Written for the one hour, two drabbles challenge where I got Michael Corner and the prompt fatal flaw. Word count: 430

Written for the 5, 10, 20, 50, 70, 100 fandoms challenge.

He isn't a Gryffindor by any means, and he's definitely not a Hufflepuff. But hearing the screams of the first years is like a fatal flaw. It wipes every thought of being careful, of being cautious, of thinking before acting out of his mind.

Before Neville can grab his arm and pull him back to their hiding spot, Michael is already in the Carrows sight. He raises his wand and stuns the first seventh year that's practicing one of the Unforgivables on the eleven year olds. He takes down three of them before anyone realizes what he's doing.

As the Carrows and remaining seventh year Slytherins turn on Michael, he casts Alohomora and notices Neville and Hannah quietly ushering them out behind the Carrows back. The odds aren't in his favor, and he knows this – any proper Ravenclaw would know this – so he just pockets his wand. There's no use in fighting because it'll only cause him to get hurt worse.

He sees the twisted smirk that plays on Alecto's face as she advances. And he fights the urge to shiver because he doesn't want to show fear. "Well, well, well," she murmurs, running the tip of her wand across his cheek. It's cold against his burning flesh, but he doesn't flinch. "Since you decided that you would spoil our fun, I think you could entertain us."

A rebellious look flickers across his brown eyes, and Alecto just laughs. "Chain him," Amycus orders as Alecto turns her back on him. "And take his wand. Don't need the little bastard thinking he can escape."

Two seventh years that Michael recognizes as Malfoy's side-kicks drag him towards the chains that the first years were just hanging in. They lock it into place and take his wand.

Alecto circles him, a predatory look in her eyes, and runs her wand across his skin again. "We wouldn't have to do this if you would learn your place, idiot boy," she says. Her voice is sickly sweet, just as it turns when she's giving praise or talking about Muggles. She traces his cheek once more and shakes her head. "What a shame – spilling pure blood," she tsks.

Without another word, Amycus motions to a seventh year, who casts a non-verbal Unforgivable. And Michael screams and screams, even though he doesn't want to provoke his torturers. When the curse is lifted, he spits out the blood in his mouth that accumulated from clamping on his inner cheek, and growls, "Go to hell."

Alecto smirks and Amycus laughs. And he knows he's in for a long night.