Arthur Belmont-Prince and The Cursed Mirror: Harry Potter Fanfiction

If Hogwarts handed out awards for the most impromptu rise to fame, I was a shoo-in, especially after my 'let's-not-die-today' aerial antics. So, it shouldn't have surprised me that my next big challenge was facing Aunt Iris in her office, also known as the lair of academic doom.

"Arthur Severus Belmont-Prince, do you have any idea what 'reckless' means?" Aunt Iris didn't just speak; she projected her voice like it was bouncing off the back walls of the Grand Canyon.

"Um, an adventurous spirit?" I tried, giving her my best 'I'm just an innocent first-year' smile. Soren, perched high on a shelf filled with potions that bubbled like they were cooking up trouble, rolled his eyes. I got the message: *You're on your own, buddy*.

She sighed, her gaze softening just a notch as she surveyed her cluttered office—a wild mix of magical artifacts and scrolls that looked like they could unroll into oblivion. "You could have been hurt, Arthur. Hospital Wing hurt. Or worse, expelled!"

"Expelled for being too good?" I quirked an eyebrow. "Come on, I kept it mostly above ground."

Aunt Iris massaged her temples as if my flying stunts were giving her a headache right here and now. "That's not the point. However," her tone shifted, a smile threatening at the edges of her strict demeanor, "you did catch the eye of Professor Slughorn and the Slytherin Quidditch team. They're making an exception for you. Youngest Seeker in decades."

I blinked. Twice. "Wait, the Quidditch team? I'm on the team?" My voice might have squeaked there—just a bit.

"Indeed. Slughorn was particularly impressed. Said you had a...flair," Aunt Iris explained, her arms crossing as if she were still deciding whether this was good news.

"Flair? That's one word for it," I mumbled, trying to wrap my head around the fact that I'd gone from potential pancake to team hero in less than a day.

"So, you're not mad?" The words tumbled out before I could corral them.

"I'm furious," she shot back, but her eyes twinkled with something that looked suspiciously like pride. "But also proud. You've got talent, Arthur. Just don't make a habit of giving me heart palpitations. Understand?"

"Understood." I stood a little taller. Maybe I could handle this.

"And your first practice is tomorrow. Early," she added. "You might want to brush up on your Quidditch rules. And strategy. And maybe some basic survival skills."

"Got it. No more kamikaze moves," I promised, though I was already mentally circling tomorrow on my mental calendar with a mix of dread and excitement.

"As for the Bludgers," Aunt Iris continued, her tone shifting back to serious, "avoid them. And remember, this isn't just about flying—it's about being part of a team. Slytherin expects victory, and they play hard. Don't let them down."

"No pressure, then," I said, only half-joking.

"Pressure makes diamonds, Arthur. Or, in your case, hopefully a decent Seeker." She offered a rare, genuine smile. "Just try to keep your feet on the ground when you're not on a broom, okay?"

"Will do." I saluted, which earned me an eye-roll.

Walking out of Aunt Iris's office, the world seemed a bit more wobbly, or maybe that was just my legs. Hogwarts's corridors had never felt so much like the paths to an arena where I, armed only with a broomstick, was about to face lions—or in my case, Bludgers and the critical eyes of my teammates.

The news of my Quidditch recruitment traveled faster than a Golden Snitch at game time. By dinner, half the school seemed to think I was the next Viktor Krum. The other half probably wanted to see if I'd crash and burn during my first practice. I'd prefer the Viktor Krum comparisons, thank you very much.

As I made my way to the Great Hall, I bumped into Elias, who was nearly bouncing off the walls. "Arthur! I heard the news! Slytherin Seeker? That's brilliant!" He clapped me on the back so hard I nearly choked on my own surprise.

"Yeah, it's… something," I managed, still trying to digest it myself. Elias, being Elias, was already twenty steps ahead.

"You're going to need some serious practice, mate. The Bludgers in Slytherin's cabinet are older than Professor Binns, and twice as nasty," he said, eyes wide with a mix of excitement and maybe a hint of envy.

Just then, Hermione joined us, her arms loaded with books that probably contained more information about Quidditch than I'd ever care to know. "Arthur, I've compiled some readings for you," she announced, dumping the heavy stack into my arms. "Quidditch tactics, historical game outcomes, Seeker-specific maneuvers—you need to study these."

I glanced at the top book, *The Seeker's Bible: Dodging Disaster on a Broomstick*. It looked like it could double as a shield in a pinch. "Thanks, Hermione. I'll definitely skim these."

"Skim?" She raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with disapproval. "You'll read them cover to cover if you want to last more than one game."

Before I could promise to read every word (or at least look at every picture), a loud, echoing voice filled the hall. Draco Malfoy, flanked by his usual cronies, made his way over, a sneer plastered across his face that could curdle milk. "Prince, so you're the new wonder boy. Let's hope you fly better in games than you did in the flying lesson, for your sake."

His words hung in the air like a challenge. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Malfoy," I shot back, forcing a grin. Elias snickered beside me, and even Hermione seemed to stiffen in preparation for a verbal duel.

"Watch yourself," Draco warned before turning on his heel and striding away, his gang trailing behind him like a bad odor.

As they left, Elias leaned in, lowering his voice. "Ignore him. He's just sore he wasn't made Seeker."

"Great, now I have a target on my back," I muttered, suddenly not so enthusiastic about my new title.

"Don't worry," Hermione interjected, her tone suddenly serious. "You have us. And we're going to make sure you're prepared." She then added under her breath, "Even if I have to quiz you on Quidditch rules every day until the season starts."

I raised an eyebrow. "Daily quizzes? What are you going to do, throw in extra credit for dodging Bludgers?"

Hermione's expression softened into a rare, teasing smile. "If you survive Flint's practices and my quizzes, you might just make it through the season with both your broomstick and your dignity intact."

Elias, who had been watching with barely concealed amusement, added, "And if you ever need a break from Hermione's Quidditch crash course, you can always join me for some less stressful activities. Like, say, trying to keep up with Draco Malfoy's latest attempts at looking like he's plotting world domination."

Hermione shot Elias a mock glare. "And while you're at it, make sure Arthur doesn't get distracted by the next shiny thing that comes his way. We have enough on our plates without adding 'lost Seeker' to the list."

I chuckled, feeling a bit more at ease. "Alright, I get it. Quidditch rules and avoiding Malfoy's glare. Got it. Thanks, guys."

Hermione gave a final nod of approval. "Good. Because in a few weeks, you'll need to be ready for more than just surviving practice. We're talking full-on Quidditch glory, or, as I like to call it, 'No pressure at all.'"

"Perfect," I said, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in my stomach. "Just what I wanted to hear."

Later in the evening, as I staggered back from a grueling study session (during which the books had been about as friendly as a nest of Blast-Ended Skrewts),

I overheard a couple of older students deep in discussion about the daring bank heist that had been the buzz of the wizarding world. "You've got to have nerves of steel—or maybe just nothing between the ears—to try a stunt like that," one of them said, shaking his head with a mix of disbelief and admiration.

Curiosity got the better of my exhaustion. I slowed down, my feet quiet on the cold stone floor. Gringotts? This was the kind of tale that could spice up even Professor Binns' history lectures—and trust me, his idea of an exciting class is discussing parchment manufacturing in the 14th century.

"Bonkers or brilliant, it's a razor's edge," the second student snickered, his voice echoing down the hallway like a renegade Bludger. "Cracking into a dragon-watch vault? It's akin to nicking a bread roll from the Hogwarts kitchens while dodging Mrs. Norris's eyes."

"Except this roll is more like an enchanted artifact or something," his friend whispered back. They didn't seem to notice me lurking in the shadows, pretending to tie my shoelace for the third time.

"Exactly. Word is, it was Voldemort's old cronies, trying to snag something that could bring him back. But the goblins got the last laugh this time."

My heart did a full-on Olympic sprint. This wasn't just some typical school gossip; this was huge. Seriously huge. The kind of huge that could turn a normal school year into a blockbuster myth where even the ghosts would argue over who gets to tell the story.

"So, it's here now? At Hogwarts?" the second student asked, eyes wide as saucers.

"That's what the house-elves are whispering," the first confirmed. "Dumbledore's got it stashed away somewhere safer than behind the Whomping Willow on a windy day."

I had to crack a smile. Classic Dumbledore, keeping world-shaking secrets as casual as sending an owl for the daily post. This wasn't just some little-known spell or hidden passage—it felt like the kind of secret that could blow the roof off the Great Hall.

Their footsteps began to fade, and I knew my window for eavesdropping was closing faster than the Golden Snitch could zip out of sight. I straightened up, my brain spinning faster than a Grindylow in a whirlpool. Hogwarts, with its endless corridors and ancient secrets, was gearing up for something big. Really big. And somehow, I'd gotten a front-row ticket to the show.

With the secret still burning a hole in my brain, I marched back to Slytherin's common room. The greenish light flickering off the walls made the place look more like a submarine than a school lounge, but tonight, it felt like a command center.

I slumped into the nearest chair, trying to process everything. The room was bustling with the usual pre-dinner chaos. Slytherins didn't do small talk; it was either plotting or silence. I opted for silence.

My brain was doing somersaults. Voldemort's old gang on the loose again? A hidden artifact with enough juice to bring back He-Who-Needs-A-Haircut? And some mystery challenge that I barely had a clue about yet? It felt like I'd been dropped into the worst kind of horror movie—except it was all too real, and there was no popcorn in sight. I was wide awake, alright, and this nightmare was just getting started.

A few moments later, just as I was about to flip a galleon—detective work or just crash as a pile of first-year mush—a familiar voice cut through my mental tug-of-war.

"Arthur, you look like you've seen a ghost. And not the Nearly Headless kind," drawled Daphne Greengrass as she glided into the seat next to me, her usual cool composure in place. Before I could respond, another voice chimed in from the opposite side of the common room.

"More like he's been chased by one," said Theodore Nott, his tone casual as he leaned against the back of a nearby armchair, twirling his wand between his fingers with an air of practiced ease. "What's got you looking so grim, Prince?"

"Just thinking about practice tomorrow," I replied, rubbing my temples. "And, well… I overheard some older students talking about a heist at Gringotts. Apparently, someone actually broke into a vault—one guarded by a dragon, no less. That's like sneaking into Slughorn's office to steal his secret crystallised pineapple stash and living to tell the tale."

Daphne raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. "A heist at Gringotts? That's bold. Or completely suicidal."

"Definitely suicidal," added Blaise Zabini as he sauntered over, his usual expression of cool detachment in place. "But also rather intriguing. I wouldn't mind knowing who has the nerve to pull off something like that. Gringotts doesn't just house money, after all—it's a fortress of secrets."

"Exactly," I said, leaning forward a bit, the intrigue bubbling up despite my exhaustion. "But what would make someone take such a risk? I mean, what could be so important that they'd willingly face a dragon?"

Blaise shrugged, his gaze shifting to the flickering flames. "People do crazy things for power, prestige, or even something as simple as revenge. But whatever it was, they must have had some serious skill or a death wish."

Theodore nodded thoughtfully. "Gringotts is practically impenetrable. But if someone managed to get in and out, it means they either had inside help, or they were carrying some serious magical gear. Either way, it's impressive."

"Or completely bonkers," I muttered, though I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it. "Whoever it was, they must've been either incredibly brave or just plain reckless."

"Probably both," Daphne said with a small smirk. "But enough about bank heists. You need to focus on surviving practice tomorrow. Flint's going to be watching you like a hawk—he's got high standards, and he won't go easy on you just because you're new."

"Great, just what I needed to hear," I said with a groan, sinking further into the armchair. "What's his deal, anyway? Does he actually enjoy making first-years fear for their lives?"

"Flint's a perfectionist," Blaise chimed in, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. "Slytherin's reputation is everything to him. He's not about to let anyone slack off—not even the new Seeker. But don't worry, Arthur. If you weren't up to the challenge, you wouldn't be on the team."

"Yeah, potential to get knocked out by a Bludger," I mumbled, though their words did take a bit of the edge off my nerves.

Theodore gave me a small, reassuring nod. "You'll be fine, Arthur. Just remember—Slytherin plays to win. If you can prove yourself tomorrow, you'll earn more than just a spot on the team. You'll earn respect. And that's worth more than you might think."

I nodded, feeling a mix of apprehension and determination. "Thanks, Theo. And Blaise, Daphne… I'll do my best. But if I end up in the Hospital Wing, just remember to visit, okay?"

"Deal," Daphne said, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "But don't make it a habit. We've got a long season ahead."

"You might even enjoy it," Theodore added, his tone lightening. "Once you get past the initial terror, that is."

"Flint's tough, but if you show him you're not afraid to work, he'll respect that," Blaise added, his cool demeanor never wavering. "And besides, you'll have us watching your back."

With that, the three of them stood up, making their way toward the dormitories, leaving me to mull over their words. They were right—tomorrow wasn't just about surviving practice. It was about proving that I belonged, that I could hold my own in the toughest house at Hogwarts.

The common room was starting to empty out, the flickering flames casting long shadows that danced across the stone walls. I let out a long breath, feeling a little more centered. Tomorrow was going to be tough, no doubt about it, but I wasn't about to back down.

As I pushed myself up from the chair and made my way to the dormitory, ready to get some rest, I caught a final glimpse of Daphne, Theodore, and Blaise disappearing down the corridor. It was good to know that, even in a house as competitive as Slytherin, I had allies.

The next day, as usual, the sun decided to crash my sleepover way too early. On the Quidditch pitch, the morning air was nibbling at my cheeks like I was its personal snack. It was a crisp, unwelcome reminder that we weren't just goofing around on school brooms anymore. The whole Slytherin squad was lined up, brooms in hand, wearing expressions that mixed curiosity with a healthy dose of 'yeah, right' looks."

The captain, a seventh-year named Marcus Flint, approached me. He was big, with shoulders that looked like they could carry the whole team's hopes without breaking a sweat. "Belmont-Prince, ready to show us what you've got?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I replied, hoping my voice carried more confidence than I felt.

With a sharp nod, Flint blew his whistle, the whistle echoed across the pitch like a battle cry. I tightened my grip on my broom—an old Cleansweep Five that had seen better days—and swallowed the lump in my throat. The Slytherin team members took to the air, circling above like vultures eyeing their next meal. I kicked off the ground, heart pounding in my chest as I soared upward, trying to keep up with them. The pitch seemed to stretch endlessly below me, and the morning fog curled around the stands like ghostly spectators.

Flint's voice cut through the wind like a blade. "Alright, Prince, let's see if you're worth the hype. Bludgers, out!"

I barely had time to brace myself before the Bludgers were released, rocketing into the sky with a malevolent glee. One of them made a beeline for me, and I swerved just in time, my broom dipping dangerously close to the ground. A whoosh of air passed over me as it missed by inches. My heart was now pounding not just in my chest, but in my ears, my throat, my very fingertips.

"Nice dodge!" Elias shouted from below, his voice a distant cheer.

"Yeah, but don't celebrate yet," I muttered, keeping my eyes peeled for the second Bludger. There it was, spinning furiously in my direction. I tilted the broom up, shooting skyward in a steep climb. The Bludger followed, its relentless pursuit reminding me of a particularly angry wasp.

I zigzagged through the air, each turn sharper and faster than the last. The Bludger was relentless, but so was I. After what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes, the Bludger finally veered off course, heading toward Flint, who batted it away with a lazy flick of his bat.

"Not bad,Prince," Flint called out. "But don't get cocky. We're just getting started."

I didn't have time to catch my breath before Flint unleashed the Quaffle. The Chasers moved like a well-oiled machine, passing the Quaffle between them at blinding speed. I circled above, keeping an eye out for the Golden Snitch. Somewhere in this chaos, it was flitting about, waiting for me to catch it. No pressure, right?

The drills were intense, and I was soon sweating despite the chilly morning air. Flint was a tough captain, barking orders and expecting nothing less than perfection. But with each pass, each dodge, each dive, I could feel myself getting better, more in sync with the broom beneath me. The nervousness that had gripped me earlier began to fade, replaced by a focused determination.

And then I saw it. A flash of gold near the edge of the pitch. The Snitch.

I leaned forward, urging my old Cleansweep to go faster. The wind whipped through my hair, the world around me blurring as I honed in on the tiny golden ball. The Snitch darted away, zigzagging just out of reach. I chased it, every muscle in my body straining to close the gap.

But just as I was about to grab it, a Bludger slammed into the side of my broom. I was thrown off course, spinning wildly in the air. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought I was going to crash. But somehow, miraculously, I regained control, pulling up just before I hit the ground.

The Snitch was gone. And the team was watching.

"Close, but not close enough," Flint said, his tone neutral. "Remember, Prince, in Quidditch, close doesn't cut it. You've got to be faster, smarter, better."

"Yeah, I got that," I muttered, still trying to steady my breathing. I could feel the weight of their eyes on me—some impressed, some skeptical. But I hadn't made it this far by backing down. I was ready for round two.

Practice continued until my arms ached and my legs felt like jelly. By the time Flint finally called it, I was exhausted, but there was a spark of pride there too. I might not have caught the Snitch today, but I'd held my own. And that was something.

As I landed, Elias jogged up to me, nearly tripping over his own feet in excitement. "Arthur! That was brilliant! If you squint and ignore the parts where you looked like you were about to be knocked into next week."

I managed a weak smile, feeling like I'd just been through a spin cycle in a particularly vengeful washing machine. "Yeah, if we're counting near misses and acorn dodges as part of the official Seeker training, then I'm all set to become a legend."

"More than that," a new voice chimed in. I turned to see Caitlyn Ollivander approaching, her Hufflepuff scarf trailing behind her as she walked with a calm, confident stride.

She smiled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Not bad for your first time out with the team. But don't think I'm letting you get away with almost crashing. You know how hard it is to find a replacement Cleansweep?"

I grinned back, despite my exhaustion. "I was just giving the broom a test run, you know, making sure it could handle the pressure."

Caitlyn burst out laughing, the sound as infectious as one of Fred and George's joke candies. "Not bad out there, Arthur! But don't think you've mastered it all yet. Sure, Slytherin craves victories like a Niffler loves shiny things, but remember, it's not just about snatching the win—it's how you play the game."

"Yeah, I get it," I admitted, her words sinking in. Caitlyn had this uncanny ability to notice things that flew right over my head, and her advice was always spot-on, like a well-aimed Bludger.

She nudged me with a grin. "And hey, if you ever want some extra pointers, just holler. I might bleed Hufflepuff yellow, but I can teach a mean flying lesson or two."

"Deal," I agreed, feeling a spark of optimism. Leave it to Caitlyn to turn daunting Quidditch drills into something that sounded almost fun.

**Author's Note:**

Hey everyone!

Wow, this chapter was a whirlwind of emotions, wasn't it? From the high-flying chaos of Arthur's impromptu Quidditch debut to the stern but supportive words from Aunt Iris, our young wizard is definitely feeling the full weight of what it means to be at Hogwarts—and not just any student, but one with a rapidly rising profile.

Writing this chapter was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking because it dives right into the heart of Arthur's experience at Hogwarts. I wanted to capture the mix of excitement, fear, and sheer determination that comes with suddenly finding yourself thrust into the limelight. Arthur's journey is shaping up to be anything but ordinary, and this chapter really showcases that transition from just another first-year to someone who might just leave a mark—whether he likes it or not.

Arthur's interaction with Aunt Iris was a key moment for me. Here's someone who clearly cares deeply for him but isn't about to let him off the hook for reckless behavior. I wanted to show that balance between strictness and affection—a reminder that while Hogwarts is full of adventures, there are real risks, and those who care about Arthur won't hesitate to remind him of that. Aunt Iris is a blend of mentor and guardian, pushing Arthur to realize his potential while also grounding him in the reality of the magical world's dangers.

And then there's the Quidditch practice—Arthur's first real taste of what it means to be part of something bigger at Hogwarts. This scene was a blast to write, especially with the inclusion of Marcus Flint, who, let's face it, is not the most gentle of captains. Arthur's experience with the Slytherin team isn't just about proving himself on the field; it's about earning respect in a house where competition is fierce, and failure isn't an option.

But Arthur isn't alone in this journey. Elias, Hermione, and even Caitlyn Ollivander are there to support him, each in their unique way. I love writing these interactions because they show different facets of Arthur's personality—his humor with Elias, his begrudging acceptance of Hermione's wisdom, and his camaraderie with Caitlyn. These relationships are becoming the bedrock of his Hogwarts experience, and they add depth to his character as he navigates the ups and downs of being a young wizard with a lot on his shoulders.

Peeves, of course, had to make an appearance during Arthur's flying lesson. I couldn't resist adding that chaotic element—because what's Hogwarts without a bit of mayhem? Peeves is the perfect foil for Arthur's attempts at normalcy, always there to stir the pot just when things seem to be settling down.

The discovery of the Gringotts heist was another turning point in this chapter. This plot thread is going to weave through the story in ways that will keep both Arthur and readers on their toes. The idea that there's something much bigger at play within the walls of Hogwarts adds a layer of intrigue and danger that I'm really excited to explore further. It's these kinds of secrets that make Hogwarts feel like more than just a school—it's a place where history, mystery, and destiny are all intertwined.

Arthur's growing reputation, the pressure to succeed, and the looming sense of something bigger happening in the background are all setting the stage for some major developments. I'm thrilled to see how Arthur will rise to the challenges ahead, especially with the support (and occasional tough love) from his friends and mentors.

So, what did you all think of Arthur's first Quidditch practice? How about the interactions with Aunt Iris and the rest of the Slytherin team? And what are your theories about the Gringotts heist? I'd love to hear your thoughts and predictions—drop them in the comments below!

Thank you for your continued support and enthusiasm for Arthur's journey. It's your excitement that fuels my creativity, and I'm so grateful to have such an amazing group of readers along for the ride.

Until next time, keep your brooms steady, your spells sharp, and your eyes open for the next adventure at Hogwarts!