My name Is Marcus Gabriel Flint and I'm a very stupid slytherin. Do you want to know why I'm stupid? I'm stupid because I came back to help fight, but not for the Dark Lord's side, oh no. No, I came back to help at the last person in history I'd ever think I'd help.

Harry Potter and his ragtag band of merry misfits. Nice eh?

Do you see why now I'm so stupid? I betrayed my house, I betrayed my family's pure-blood loving ancestry, and I've joined the mudblood, blood traitor types like the Longbottom's, Weasley's, and those rare exceptions of the Black family. The battle is over, the fight for the light has won, and people are in a mixed state. Some laugh, some cry. Me? I just keep walking alone amongst the ravaged halls of my school, stepping neatly over the dead both human and nonhuman alike. My boots stick to the floor due to so much blood. I ignore the squashing sound each time I pick up my heel from a particularly large patch. The blood mixes together on the stone floor; human, centaur, house elf. It creates its own life force, staining the stones, becoming a permanent fixture of the building.

It drips, leaking amongst the stones, a tribute to the over fifty silent ghosts that have given their lives for a cause they so righteously believed it- weather for the light or the dark. We put our all into the fight, putting our lives on the line for our ideals. Its hazardous for everyone, and in times like these, families have never been closer. My own parents knew that during the first war, nearly twenty years ago. I grew up with the legends of the Dark Lord and his most devoted followers. I parroted the same lines in school, gave the same stupid, and selfish reasons to support the darker cause. Now, I'm making a living hunting down and arresting the same people I'd once been so proud of.

Family and blood purity are everything to those lucky (or is it unlucky?) to be born into pureblood families. The first unspoken rule is simple- never betray your own, or suffer the consequences. I laughed a little at this.

How long is it now? Before I'm walking along and a flash of green light ends my life? A few days? A few months? Maybe a year? I'm living on borrowed time.

I don't even know if any of my friends are even still alive. Draco? Pansy? Crabbe? Goyle? Blaise? I try not to think about them. It'll hurt too much if I do. Regardless of what people say, I do care. I keep walking, and focus my eyes directly in front of me, eyes sweeping the corridors for any stragglers that had escaped, or anyone laying wounded that couldn't call for help. I must have been close to the Great Hall, because I could see the massive maw of the door open, people entering and exiting quickly, talking amongst themselves.

I pause, leaning over the stairwell, peering down with a indifferent look on my face. Don't cry… for the love of Godric, don't cry. I see Weasley and Granger walking down the wall, but separately, if there's something or someone between them. They make their way upstairs; they're going to the Headmaster's old office. I blow air out of my mouth, I'd been holding my breath. The raw aching pain leaves my lungs, and for a moment I turn away, a few quick and quiet tears slip down my face. I brush them away, and then put my mask back on.

I force myself away from the Great Hall, and continue on with making my rounds. I take a staircase as it moves, forgetting my sense of direction, and end up towards the hospital wing. I can hear screams of pain, moans of the dying. The stench of medicine and burnt flesh suddenly assault my senses with such force, I have to pull my robe over my nose to keep from vomiting. I see some assistant healers from St. Mungo's carrying the wounded into the overly cramped hospital, shouting out orders, as Madame Pompfrey takes control of the entire situation. I hang back, in the shadow of the hall, watching the witch with her head held high, a defiant gleam in her eye. She's short, stocky, never killed a single person in her entire life. She's never been flustered, or missed a healing spell or potion. She's covered in blood up to her neck, and still she prevails.

I marvel at the wonder of this woman. I can recall so many times I brutally harassed her while I was under her care. My stomach lurched, and I continued on through the halls.

"Marcus… Mr. Flint…. What are you doing here?" a sharp voice questions me.

I shudder instinctively. Professor… well… technically Headmistress McGonagall now. I relax my coiled muscles, slowly turning to face my onetime teacher, another whom, long ago I had hated and despised, and would have easily cut down in battle.

"Headmistress," I began slowly. "I'm…. I'm here to help. I'm patrolling the corridors to see if I can find any wounded, and round up any stragglers on Lord Voldemort's side… if any did happen to survive." I said truthfully. Inwardly, I was trembling like a first year caught cheating on his end of term exams. I saw McGongagall's weary, skeptical eyes on mine. Her mouth opened but no words came out. She took a tentative step towards me. She looked so damn tired. I offered my arm, gently supporting her weight with my own.

"Please, let me make amends." I begged softly. "I'm an Auror now, and its my job to help out as best I can."

I felt her frail body tremble with a surprised chuckle. I began leading her back towards the hospital wing, going slower than before my recent walkabout a few moments ago. I looked at those wise eyes, and lined face that was both proud and sad. I reached into my filthy robes for my wand, aiming it at her torn robes.

" Reparo."

Some, not all of the tears were instantly mended. She'd been struck with curses, that I could see, and my pathetic spells would do little. I hoped, in some small way, I could return some of her dignity, this student who had so justly wronged her.

"Mr. Flint…. Why?" McGongall kept pressing for an answer. I shrugged, easily adjusting her weight. I couldn't think of a proper one. Her hand was chapped, and partially burnt. I could see the skin, rubbed raw. I aimed my wand again.


I watched, as the torn flesh mended itself. I was a slipshot at healing magic, that much was true, but I eternally thanked my supervisor for pushing me so hard to get good marks in healing 101 during my tenure of training days.

" Mr. Flint, thank you…"

Beneath that gruff exterior, I could hear the pride in her voice. Weakly, her recently fixed hand reached over, and patted my own. For the first time, I felt pride swell through me. As we got closer, I could see Healers still attending to the wounded. I saw Pompfrey at the charge, still barking out orders as more drifted in.

"Oh, Minvera! I'm so glad you're-" her surprised face spoke untold volumes. The headmistress being escorted in by a former slytherien student, most except for Slughorn or Draco had willingly fled the school through the Hog's Head into Hogsmeade. I looked up at Pompfrey, and silently nodded to McGonagall.

"I'm just dropping her off," I said quickly. " She looks ok, but a closer inspection wouldn't hurt, considering these circumstances…"

"Yes, quite right…" her words seemed detached, distanced. I gently lowered my former headmistress on the first available cot. Moments later, a Healer was already casting a diagnostic charm, and immediately making her take a variety of potions, and putting dittany on the burns and bruises that I couldn't heal myself.

"He means well, Poppy." McGonagall said from the bed, now propped up and covered in about three blankets. "I wouldn't have gotten here so easily without his help."

"Mmm." Pompfrey turned towards me, her eye harsh and critical still. I didn't blame her. I didn't blame anyone who gave me a dirty look. To me, looks were greater than having spells or hexes cast my way. I dipped my head in silent gratitude, and quietly slipped from the chaos, passing a floating stretcher in which a wizard had almost lost his arm to a nasty severing spell.

I could do no more here. So, I continued on.


When I was a child, there were rumors circulated that I had the blood of trolls in me. They're nasty, disgusting smelly creatures who only cause destruction and don't give a damn for anyone else. Their sole purpose is to kill, loot, and destroy.

Hmmm.. perhaps the snake is the wrong emblem for the Slytheirn house.

So, I lived with these rumors. It served me well in school. I flew the fastest, the hardest in quidditch. I could beat and bludgeon like no one's business. Despite popular belief, I even attacked my studies with the same mindset. This 'troll' had gotten all E's in his O.W.L.S. The following summer when got the results, I was so happy I cried. I kept the parchment tucked under my pillow every night while I slept.

This troll boy had outdone some of the best students of his year.

But there's a funny thing about trolls. Besides being big, bulky, and stupid, they're also very stubborn, and don't hold any loyalty to anyone. I've read about it. If another troll has something bigger and better, another will come along and just take whatever it has.

So… I guess the rumors of troll blood being in me are true. This troll man, who was all but handed a seat in Voldemort's army switched sides, and joined the ranks of the misfits and oppressed. The boy who everyone called ignorant and stupid became a man, who in turn became an Auror. I ran a hand through my sweaty hair, leaning against the wall to gather my thoughts.

This toll man had risen from what was supposed to be, and became and did what he wanted to be. I couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. My parents were less than thrilled with my decision, and on my seventeenth birthday, I found myself with only one hundred galleons to my name, and effectively cut off from the family account at Gringott's. I stayed with a friend of the family, while the rumblings of war came closer and closer with each passing month. At nineteen, I applied and was accepted for Auror training. Now twenty-three, I'm a full qualified Auror, and have actually aided in helping new recruits- they're so few in number. I reached into my pocket for my watch. It was almost time to switch patrol shifts. I pointed my wand, aiming it in midair.

"Expecto Patronum."

Gray smoke sparked from my wand tip, circulating into a wolf which make a silent howl . It curled around at my feet, looking lazy. I smirked… how many students of slytheirn could even use a patronus. I flicked my wand again.

"Auror Robards, Auror Flint reporting in. Cleared hallways in the first and second corridors. I'm taking the third, and have Auror-Trainee Simmons and Auror Renault to cover the west grounds. I'll meet up with Auror Gavin."

The wolf responded, leaping over the stairwell, and vanishing into the vast expanse of the school. I pushed myself from the wall, and continued on my stubborn way.

It was the troll blood in me after all.


A/N: Hmmm, a rather interesting piece. I'm thinking of doing some short-fics with Auror Marcus Flint in the future. Please review, It'd mean a lot to me. Until next time.

Jade Star