Troubles in Slytherin
Two months. It had been two months since Artemis Green had stepped foot inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, two months since she had been sorted into Slytherin House, and two months since her new life had begun.
But magical Britain, as she was quickly discovering, was a hellhole. And Slytherin? It was even worse.
Fleur had always known that prejudice existed in the wizarding world. She had witnessed it firsthand in her previous life, had seen the disdain with which some purebloods regarded those of lesser magical heritage. But she had never experienced it so personally, so relentlessly.
Slytherin House was a hotbed of blood purity ideology. The students here, for the most part, were raised on stories of their families' ancient lineage and the supposed superiority of pureblood magic. To them, muggleborns were an abomination, a stain on the wizarding world.
And Artemis Green was the embodiment of that abomination.
From the moment she had been sorted into Slytherin, she had been ostracized. Her dormmates, Eva, Gretta, and Hestia, kept their distance, barely acknowledging her presence. They whispered behind her back, cast furtive glances her way, and made it clear that she was not welcome among them.
But it wasn't just the girls in her dormitory. The entire house seemed to be against her. Students sneered at her in the corridors, made snide remarks about her parentage, and openly insulted her with slurs like "Mudblood" and "filthy muggle."
She was alone. Utterly and completely alone.
There were half-bloods in Slytherin, yes, but none of them dared to befriend her. They were too afraid of being ostracized themselves, of losing their place within the rigid social hierarchy of the house. They kept their heads down, toed the line, and pretended not to see the abuse she endured.
Apparently, she was the first muggleborn to be sorted into Slytherin in five years. Five years! It was as if she had broken some unspoken rule, violated the sanctity of their precious bloodline.
The only other muggleborn in Slytherin was a sixth-year boy named Marcus James. But he mostly kept to himself, a solitary figure who seemed to drift through the castle like a ghost. He never spoke to her, never even acknowledged her existence. Fleur suspected he had learned the hard way that survival in Slytherin meant keeping your head down and avoiding any association with those deemed undesirable.
The past two months had been a constant barrage of hexes, jinxes, and petty acts of cruelty. She couldn't count the number of times she had been tripped in the hallway, had her books levitated into the Black Lake, or had her robes stained with ink.
She would have retaliated, of course. She would have wiped the floor with them, hexed them into oblivion, and taught them a lesson they would never forget. But she couldn't. Not yet.
She had to maintain her charade, had to continue to play the role of the innocent, unassuming child. She couldn't reveal her true abilities, couldn't let them see the power that lay dormant beneath the surface.
It was infuriating. Humiliating. But she had to endure it. For now.
Still, it meant that she had to suffer more humiliations, more jeers and insults, more petty acts of cruelty. She gritted her teeth, swallowed her pride, and tried to ignore the constant torment. But it was wearing her down.
It was late, nearing curfew. She was returning from the library after a long evening of research. She had been trying to learn as much as she could about the history of Slytherin House, about the families who controlled its ranks, about the traditions and ideologies that shaped its members.
The library had become her sanctuary, a place where she could escape the constant harassment and immerse herself in books. But even there, she felt the eyes of her housemates on her, their judgment and disdain following her like a shadow.
She clutched her books tightly to her chest as she made her way through the dimly lit corridors, her footsteps echoing softly on the stone floor. The castle was quiet at this hour, most students tucked away in their dormitories.
As she approached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, she could hear voices inside, a group of boys laughing and talking loudly. She hesitated for a moment, a sense of foreboding washing over her.
She should have turned back. She should have taken another route. But it was too late.
As she stepped into the common room, a hex shot past her ear. Before she could react, she was disarmed, her wand flying from her hand and landing with a clatter on the stone floor.
A group of boys surrounded her, blocking her path. They were all older than her, third-years and fourth-years, their faces flushed with malice.
At the front of the group stood Rabastan Lestrange, a third-year with dark, piercing eyes and a cruel smirk playing on his lips. He was a known bully, even by Slytherin standards, and he seemed to take particular pleasure in tormenting Artemis.
"Well, well, well," Rabastan drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look what we have here. The little Mudblood is back from her studies."
The other boys laughed, their eyes fixed on Artemis with a mixture of amusement and disgust.
Artemis said nothing, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew what was coming.
"What's that you've got there, Mudblood?" Rabastan sneered, gesturing to the books she was holding. "Trying to learn how to be a real witch? Don't waste your time. You'll never be one of us."
He raised his wand, his eyes glinting with anticipation. "Let's give her a little reminder of her place, shall we?"
Before Artemis could react, Rabastan cast a hex, a purple light streaking through the air and hitting her squarely in the chest.
She gasped as a wave of nausea washed over her. Her stomach churned, and she felt a strange sensation rising in her throat.
"Slug-vomiting curse!" Rabastan cackled, watching her with sadistic glee. "Let's see how you like this, Mudblood."
Artemis stumbled backward, her hands clutched to her mouth as the first slug emerged from her throat. It was slimy and grotesque, wriggling in her hand as she tried to contain the retching.
More slugs followed, pouring out of her mouth in a never-ending stream. They were all different sizes, some small and translucent, others large and slimy. They covered her hands, her robes, the floor around her.
The boys laughed harder, their voices echoing through the common room. They pointed and jeered, reveling in her humiliation.
"Look at the Mudblood spewing her guts out!" Rabastan shouted, wiping a tear from his eye. "Disgusting!"
Artemis couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. She was choking on the slugs, her body wracked with violent convulsions.
She wanted to scream, wanted to fight back, wanted to make them pay for what they were doing to her. But she couldn't. She was too weak, too vulnerable.
They insulted her with Mudbloods and jeers of knowing her place and left her there, immobilized, vomiting slugs. As they left, Rabastan cast a Petrificus Totalus spell. The effect was immediate, her legs stuck like stone.
Fleur was alone in the corridor, immobilized, vomiting slugs.
The boys' laughter faded into the distance, leaving her in silence. A silence broken only by the sound of her own retching and the soft slithering of slugs.
Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the slime and vomit. She was covered in slugs, immobilized and humiliated. She was alone, utterly and completely alone.
And in that moment, she hated them all. She hated Slytherin House, she hated Hogwarts, and she hated magical Britain.
But most of all, she hated herself for being so weak, for allowing them to do this to her.
She vowed then and there that things would change. She would no longer be a victim. She would no longer endure their torment.
She would become stronger. She would become more powerful. And one day, she would make them pay for what they had done to her.
The slugs kept coming. She could do nothing except close her eyes and wait for it to end.
Fleur—or Artemis, as she now forced herself to think—lay crumpled on the cold stone floor of the Slytherin dungeon corridor, her body trembling from exhaustion. The slugs kept coming, one after another, sliding out of her mouth in a grotesque parade of humiliation. Her throat burned, her stomach churned, and tears streamed down her face as she silently pleaded for it to stop.
Please… someone… anyone… make it stop.
She didn’t know if she was praying to the gods, to fate, or to some higher magical entity, but she begged with all her heart. She was too weak to lift her wand, too tired to even think clearly. All she could do was lie there, immobilized by Rabastan’s spell and drowning in her own misery.
The sound of soft footsteps echoed down the corridor, breaking through the haze of her suffering. Her heart sank. More of them, she thought bitterly. Another round of jeers and curses. Another bout of humiliation.
She forced herself to look up, her vision blurred by tears and exhaustion. A shadowy figure emerged from the dim light of the dungeon corridor. As they came closer, Fleur’s heart clenched in surprise.
It wasn’t Rabastan or any of his cronies. It was Severus Snape.
The boy was thin and pale, his greasy black hair hanging limply around his face. His dark eyes were guarded as he stood a few feet away from her, his expression unreadable.
Fleur’s mind raced. Severus was a first-year like her, but he had already fallen into step with Rabastan and the other older Slytherin boys. He wasn’t a leader like Rabastan—no, he was more of a follower—but he had laughed along with their taunts before. He had watched silently as they hexed her in the common room or tripped her in the hallways.
He’s going to hex me too, Fleur thought grimly, bracing herself for another wave of pain and humiliation.
But Severus didn’t raise his wand. Instead, he hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. His dark eyes flicked over her prone form, taking in the slugs writhing on the floor around her and the tears streaming down her face.
Then, to Fleur’s utter astonishment, he raised his wand and whispered softly, “Finite.”
The effects of the curse vanished instantly. The relentless stream of slugs stopped, leaving Fleur gasping for air as she clutched at her throat. Relief flooded through her body, but it was quickly replaced by confusion as she stared up at Severus in disbelief.
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he quickly moved to one corner of the corridor and crouched down, his sharp eyes scanning the floor intently.
Fleur struggled to sit up, her body trembling with weakness. She felt like she might pass out at any moment, but sheer willpower kept her conscious. She watched Severus warily as he searched for something on the ground.
When he straightened up again, Fleur saw that he was holding two wands in his hands—his own and hers.
He glanced at her urgently and took a hesitant step forward before holding out her wand to her.
Fleur stared at him for a moment before reaching out with trembling fingers to take it from him. Her grip was weak, but she managed to hold onto it tightly as if afraid it might be taken from her again.
Severus stepped back immediately once she had her wand. His hands went to his pockets, and for a moment Fleur thought he might be reaching for another hex or jinx. But instead, he pulled out a small bundle wrapped in parchment paper.
He unfolded it carefully to reveal two sandwiches—simple ones made with thick slices of bread and what looked like cheese or ham between them. She recognised them from dinner. However, there were more pressing things.
“Eat,” he said quietly but firmly, holding them out toward her.
Fleur blinked at him in surprise. She hadn’t eaten much at dinner earlier—she rarely did these days—and now that she thought about it, she was ravenous. The sight of the sandwiches made her stomach growl loudly despite how nauseated she still felt from the curse.
She hesitated for only a moment before taking one of the sandwiches from him with a mumbled “Thank you.” She bit into it greedily, barely tasting it as she devoured it in large bites.
Severus watched her silently as she ate. His expression was unreadable again—guarded but not hostile.
As she finished the sandwich and began to feel a bit stronger, Fleur raised her wand slightly and twisted it in a subtle motion. With a silent incantation—a spell far beyond what any first-year should be capable of—she vanished every last slug from the floor around them.
The corridor was clean once more as if nothing had happened.
When Fleur looked back at Severus, she saw that his eyes were wide with shock and wonder. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time—as if trying to figure out who or what she really was.
Fleur immediately realized her mistake. She had just performed high-level silent magic right in front of him—a skill no eleven-year-old should possess—and now he was looking at her like she was some kind of anomaly.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Fleur said sharply before he could say anything. Her voice was low but firm, carrying an edge that left no room for argument.
Severus blinked at her but nodded quickly. “I won’t,” he said earnestly.
“You’d better not,” Fleur warned him, narrowing her eyes slightly. “If you do…”
“I won’t,” Severus repeated firmly. His voice was quiet but resolute this time.
There was a brief silence between them before Severus spoke again hesitantly: “How did you…?”
Fleur cut him off with a sharp look that made him fall silent immediately.
After another pause, Severus seemed to gather his courage again and said quietly: “Teach me.”
Fleur raised an eyebrow at him suspiciously. “Teach you what?”
“Magic,” Severus said simply but with an intensity that surprised her. “Spells… like that one you just did.”
Fleur studied him carefully for a moment before replying cautiously: “And what would I get in return?”
Severus hesitated briefly before answering: “I’ll teach you too.”
“Teach me what?” Fleur asked skeptically.
“Potions,” Severus said without hesitation this time. There was a spark in his eyes now—a glimmer of passion that reminded Fleur faintly of herself when she had been younger (or older—it was hard to keep track anymore). “I’m good at potions. I know some spells too.”
Fleur considered his offer carefully. She didn’t trust him—not yet—but there was something about him that intrigued her. He wasn’t like Rabastan or the other bullies; there was more depth to him than met the eye. The fact alone, that he returned after leaving with them, spoke much of him. Maybe, he was just tagging along to belong with them. Afterall, he was a halfblood. In a scenario, where the entire wizarding world, was heading slowly towards the war. Even halfbloods weren't spared.
“Fine,” Fleur said finally after a long pause. “But if you tell anyone about what you saw tonight…”
“I won’t,” Severus interrupted quickly before she could finish threatening him again.
Fleur nodded slowly before standing up shakily on unsteady legs. She felt exhausted but determined not to show any more weakness than necessary in front of this strange boy who had just saved her from further humiliation.
“Good,” she said curtly before turning away from him without another word and making her way back toward the Slytherin common room entrance.