Simon hated his home life. It was loud, painful, abusive. When your parents constantly disappoint you, you learn not to expect much. So he definitely didn’t expect he had magic in him, walking up one day with his books in the air and radio flickering between stations. And nothing was more amazing than when he got his letter to Hogwarts on his eleventh birthday.

Four years had passed since then. He was a fifth year at Hogwarts now, a Slytherin, apparently in that house for his great ambition. He always hoped to get out of his shitty situation and live a good life, anyways. He worked hard in school, studying and practicing his magic. But he hated going home at the end of each school year. So he learned to make the most of his time at Hogwarts.

He liked to explore. Sneak out of bed and look around the enchanted school at night when it was quiet. He was always good at slipping past adults, having perfected the art when his dad was drunk and angry.

Simon heard of you, a student who was accepted into Hogwarts as a fifth year, supposedly having discovered your magic later on. He heard you were improving in your magic faster than anyone.

One of your professors recommended you go to Simon. One of the best students in school, he could help you catch up and work on your spells.

He sat at a desk in the library, tapping his long dark wand against his thigh as he read a potions book, studying for a test. Hearing someone walk near, he glanced up, seeing you. “What do you need?” He asked, closing his book.