Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't care. Writing this for free.

AN: Before your read, I need to clarify something: In this fic Filius is very old. The information about the character is spotty at best in the books, so I plan to take the stuff he did in the movies as canon; but his looks are the ones from the first two films, not the youngified version that took his place in the rest.

This prompt was what would have been the first chapter of a fic I planned to name Pocket Sized, and it would show the adventures of Filius in GoT... But I decided that, in the end, I better stick to writing Rise of the Pale Dragon, which I have been neglecting, but still... anyway, here goes the fixed draft.

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Betaed on 25-05-17 by: ddzhalev

"I must admit, I was taken aback when I saw the film Flitwick, who looks very much like a goblin/elf (I've never actually asked the film-makers precisely what he is), because the Flitwick in my imagination simply looks like a very small old man."—J.K. Rowling

Prompt 2: Filius Flitwick

Pocket Sized

The Battle of Hogwarts was one of the most cruel and gruesome fights in the history of magical Great Britain. The Dark Lord Voldemort had brought all his followers, along with Dementors and other dark creatures, to fight against hundreds of school children (and some adults) in a melee of deadly spells.

The damage to the ancient castle had been appalling, but not as painful as the loss of life: friends, lovers, parents, daughters, sons... even the loss of strangers, making the crowds smaller, was a motive for grief. But while there was little to be done for those that had already left this world, life must go on, and it was up to the living to pick up the pieces. And so, while most children left the school to rejoin their remaining family to celebrate the end of the war, the Hogwarts teachers had stayed behind to help rebuild the walls and wards of the castle, so it would be safe once more when they made it back.

Not all students left the school, though. There were a few students that didn't want to go home for one reason or another. Most of these students left behind were Hufflepuffs, who wanted to keep the ones in their house who had been left alone in the world company, or Ravenclaws that were too worried for the upcoming exams to go back to their families. There were also a couple of Gryffindors in the mix, but it was hard to spot them outside meal times in the Great Hall. But no table was as empty as Slytherin's table: no child from that house had stayed behind after they had been blamed as a whole for the losses of the war.

Even a week after the event, Filius Flitwick could not understand what McGonagall had been thinking when she sent all children to the dungeons as prisoners not to be let out from there. That this took place while the rest of the school cheered made the little man's heart hurt for them. He had no doubt many of those children wouldn't come back when the school officially reopened, and those who had no option but to come back would end up become pariahs among their peers.

Filius debated not for the first time whether or not he should ask the house elves to bring his meals to his room instead of to the recently-repaired Great Hall, so he would not need to see the empty chairs, but in the end he went for breakfast anyway. His Ravenclaws would surely worry if they didn't see him there.

On the way to the Great Hall, Filius was greeted by many students. And while the little professor had always been very well liked due to his amiable and squeaky personality, his popularity went through the roof after he saved many students with a dueling mastery he never thought he would make use of again. Truth be told, even at his 138 years of age, Filius could be considered to be in good shape; and, while his muscles were not what they used to be, he had achieved such a mastery of the levitation charm, he could make his tiny old body twist and bounce like a rubber ball, ducking curses while shielding his students and showering Death Eaters with nasty spells at the same time. Yes, Filius Flitwick was a very dangerous fighter when he needed to be... even if his style was unusually springy.

Breakfast in the Hall was a quiet and short affair for the Charms professor. He chatted a little with his fellow teachers over a cup of tea before going out to work to help put some charms on the bridge that the new Transfiguration teacher (a pleasant youth named Thaddeus) had finished repairing the night before.

Filius arrived at the empty bridge area, the construction's white stone made it glaringly different than the old bridge Seamus Finnigan blew up during the Battle of Hogwarts. The bridge's new design didn't quite match with the castle, but it looked rather sturdy. Filius was sure it wouldn't be any trouble for him to transfigure the bridge to how it used to look like.

But before he could transfigure the bridge it needed to be empty of all occupants. At this point in time that wasn't the case since a ditzy-looking blonde witch stood there, swinging barefooted, wearing a puffy white dress, eyes closed, humming a melody that felt somewhat sad. "Good Morning, professor," she said dreamily with her eyes still closed.

"Good morning Miss Lovegood. Is everything alright?" Filius asked conversationally. Putting charms on the bridge could wait a few minutes. He was always happy to speak with with any of his Ravenclaws, especially if the student in question was looking sad and he could help cheer them up.

"Oh, I'm afraid not. The Friptemoths were very sad that there were no pumpkins this Halloween, and the Thestrals cannot get a good sleep because the Limperts keep poking them during the night," she explained mournfully.

Filius had no idea what she was talking about.

"Miss Lovegood, I meant to ask if everything is well at home. It was most unexpected that you decided to stay in the school instead of going home to your father."

"Oh that!" She exclaimed, opening her eyes in realization, "Well, you see, daddy thinks I'm a bit upset with him. He did a very silly thing because he was worried about me, and feels very guilty. If he knew I never got mad, he wouldn't know what to do about it; so I'm pretending to be mad at him now, so I can pretend to forgive him later."

Filius blinked twice at that "That is... very mature of you Miss Lovegood." Filius didn't completely understand why Xenophilius Lovegood would feel better by thinking his daughter was mad at him, but given that the man was such an odd fish when he was a student, Filius figured it was quite possible that Miss Lovegood was right... possibly.

Luna tilted her head to the side in an owlish manner, "Are you confused? The Nargles on the bridge are swarming around you."

Filius smiled affably, "The world we live in is quite confusing, Miss Lovegood."

Luna nodded sagely at that.

"Now, Miss Lovegood, I need to add some spells to the bridge, to make it safer. If you could get off of it I would be very thankful."

The blond hmm-ed then skipped her way across the bridge. She stood right behind her Head of House, looking curiously ahead "What kind of spells are you using?". Luna Lovegood, like any Ravenclaw worth their salt, never missed a chance to learn.

"Some protective charms, I also plan to make the stone gray, so it can match with the castle-"

Gasp! "I don't think you should, I believe the Nargles are rather fond of the color white. They have made this place their home already, and I think they would be very upset if you change it to any other color."

Filius was amused by the blonde's antics, he was even tempted to agree with her fantastical ideas... but he could not, in good conscience, let such an important historical landmark, such as Hogwarts Bridge, be changed due to a mistake that was so easily mended.

"Don't worry, Miss Lovegood, I'm sure that the Nargles can find many good places to make a home out of if they don't like the changes.

The angry sound of buzzing in his ears that sounded as soon as he transfigured the bridge grey quickly put that idea to rest. The Nargles were not happy.

Somewhere on a Higher plane, a God rolled a dice.

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Tyrion Lannister's trip to meet the Mother of Dragons was turning a tad too interesting for his taste.

It began badly enough, what with his killing the woman he loved and his father. Sure, he didn't feel bad about the murder of Tywin Lannister per se, but he knew Jamie would never forget him for it. Anyway; after a small bit of patricide and a decision to commit what was left of his miserable life to finding the answers to the universe in the bottom of a bottle, Tyrion had been convinced by his perfumed best friend to search for Daenerys Targaryen to see if the young princess was worthy of his service...a journey that somehow ended in his getting kidnapped by a man devoted to the Mother of Dragons who decided to take him exactly where he was going in the first place.

Funny thing that.

Well, not so funny. His kidnapper left him dry of wine and handcuffed, and was as good of a conversationalist as a pile of mud... not to mention that Jorah Mormont had the genius idea of making a shortcut out of the cursed ruins of Valyria. Which... wasn't so bad if you ignored the attack of the stone people and Tyrion almost drowning, but hey, at least after that debacle Tyrion got his hands out of those metal cuffs.

Of course, then his hands were back to getting restrained shortly after they noticed the slave ship.

"Got a lot of fight in you, huh?" a big man that had been referred to by the others as Malko asked after punching Jorah in the face. Malko smiled, then punched Jorah again for good measure.

Another slaver in the group looked towards Jorah pensively for a moment, then declared "Salt mines."

"That or a galley slave," Malko added "He looks strong enough."

"What about the dwarf?" the other slaver asked.

Malko didn't hesitate "Worthless. Cut his throat."

The slaver's man approached Tyrion, his hand already on the pommel of his sword.

Tyrion's heart beat like a drum "Wait, wait! Wait, wait, wait, let's discuss this!"

Unaffected by the dwarf's plea, Malko ordered "And then chop off his cock. We can sell it for a fortune. A dwarf's cock has magic powers."

The slaver grabbed Tyrion, but before he could point his sword at him, the sound of a thunder-clap could be heard across the sea. Tyrion looked up: the sky was without a cloud. Then someone pointed at something falling from the sky to the sea. Malko ordered one of his men to take a closer look, so he did, shortly returning with a grey bundle, drenched in salt water. The slaver dropped the bundle on the ground, and it coughed.

It took Tyrion a moment to realize he was looking at another dwarf. One that was so much older than any other dwarf he had ever seen in his life. The ancient dwarf had a completely bald head on top, but white, cotton-like puffs of hair around his ears, which perfectly matched the texture of an oddly-shaped beard.

Malko gave one big toothy smile, "Would you look at that?! The gods must be smiling down on us. Another dwarf!"

Tyrion was sure the slavers were planning on cutting the older dwarf's cock as well and Tyrion had always been sympathetic with the struggles of dwarfs, for he knew the kind of life they were always cursed with: being mocked as buffoons, treated as less than men for something out of their control.

Malko made a gesture and the slaver that had brought the bundle drew his sword, ready to chop the little old man's head.

"You can't!" Tyrion declared heatedly.

Slaver B rose an eyebrow, "Why not?"

"Because," Tyrion began, then said the first excuse to come to mind, "Surely, whatever magic he had in his cock must have withered by now."

"Excuse me!" Came the squeaky, spluttering voice of the very offended old dwarf.

Tyrion plowed on "Besides, what you plan to do is a taboo. You will get cursed!"

The slavers snorted, their expressions somewhere between amused and disdainful. "There is no such thing as an old man's curse. And it will be up to the cock merchant to tell us whether his cock's magic is still working."

The ancient dwarf was looking both completely lost and mortified about the contents of the conversation, and a very bright blush was shining onn his wrinkled cheeks."I don't know what prompted such a lack of respect, but I believe I deserve an apology for such insults!"

The slavers laughed raucously. The old dwarf seemed to vibrate in anger where he stood.

"Kill them both! That one first" came the order, the fat meaty hand of the slaver pointing at the yet unnamed old dwarf. Probably a mercy in the slaver's eyes.

The slaver lifted his sword up and moved it down to cut off the head of the old man. Tyrion didn't even have time to think of anything else to say as he saw in his mind's eye the neck of the ancient dwarf getting chopped.

Then, It happened.

With a speed and agility that belied the age and appearance of the ancient dwarf, he jumped and twisted, a flash of red light coming out of a stick the dwarf had taken out of his soaked, gray cloak. Not a moment later, the would-be-executioner fell to the ground, looking stiff as a board. A cry of "sorcery" came from Malko. Weapons of all kinds came out into the slaves' hands and they formed a menacing circle around the witch dwarf. There were at least thirty men total, all surrounding a single, very small opponent...

They never stood a chance.

Beam after beam of vivid color was shot out of his stick with nothing more than a flick and a squeaked word; reality twisted to obey the commands of the little old man: shoes came alive and tripped the men wearing them; pants and the odd shirt shrunk tight enough to suffocate the wearers, making it hard for them to move and breathe. A barefooted, barely-dressed slave that had been spared from the attacks so far, took a long, curved sword and tried to stab the ancient warrior in a sneak attack... the little man jumped forwards, his small frame twisting in the air like a leaf riding the wind, and the descending weapon turned into a hen. Now, Tyrion was not an expert on chickens, but he was willing to bet good gold that the way it tried to peck the eye of the slave that had been manhandling it by the neck was not normal.

"It's the old man's curse!" Malko screamed in panic, "Slaves! PROTECT ME!" He ordered while using the nearest one of his men to shield himself before sprinting towards the ships with a grace Tyrion had only ever seen when a very drunk Robert Baratheon grabbed the ass of Lancel Lannister and dragged the effeminate man (then teenager) to the dance floor and waltzed Tyrion's cousin into a rock pillar.

Tyrion stood there, mouth agape and wide eyed, mind freezing while trying to process what he was witnessing. Nevertheless, later on, when looking back to the memory of this day, Tyrion would laugh, retelling the whole thing with the same gusto he told the tale about the time he had gone into a brothel with a honeycomb and a donkey and-

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?! GET BACK THERE! PROTECT ME!" Malko's retreat triggered a stampede of running men, and no matter how much he threatened and yelled, his orders were falling on deaf ears, for few men can think straight under the threat of sorcery. Malko was soon left behind, inevitably falling victim to the old dwarf's magic: the very spare rope the man had been carrying slithered like a snake and wrapped itself around Malko's thick frame, binding it from ankle to chin.

Tyrion noticed the movement of his traveling companion, Jorah, who rushed towards a discarded sword on the floor, then squatted down on the floor at an odd angle while bending both sideways and backwards so the rope tying his hand could be cut with the blade in the sand. The Westerosi didn't smile in triumph as he picked up the sword he had used to free his own wrists and looked for an opening to attack the pint sized wizard. "Don't-!" Tyrion warned Jorah, who looked at the blond dwarf with burning eyes.

"If we are going to beat him, we need to act while he is distracted," Jorah explained in whispers as he cut the ropes around the Lannister's wrists.

"Why do we need to beat him?" Tyrion whispered back harshly.

"In my experience those who use magic are always a threat to..."

"A threat to Daenerys Targaryen?" Tyrion deducted from Jorah's tone.

The battle between the ancient dwarf and the rest of the slavers' crew ended during their brief conversation: the slavers and slaves were running in all directions after Malko was bound; every slave and slaver left standing found themselves trapped by sand turned into quicksand that swallowed every one of them up to their shoulders with a speed that was simply unnatural. The fearful screams of the men grew in pitch and urgency, making the last two men (both of them mercenaries) fall to their knees and beg for mercy and offer money.

Jorah saw an opening to attack, sword swinging fast and true towards the back of the distracted witch; it managed to leave a bloody scrape on the top of the bald head before Jorah joined the half-buried men. Jorah struggled silently, glare firmly in place, his defiance and fighting spirit making him stand out from the screaming slaves and slavers.

It took a scant few seconds for Tyrion to realize that he was the last man man standing in front of the sorcerer, who promptly rose his magic stick in his direction. Tyrion winced in preparation for an attack. "Solve Fasciculos," came the squeaked words, and the ropes around Tyrion's wrists dropped harmlessly on the floor. Tyrion moved his wrists in front of himself and rubbed the wrists in front of his chest to try to relieve bit of the soreness in them.

"Thank you for that," Tyrion spoke honestly with a wry smile, "My name is Tyrion Lannister, and, as a Lannister, I would like to know who I'm indebted to for saving my life."

"There is no debt to be paid, young man, It's enough to see you are unharmed by these ruffians," the sound of struggle created a disturbing background noise up to that point, but the witch dwarf huffed and, with a shout of "Finite Incantatem," the men buried in the sand were spat out, those who were petrified or immobilized by their attires or other miscellaneous pbjects found themselves capable of running for their lives and relishing in their newly found mobility. The witch dwarf didn't follow. Jorah picked himself up from the floor and tried to remove the sand that clung to his chest.

"I'm Filius Flitwick," the old dwarf continued, "It is nice to meet you, Mr. Lannister."

"We should get going," Jorah declared grumpily, "There is still much travel to reach Meereen."

Tyrion waved him off, "There is enough time for pleasantries, and I must admit that I'm always looking forward to partake in intelligent conversation," Tyrion jibbed, smug. Jorah looked unhappy (which he always did, so Tyrion didn't know if he could call it a victory) and continued warily eyeing Filius Flitwick.

"I must say, I have never heard of House Flitwick, is there any relation to House Mallister? The crest in your chest bears quite the resemblance." It was quite the uncanny resemblance, actually, what with only the color of the eagle (bronze, instead of Mallister silver) and the drawing style as the differences between the two emblems.

"No relation with such house as far as I'm aware. I must say, though, that the crest I wear is that of Ravenclaw House. A house quite well known in Great Britain... which you might know as Albion considering... it's a name it goes by. Speaking of which, I'm afraid I got lost in my travels towards Albion before I stepped ashore, might you know which way I can find it? Knowing the way to a Nargle colony would also be an acceptable option."

"No, I cannot say I have heard of Albion... but we are heading to a big city, maybe someone there would know the place? You are welcome to travel with us if you want. Guiding you is the least we could do to thank you for saving our lives." Tyrion gave Jorah a meaningful look, making him know it would be unwise to try to keep the man from traveling with them. "Oh! And, of course, since we would be traveling together, it's just polite that I introduce my companion, Ser Jorah Mormont, not the best conversationalist I have ever met, but he knows the way to our next stop."

"A pleasure to meet you," Filius smiled.

And so started Filius' travel in what he believed was the past, before the Statute of Secrecy was implemented, and in a land that was probably half a world away instead of in a completely world altogether.

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Meanwhile...

Malko and his crew were happy to have gotten as far away from the little demon and the Old Man's Curse. They were sure to keep away from harming the elderly for a really long time. The experience had been terrifying, but not so much so that he would forgive his slaves, his PROPERTY, for not following his orders, letting him, Malko, be at risk of death. No, most certainly a good whipping at the very least would be needed to reinforce obedience. Malko would teach them all to fear him more than anything out there so the offense would not be repeated.

"Something is moving in the water!" the watchman of the crew yelled to the ones bellow.

The rest of the crew noticed the floating form soon enough. A white lump that floated idly on the soft waves: a giant jellyfish... or so they thought at first sight. It was only upon getting closer that they realized it was a pale woman with pale yellow hair that floated in the salt water like a moon-kissed seaweed, her dress an odd, frumpy, frilly thing that puffed upwards to her chest in a way that was strongly reminiscent of the sea animal they had mistaken her for.

"Bring her on board," Malko ordered with a greedy smile. At least something good had come from this day.

The girl who had been floating in the sea was brought onto the ship by a slave who presented his cargo with a satisfyingly subservient attitude. And what a find the girl was: an ethereally beautiful face, smooth skin and pale eyes, like bubbles of foam, with an agelessness that made them seem perpetually lost in the horizon; her body, that of a girl on the cusp of womanhood swayed along with the waves and hummed an unknown little song while the wind played with her seaweed-like hair the color of gold mixed with silver. She looked like a spirit of the sea, and Malko would have mistaken her as such if not for the red radishes dangling from her ears and the odd metal coins dangling around her neck with a collar made of old leather.

'She will bring me a lot of money' Malko smiled, his rotten smile making him seem even more despicable.

Little did he know that he would soon come to rue the day he let Luna Loovegood set foot on his ship.

End of Prompt 2

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AN: OK, so this is all I have written for what would have been the first chapter of the fic "Pocked Sized", which was to be named Discussing Dwarfs' Dicks... It would have been a fun thing to write with Filius being Filius and Luna being Luna, but I couldn't figure out where to take it. Prompt takers are welcome and shall be added to the list bellow. Thanks for reading, see you around for the next prompt :D

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FICS INSPIRED BY THIS PROMPT

Name of the fic: _ Author:_

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See you on the next one!