytherins cornered him in the corridor. Among them were Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, their expressions hostile.

"Nice prank yesterday, Montrose," Malfoy sneered. "Thought you could make fools of us, did you?"

Alistair's anger flared. "Back off, Malfoy. I don't need this right now."

Malfoy stepped closer, his voice a dangerous whisper. "You think you're clever, hanging out with those Weasleys. But you're still just a pathetic Gryffindor wannabe."

Before Alistair could react, Crabbe and Goyle grabbed his arms, pinning him against the cold stone wall. Malfoy smirked, leaning in. "You should know your place, Montrose. And it's not with us."

A surge of rage and helplessness overwhelmed Alistair. He struggled against their grip, but they were too strong. "Let me go!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the corridor.

"Or what?" Malfoy taunted, shoving Alistair harder against the wall. "You'll run to your Gryffindor friends?"

Just as Alistair was about to lose control, a voice rang out. "What is going on here?"

Professor McGonagall appeared at the end of the corridor, her stern expression promising swift punishment. Crabbe and Goyle immediately released Alistair, and Malfoy stepped back, trying to look innocent.

"Nothing, Professor," Malfoy said smoothly. "Just a little misunderstanding."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "It looked like more than a misunderstanding to me. All of you, detention tonight. And twenty points from Slytherin."

Malfoy opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. The Slytherins glared at Alistair before slinking away, muttering under their breaths. Alistair took a deep breath, his heart still pounding.

"Are you alright, Mr. Montrose?" McGonagall asked, her voice softening slightly.

Alistair nodded, avoiding her gaze. "Yes, Professor. Thank you."

"See that you stay out of trouble," she advised, her tone firm but not unkind. "And if anyone bothers you again, come to me immediately."

As McGonagall walked away, Alistair felt a mix of gratitude and frustration. He continued to his next class, his mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. The encounter with the Slytherins had shaken him, and the unresolved tension gnawed at his insides.

By the time lunch rolled around, Alistair had no appetite. Instead, he found a secluded spot near the lake and sat down, staring at the water. His thoughts were a chaotic mess of anger, fear, and confusion. He pulled out his pouch and, despite knowing it was a temporary fix, used some of the contents to calm his nerves.

As the day dragged on, Alistair's emotional state continued to deteriorate. The weight of his struggles, both internal and external, became almost unbearable. He knew he was on the edge of a breakdown, but he didn't know how to pull himself back.

Finally, the end of the day arrived, and Alistair headed to detention. His heart sank as he entered the dimly lit classroom, where Snape awaited with a cold expression.

"Sit down, Montrose," Snape ordered.

Alistair complied, feeling the familiar surge of resentment. Snape's presence was a constant reminder of his failures, his inadequacies. As Snape began assigning tasks, Alistair's anger bubbled just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

"Montrose," Snape said sharply, "you seem distracted. Care to explain?"

Alistair clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "No, Professor."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "I don't tolerate insolence. You're here to serve detention, not to daydream."

Something inside Alistair snapped. The constant pressure, the never-ending scrutiny—it was too much. He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "I'm not insolent!" he shouted, his voice trembling with fury. "And I'm not your punching bag!"

Snape's expression darkened. "Control yourself, Montrose, or you will face further consequences."

"I've had enough!" Alistair yelled, his vision blurring with rage. "I'm done with you, with this, with everything!"

Without waiting for a response, Alistair stormed out of the classroom, ignoring Snape's calls to return. He ran through the corridors, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't stop until he reached the castle doors, bursting outside into the cool evening air.

Breathing heavily, Alistair continued running until he reached the lake, where he collapsed on the shore, the weight of his emotions finally crashing down on him. The water lapped gently at the shore, a stark contrast to the turmoil within him.

As he sat there, the sky darkening above, Alistair felt a deep sense of despair. He didn't know how to move forward, how to find peace amidst the chaos.