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They were studying for Potions when the patronus arrived, all sprawled out over chairs pulled into a tight circle, books on the table between them, wands tossed carelessly about, ink pots all mixed up, quills scratching on parchment, wearing ordinary weekend clothes, robes thrown off to the side, ties loosened, generally forming the picture of Slytherin domestic comfort, relaxing in the common room as many of them refused to do outside of the dungeons, and although Harry had only been with them for a few weeks, he was already starting to feel like he belonged. Like he could relax around them. Which was markedly absurd.
But absurd didn’t change the fact that at moments like these, Draco with his feet in Pansy’s lap, lips forming soundless words as he held his textbook up in the air with both hands and tried to work out the meaning of a particular jargon-filled sentence, Blaise sitting sideways on an armchair, leaning back against one of the arm rests, legs thrown over the other, Vince and Greg sitting on the floor playing Exploding Snap, and Theo leaning over his essay with a look of deep concentration, Harry found himself slowly becoming accustomed to this… this… Harry didn’t even really know what this was. This group of friends? This way of life? The fact that he felt comfortable enough around all these people to leave his wand on the table between their chairs? Thinking of those same people by their first names like they hadn’t all hated him until a few weeks ago?
Any one of those would do, and Harry couldn’t decide which was more pertinent to the immediate situation. Maybe some combination of all of it. Draco had just looked up and said, “Can any of you make any bloody sense of the reason why powdered moonstone can’t be combined with unicorn tears until they’ve been distilled, without reducing the potency of the overall brew or am I just a bloody idiot?” and Theo had just opened his mouth to answer when a doe patronus burst through the wall, made its way to the center of the room, got up on the circular table there, and announced, “The Headmaster has just informed me that Cassius Parkinson has arrived to visit his daughter and I am going to meet him momentarily. You have fifteen minutes to enact the proper procedures. Begin immediately.”
There was a one second lag of shock, and then a flurry of motion as students stood, robes were thrown back on, books were hastily closed, and belongings were rushed back to dorm rooms. Harry just sat there in a state of confusion as a seventh year prefect whose name Harry had forgotten already stood and began giving orders to the first and second years while another used the sonorus charm to announce, “I need all muggleborns and all half-bloods below fourth year to go to your rooms and stay there until further notice. I will have no arguments on this one. We are dealing with a confirmed Death Eater.”
The dozen or so people that applied to paled and rushed off to obey, and by this point all the younger students were lined up against the walls and the older students were rearranging the very furniture, maneuvering around each other like a well-choreographed dance, like this was a routine they all knew by heart, something they’d done many times before.
“Potter. Harry, time to get up. You’re in the bloody way.” Blaise said in a voice that was kind, but possessed of a certain urgency, and Harry focused back in on his immediate surroundings, turning back around to find Blaise standing before him holding out his wand, his textbook, and his ink, all stacked up nicely.
Harry took his things wordlessly, still unsure exactly what was going on here.
“Put your robes back on and your stuff in our room, then get back here as quickly as possible. Pansy needs us, and we have to figure out what to do with you as well.” Blaise said, and as Harry placed his things on his chair to shrug back into his robes, he finally noticed that Pansy was not doing well at all. She was still sitting on the sofa where she and Draco had been before, but now she was sitting with her head in her hands, visibly shaking, obviously trying to control herself, robes still on the floor beside her, and Draco was kneeling on the ground in front of her speaking quickly in a voice too low for Harry to hear, one hand on her arm and the other holding his wand. Theo was scrambling around them, getting all three of their things in order, and once he had it all collected in his arms, he rushed off to the 5th year boys’ room, presumably just leaving Pansy’s things with the rest of theirs for now.
Someone cleared their throat behind Harry and he turned to see a sixth year with his hands on the back of Harry’s chair, clearly wanting to move it. Harry grabbed his things with a muttered, “Sorry.” and then turned back to his friends as the chair was swept away and someone else got the table.
The two sixth years came back and the first one gently tapped Draco on the shoulder, causing him to look up at him and nod. Draco stood and said loud enough for Harry to hear, “Pants, they need our furniture now. On up.”
Pansy wiped her eyes with both hands, carefully avoiding her mascara, and stood, accepting her wand from Theo, who had just returned, without a word.
Pansy sniffled and looked up at them, eyes darting from face to face, and said, “How do I look?”
There was a silence where no one quite knew how to tell her that she looked like she’d been crying, but then thankfully, Draco gently turned her face and said, “Cosmetic spells. I’ve got this.” and started casting them.
Harry was still standing there staring stupidly, so Blaise grabbed his arm and said, “Just come with me.” and led him to their room, leaving Harry to drop his own stuff on his bed when they got there in favor of arranging his own belongings on his bedside table and sweeping over to the mirror to arrange his robes and tie more properly.
“Blaise, what the fuck is going on here?” Harry asked, at this point overwhelmed to the point of existing in a dazed state of general anxiety, honestly quite fed up with this overall chaos.
Blaise met his eyes in the mirror, and said, matter-of-fact, “Pansy’s father is an asshole. Bloody violent son of a bitch, if you want to be frank about it. Needless to say, no one knew he was visiting today.”
And then Blaise was rushing back out of the room, leaving Harry to follow. They got back to the rest, just in time for Millicent to burst through the door and shout, “Baby!”
Pansy broke away from Draco’s fussing and shouted back, “Millie! Over here!”
Millicent rushed over and hugged her girlfriend, stepping back to say, “I’m so sorry, baby, Snape had to get me out of detention, but I’m here now.”
Draco, momentarily relieved of Pansy’s care, gave her one last pat on the shoulder, and made his way over to Blaise and Harry and said, “ Why that fucker has to make these surprise visits, I will never understand. At least my father has the good grace to send a bloody owl before he shows up to torment me,” he turned to Harry, “Do I look alright?”
Harry just blinked.
“Why am I asking you, Scarhead?” Draco said, but without venom, after a few seconds of silence had passed, “Bloody Merlin fucking Salazar, I need a mirror.” He rushed away, just as Vince and Greg got back from helping move the furniture.
Harry turned back around to see Pansy and Millicent snogging. He turned away again. “I still don’t really understand what’s going on?”
Blaise and Theo exchanged a look. “That’s cause you’ve only been one of us since the beginning of this year.” Theo explained, shrugging, “All Slytherins usually learn procedure their first year, and by the time they get to our age it’s just second nature. The preparations, I mean.”
“But why is this all necessary?” Harry asked.
“Because this,” Blaise said, gesturing at the rearranged common room, the lack of personal belongings about, the sixth and seventh years arranging the first and second years in “believable” groups near the back of the room, the middle years arranging themselves, “Is exactly what Parkinson would prefer this gathering-place of dark pureblood children to look like. Those with the most influence closest to the fireplace, in the center of the conversation,” he pointed out a space still mostly open, presumably to be filled with pureblood fifth years and up, “and those with the least influence out on the fringes.” he pointed to the chairs on the end, in groups of one or two, the shabbiest of them all, occupied either by a few first years or upper-year half-bloods. “And his very own daughter at the very heart of it all,” he gestured dramatically at one particularly nice armchair in the center circle facing the fireplace on it’s own like the head of a table, “telling everyone why the Dark Lord is the right answer for all those who share her views on blood purity.” Blaise gave a roll of his eyes that showed belied his words.
Harry was amazed. “And all of this is really necessary?” he asked again.
Blaise nodded gravely. “Never know what Parkinson is here to talk to Pansy about. He could already be angry, no need to make him even angrier the moment he walks in here. Besides, this won’t leave him a single thing to scold Pants about regarding her behavior: she’ll be playing the part of the perfect pureblood daughter. How could he yell?” Blaise delivered that last line with a wicked smirk.
Just then, Draco got back, and upon finding Pansy and Millicent now just standing with their arms around each other and their foreheads resting together, inserted himself between them, threw his arms around Pansy’s neck, glanced over his shoulder and said, feigning arrogance, “Time to become the Other Woman, Bullstrode.”
“You wish, Malfoy.” Millicent replied, grinning.
Draco grabbed Pansy’s hand and said, “Come on, Darling, our place of honour awaits.” and led her over to the armchair set out for them, the surrounding couches now mostly populated by sixth and seventh years.
Harry looked at Millicent with an eyebrow raised.
“According to her shit father, those two are dating and have been since the end of third year. I’m just hoping she gets herself out of her family’s reach before they’re forced to become the most ridiculous married beard couple in the British Isles.” Millicent said, grabbing Theo by the arm and adding, “Come on, let’s go pretend to be considering that marriage alliance your mother was talking about last Yule.”
Theo planted his feet to prevent himself from being dragged away by Millicent’s superior strength, and said, “Wait! We haven’t decided what we’re doing with Harry yet!”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” Blaise said, “Go arrange yourselves in a way that says ‘budding romance’ And take Vince and Greg with you!” then he directed to Vince and Greg themselves, “Bodyguard positions?”
They exchanged a glance, and then Vince nodded once, sharply.
“Good. Go ahead.” Blaise said, and Vince and Greg made their way over to the chair where Draco was lounging like a King, arm around Pansy who was sitting on the arm with her legs draped over Draco’s lap, and took their positions standing guard on either side.
“Come on, Harry.” Blaise said, leading the way to a pair of armchairs placed close together in a circle close enough to Pansy’s to hear what happens, but far enough away that hopefully Mr. Parkinson wouldn’t take too much notice of the fact that Harry Potter was sitting so close by.
“Why aren’t you sitting with them?” Harry asked, as they sat down.
“Parkinson doesn’t like my mother. Besides, we’re not really proper purebloods. Mum is half veela, and besides, we’re not blood supremacists.” Blaise said, and Harry blinked at this sudden influx of new information, “And besides, somebody had to keep an eye on you.” Blaise added with a wink.
“Oh.” Harry said, unable to think of a better response.
“You sound surprised.” Blaise observed with a smirk.
“I am.” Harry answered, honestly, “You’re close enough friends with Draco that I would’ve thought…”
“That I shared his views?” Blaise suggested.
Harry nodded. They abruptly paused their conversation as one of the seventh year prefects handed them each expensive looking books and shiny new self-inking quills. Harry put his aside impatiently.
“Certainly not.” Blaise said, haughtily, “When my mother was attending Hogwarts as a Slytherin, her lovely pureblood housemates would never let her forget that she had impure blood. Relentless prejudice. Disgusting really. She could have let such tasteless bullying drive her directly into the Dark Lord’s arms, but instead she decided that servitude is for much weaker women than her. And you know what she did instead?”
Harry knew the rumor, but said nothing, for fear of it being false after all.
Blaise smiled, and it wasn’t an altogether pleasant expression. “Your face says you do, but you’re afraid to say it. That’s alright; I’ll say it for you. She uses her Veela powers, the very heritage she was mocked for, to ensnare filthy old pureblood men into marrying her, and soon enough they each meet an untimely demise.”
What Blaise didn’t say, but heavily implied, was that his mother had a hand in their deaths. Harry was shocked: he’d known the rumor about Amora Zabini, but he’d had no idea about the backstory that went with it.
“And as a result, pureblood men tend to do their best to avoid her out of fear that they pretend is prejudice. Case in point: Cassius Parkinson and Lucius Malfoy.” Blaise finished with a raise of both eyebrows, and then turned to flipping through his book with casual interest.
Harry needed a minute to think, so he picked his own book back up, but upon glancing at the title, he froze. It read 101 Dark Spells and Curses for Beginners . “ Why have they given us Dark Arts books?” Harry asked, holding Dark Spells and Curses up so that Blaise could read the title.
Blaise looked up and said, “Isn’t it obvious? It’s what Parkinson wants to see. And besides, if he catches a glance of you reading that book, you might get lucky enough for him to report to the Dark Lord that the Boy who Lived is taking an interest in the Dark Arts. Throw him off a little bit, eh?”
Harry thought about it and had to admit he couldn’t see much wrong with that. He shrugged and picked the book back up, but he only got as far as the table of contents when the door to the Common Room burst open, and an unfamiliar voice rang through the air with the words, “Thank you, Severus, for an enlightening bit of conversation.”
“Any time, Cassius. Enjoy your visit.” Snape replied, with a nod.
Cassius Parkinson nodded back and then turned without a word to walk further into the Common Room. There was silence for a few seconds, but a glare from Snape -- who had lingered in the doorway -- had quiet conversations starting back up.
Harry was glad he had the ruse of his book to give him and Blaise the excuse to avoid making conversation: it left him much more able to unobtrusively watch the interaction now occurring between the others in the center of the room.
By now, Cassius had made it most of the way across the room to his daughter. He walked with his head high, his dark hair and dark eyes matched perfectly to his pitch black robes, and he held himself stiffly, like a highborn Roman man of ancient times. “Pansy.” he said, once he got close enough, and Pansy stood immediately, brushing down her skirt, feigning embarrassment at being caught in Draco’s lap. Draco remained seated, but he did straighten up, leaning his elbows on his knees in a show of masculine confidence.
“Father. I hadn’t known you were coming.” Pansy answered in a steady voice, concealing her emotions quite well, but Harry could still see the tension in her shoulders.
“I know that.” her father answered, in a voice that chided her for stating the obvious. “I did not see fit to inform you. The better to evaluate your… sense of conduct.”
Pansy held his eyes for a few more seconds, then dropped her head in submission, as if she couldn’t endure it any longer. Harry winced for her: it was almost always better to show strength rather than weakness to men like this, although it might be different for a girl.
Illustrating that very point, Draco stood then and offered his hand to Cassius to shake with the words, “Good to see you, Sir.” Pansy closed her eyes for just a second and let out an almost imperceptible breath of relief as her fathers eyes swung away from her, clearly grateful to Draco for rescuing her.
“And you, young man.” Cassius answered, clearly impressed by Draco’s confidence. “I trust your father is well?”
“Perfectly well.” Draco replied, and Harry had the sense that he would have given that same answer even if Lucius were currently bleeding out in St. Mungos.
“And your mother? Lovely woman. Gorgeous. And so very… fierce. Like a tigress.” Parkinson said, and Harry couldn’t see his face, but he could imagine the gleam of playful malice in his eye.
“She is also well.” Draco replied, his voice clear of distaste, but a certain amount of tension in his jaw.
“Glad to hear it.” Cassius replied, “Your family has always chosen their women well. I must say I find myself flattered that you have chosen my daughter, although I cannot claim to be surprised.” Then turned back to Pansy as if Draco had ceased to exist the moment he no longer had use of him. “Speaking of which. I must speak with you. Alone.”
Draco stepped up next to Pansy and put his arm around her waist possessively. “I find myself disinclined to grant that request.” he said, with a ferocity that Harry admired, especially in the face of Cassius’s casual arrogance.
“Careful, son.” Cassius said, his cold gaze swinging back to Draco’s. “She’s not your wife yet.”
There was a tense standoff. Draco held Cassius’s eyes with an intensity of defiance that Harry couldn’t help admiring, but he had no standing and he knew it. After a few more seconds, Draco nodded perfunctorily and turned to Pansy.
Cassius looked on with smug approval as Draco pulled Pansy to him and kissed her chastely on the lips, then leaned in to whisper something in her ear, before stepping back as if releasing her to her father.
Cassius stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder -- which Harry could see her fight not to flinch from -- and began to guide her back to the door of the Common Room. She didn’t glance back, so Harry couldn’t see her face, but the careful way she walked said it all.
Draco stayed standing as the Common Room door opened, but when it closed again with a muffled slam Draco dropped back into the chair he’d occupied before as if the sound had been a signal, and dropped his head in his arms, as if he was struggling to control his expression and didn’t want anyone to see. Greg placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Draco shook it off imperiously. Greg and Vince exchanged a glance over his head.
Millicent also looked worried, but not like Draco. Although she spoke softly, Harry still heard it when she said, “She’ll be fine, Draco. She’s strong.”
Draco looked up at her, and even from afar, Harry could see the anger in his expression. “What do you know, Millie? Both your parents are lovely, kind, individuals.” The sarcasm was evident, and so was the unspoken, “Unlike mine.”
“My father is still a Death Eater, Draco.” Millicent said, and her voice was a few degrees cooler this time.
“But at least he has respect for his own bloody family. ” Draco hissed, then seemed to realize what he’d just admitted to, and dropped his head back into his arms, breathing somewhat erratic.
Millicent leaned back and crossed her arms, clearly annoyed but unwilling to argue right now.
There were a few more seconds in which no one made a move except -- in the case the rest of the Slytherins -- to stare. Harry was standing up before he really knew what he was doing.
Blaise grabbed his arm and hissed, “Harry, don’t.”
“And what, have Parkinson walk back in and find him like that?” Harry hissed back.
Blaise just looked at him for a second, then let go with a gesture that indicated both “go on, then” and “your bloody funeral” at the same time.
Harry made his way to the center of the room and stopped in front of Draco’s chair, painfully aware that every eye in Slytherin was on him. “Malfoy.”
Draco looked up with a fierce glare, but Harry knew his anger was mostly aimed at himself. “What do you want, Potter?”
“Come with me.”
Draco looked at him like he’d lost his bloody mind. And maybe he had, but something was driving him to do this. Maybe it was sympathy, maybe it was ordinary kindness. Harry didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to.
“Unless you want to be here like this if Parkinson decides to come back?” Harry asked, holding out a hand in offering.
Draco gave him a glare that reluctantly acknowledged the fact that he most vehemently did not, and with a put-upon sigh, grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled himself to his feet, dropping it immediately after and stalking away to their dorm room. “Come on, then.”
Harry rolled his eyes at his back, but followed him nonetheless. When they got to their room, Draco held the door open for him, and then shut it decisively behind them. After a second of just leaning there with his eyes closed, Draco shook his head and walked over to his bed, sitting down heavily, clearly relieved to be away from the eyes of the rest of their house.
Harry wasn’t sure what to say. Well, he knew what he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure that Draco would take it well. Then he decided to Hell with it, and said, “There was nothing else you could do, Draco. You tried your best.”
Draco looked up at him, silver eyes flashing, and said, “Of course there was something else I could do, Potter. I could have come up with a response when he said that shit about us not being married yet. Not just stood there like a… like a stupid child. Fucking stupid. ” He looked away blinking, obviously trying to control tears, but Harry thought they were tears of rage more than anything else.
“You’re not stupid. Sometimes with men like that there’s nothing you can do.” Harry said, as softly as he could without giving the impression that he was being condescending.
Draco turned back with those blazing, shining eyes and said, “I feel like I’m repeating this every ten seconds, but what. Do. You. Know.”
Harry felt the urge to scream back at him, but knew that was unwise. Draco didn’t know. “Quite a bit, actually.” he said in a matter-of-fact voice, and something in his tone must have said more than the words themselves, because Draco took on a look of confusion.
“What, do the Weasleys beat their children, or something? If so, I’m surprised, but I can’t say I’m all that shocked, really.” Draco asked.
Now Harry really couldn’t quite contain his anger as he said, “No, actually, the Weasleys are the ones who rescued me from a room barred up like a prison cell when I was twelve years old and took me in as one of their own, so I’d thank you not to speak badly of them.”
Draco physically jerked back in surprise -- somehow making the gesture look aristocratic, even now -- and said, “ Rescued you? You mean --”
“Yeah. The muggles who raised me weren’t so keen on raising a wizarding child. My mother’s sister and her husband. In fact, I slept in a cupboard for eleven years until they realized Dumbledore had known the whole time, at which point they gave me the spare room they’d always had. So I really do know, Draco.” Harry said, tone somewhat hostile, but hopefully Draco would realize it was born of vulnerability.
There were a few seconds of charged silence, and then, “They kept you in a cupboard like a bloody house elf?”
“Yep. Had to do the cleaning and cooking like a house elf as well, now that you put it like that. Still do, in fact.” Harry explained, somewhat gratified by Draco’s expression of shock.
“Fuck. Makes my father’s pain curses seem like a slap on the wrist. At least he doesn’t keep me like a bloody slave.” Draco said, his disgust at the idea of a muggle family enslaving a wizard quite evident.
“Pain curses?” Harry asked, wincing.
Draco rolled his eyes. “You don’t think Lucius Malfoy would lower himself to smack me around, did you? Besides, the mild ones don’t leave marks.”
Harry met his eyes, and something passed between them there. An understanding, perhaps. A shared suffering. “And that’s not even mentioning the gaslighting.”
Draco scoffed, “Father is a master at that one. Well, thinks he is, at least. Worked better when I was younger.”
“Doesn’t it always?” Harry asked, sitting next to Draco on his bed, “Easier to control someone before they’ve developed their own fully functional brains, you know.”
“Please. Mother had me trained up to resist him by the time I was six years old, I swear. Didn’t realize what she was doing at the time, but nonetheless…” Draco turned away again.
“And Pansy?” Harry asked, unsure whether he’d get an answer. It wasn’t really Draco’s place to tell him Pansy’s story, after all.
“He doesn’t hit her. If he did, believe me, I’d curse him myself before I let her out of my sight. He just does… well what you just saw.” Draco got up and started adjusting his tie and robes in front of the mirror. “As far as I know, the worst he’s done is lock her in the dungeons of their manor overnight.”
“Isolation. I know it well.” Harry said, thinking of his cupboard, thinking of the room they kept him in now. “And her mother?”
“Bloody terrified of him.” Draco said, giving up on his appearance and dropping cross-legged to the floor. “Not that I can really blame her. I mean, you saw him.” Draco shuddered.
Harry had to agree. That was why, “You were pretty fucking brave out there, by the way.”
Draco locked eyes with him. Held it for a few seconds, then looked away again. “Not brave enough.”
Harry shook his head, “Like I said, there’s no winning against men like that sometimes. My uncle is one of those. Bloody imperious, prejudiced, motherfuckers.”
“Prejudiced?” Draco asked.
Harry laughed without much amusement. “Yeah, Uncle Vernon feels the same way about wizards as your father feels about muggles. Funny, isn’t it?”
Draco got out his wand and twirled it in his hands instead of answering. Harry was cursing his impulsive tongue and readying himself to save the conversation when the door opened and Pansy burst in, shutting it behind her and dropping to the floor with her back up against it. “Blaise said you were in here.”
Draco moved over to grab her in a hug and asked, “Are you alright? What did he say?”
Pansy glanced at Harry distrustfully, like she was afraid of his judgement, and Harry was just about to stand and make his way out of the room when Draco held out a hand to stop him and said, “Don’t worry, Pants. He’s one of us.”
Pansy’s gaze flew back to Draco’s in surprise, and she must have asked a question silently, because Draco just nodded, and then Pansy was studying Harry again, as if trying to see the truth of what Draco said about him in the way he carried himself, perhaps. Or maybe in the shadows behind his eyes.
Then Pansy gave him a weak smile and said, “Wouldn’t have guessed, Harry, but I guess it explains some things.”
“What things?” Harry asked.
“The shabby clothes you always wear, for one thing.” Pansy said, no sting in her tone.
Harry smiled ruefully. “Oh yeah. They’re hand-me-downs from my cousin. Even though he’s the same age as me. And the Dursleys have plenty of money.”
Pansy’s eyes narrowed in sympathetic anger. “We’ll take you shopping. Next weekend. Remind me.”
“Oh, er, that’s alright, Pansy…” Harry tried, imagining hours in shops with Draco and Pansy with a vague sense of horror.
“No it’s not.” Pansy said, firmly, and Harry conceded with a nod. “Draco will remind me. Won’t you, Darling?”
“Yes.” Draco agreed, then repeated, “What did he say to you, though?”
Pansy gave him a look and said, “No need to get pissy, I was just trying to avoid it for a moment.”
“I know. That’s why I brought it back up again.” Draco said, knowingly.
Pansy sighed, “He didn’t have much to say, really. Scolded me about my marks, which is ridiculous on two counts because first of all, we’ve only been back for a few weeks and we haven’t had any exams yet, and second of all, what does he care how my marks are as long as I find a decent husband?”
“Just tearing you down for the sake of it, then.” Harry said, darkly, the disgust evident in his voice.
Pansy smiled at him just as darkly, “Always is, the bastard. But anyway, then he got to the point. He’s found out that we’re spending time with you, Harry.” She nodded at him, then turned back to Draco and said, “Which means that your father probably knows as well.”
Draco took on a troubled look.
Harry looked down at his hands and said, “Shit, I’m sorry.” already feeling guilty for getting them in trouble.
“Don’t be sorry.” Pansy said, fiercely. “He would have found something else to scold me about if you weren’t here, and besides, we like you. Don’t we, Draco?”
Draco looked up at him, oddly tentative, a light blush on his cheeks, and said, “We do.” perfunctory, but Harry could tell he meant it. Harry smiled. Draco looked away.
“Anyway.” Pansy said, with a smirk, “It’s actually alright, because although he was angry at me for making friends with you in the first place, he ended up telling me to stay close to you and see if I can get any information for the Dark Lord by spying on you.” Pansy gave a little shake that seemed to be meant to indicate the ridiculousness of that notion.
Harry wasn’t all that reassured, however. “Er, you’re not actually going to --”
“Of course not!” Pansy scoffed, then said, “I’ll just tell him you don’t tell us anything. And if he doesn’t take that for an answer, I’ll start making stuff up.”
Harry scrunched up his eyebrows at that. “What? No, I can’t ask you to do that. He could find out, and then what’ll he do?”
To Harry’s surprise, although Pansy opened her mouth to answer, it was Draco who spoke first. “You didn’t ask us. And you don’t have to. You’re our friend. If my father asks me to spy on you, I’ll do the same.”
Harry glanced between the two of them, but saw no doubt in either of their faces. “Guys, I don’t know what to say…”
“Don’t say anything.” Pansy said, with a smile, “You’re like us. You’d protect us from the bloody muggles, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course. Not that they could do much to hurt wizards.” Harry said, a bit unsure.
“It’s the principle of the thing. The others don’t really understand. Blaise’s mum is dangerous, but not to him. And she’d never dream of hurting his friends.” Pansy said, “And Millie doesn’t really get it. Not completely.”
“And Theo’s dad couldn’t buy his way out of Azkaban like ours could, so he’s still there rotting. His mother raised him by herself.” Draco added, “He does get some rather nasty letters from his father, though.”
“They let him send letters?” Harry asked.
“Unfortunately.” Draco answered.
Harry nodded.
There was a short silence, but then Pansy said, “The point is, they don’t really understand. But you do. You’re stuck with us now, Potter.”
Harry smiled and had to look away. “You know, Ron and Hermione don’t really get it either.” Harry looked up at them suspiciously, but it didn’t look like either of them were going to say anything against Harry’s best friends, “Ron has the best parents ever. His mom makes homemade meals and worries about them. His dad is super nice and never yells. They may be poor, but they’ve got that. And Hermione’s parents might not understand our world, but they try their best, you know?”
A moment of quiet, and then, “Well shit.” Draco shook his head.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Draco smiled ruefully. “Never thought I’d be jealous of a Weasley.”
Harry searched the words for an insult against Ron, and when he found none, he smiled back. “Anybody who really knows the Weasleys is plenty jealous of them, trust me. But I haven’t really told Ron anything about… the Dursleys.”
“Well now you have us.” Pansy said, firmly, “And we can relate to all the filthy details.”
“Thank you.” Harry said, and he meant it.
Both of them gave him quite genuine smiles, and Harry found himself smiling back.
At that moment, there was a knock on the door and Pansy and Draco had to scramble back from it so they didn’t get smacked by the door when Blaise pushed it open.
“Not to interrupt your knitting circle,” Blaise said, without malice, “But Snape is here, and he wants to have a house-wide meeting, and after that he wants to talk to Pansy in his office.”
Draco sighed. “Alright, we’re coming. Just give us a second.”
Blaise nodded and closed the door again.
“Why does Snape want to talk to you? Haven’t you had enough interrogation today?” Harry asked, his dislike of Snape clear in his voice.
“It’s not like that.” Draco said, shaking his head. “He just wants to make sure she’s alright. He does it every time a parent like ours comes to visit.”
“Alright, if you say so.” Harry said, skeptical.
Pansy had her hand on the doorknob, but at Harry’s clear doubt she let go and turned around again. “No, really. I know you’ve had plenty of bad experiences with him, I’m not negating that, but he really does mean well.”
“He’s like us, too.” Draco said, “Though he’d probably be bloody furious to know we told you that.”
“What? Really?” Harry said, completely shocked. He’d had absolutely no idea.
Pansy nodded. “He tells you about it, the first time he has one of those meetings with you after your parents visit. To make sure we know we can trust him.”
“And who do you think came up with the procedure we follow?” Draco asked, with a playful smirk at Harry’s completely flabbergasted expression.
Harry had literally no idea what to say, so he didn’t say anything at all.
Draco waited for a response for a few seconds, but when he didn’t get one, he just laughed gently and said, “Let’s go. He’ll want to get this over with.”
They made their way back into the Common Room. The furniture was still all arranged the way it had been for Cassius’s visit, so they made their way back to the rest of their friends in the center of the room. Pansy sat in Millicent’s lap, wrapping her arms around her neck, and Millient kissed her cheek in greeting. “Ok, baby?”
“I’m fine, Millie.” Pansy said with a soft smile.
Harry and Draco sat next to Blaise on one of the sofas. Theo was already there in another chair, and Vince and Greg were sitting on the floor again.
Snape stood on a conjured platform a few feet away from them, to the left of the fireplace. “I want to congratulate you all on your expedient conduct in altering the room in this manner, and on your ability to act casual while Mr. Parkinson was in this room. The silence as he walked in, however understandable, was a bit too suspicious. Next time, continue conversing as the parent enters the room, unless instructed otherwise. Luckily Mr. Parkinson is vain enough to believe the silence was in awe of his prowess, but the next parent may not have the same ego.” Snape cast a look at Pansy that -- if Harry hadn’t known better -- he would have said was amused.
“I would remind you all of Slytherin loyalty,” Snape went on, his voice a bit harder now, “And of the necessity of keeping each other's secrets and weaknesses to ourselves, but I know you all know that already, so I won’t waste my breath. Needless to say, anything overheard in this Common Room does not leave this Common Room, understood?”
There were nods all around. “Wonderful. Begin resetting the furniture in this room immediately. The prefects will collect and return my Dark Arts books. I don’t want to find any missing when I count them, clear?” Snape said.
More nods. “Wonderful. Proceed.” Snape stepped down from the platform, which vanished immediately afterward. Everyone stood and began reorganizing the furniture again, with less urgency this time, but still with that same sense of choreography they’d had before.
Snape walked over to their little group. “Ms. Parkinson, with me, please.”
Pansy nodded, kissed Millicent on the lips, and followed Snape out of the Common Room and back to his office.
The rest of them stood so that a group of seventh years could move their furniture. “Er, are we supposed to be helping?” Harry asked.
Blaise laughed. “Usually, yes. But given it was our friend group directly affected, the others won’t mind if we just stand here processing our feelings.”
“I see.” Harry said, thinking that didn’t sound anything like what he’d been told Slytherins were about. “Also, what’s this Slytherin loyalty Snape was on about?”
Blaise and Draco exchanged a glance. “Suppose it makes sense you wouldn’t know about that either. Bloody Dumbledore whispering poison in your ear about us for all those years.” Draco said.
Harry glanced back and forth between them, as if to say, “Well, somebody tell me!”
Blaise sighed, “It’s like our pact, essentially. Everyone else is against us, so we have to be on each others’ team.”
“We don’t tell each other's' secrets, we don’t reveal what we’ve learned here in confidence, and we don’t attack each other outside or inside this room. If we have a grievance we talk it out rather than resorting to spells.” Draco explained, counting them off on his fingers, “Did I miss anything?”
“No talking shit about another Slytherin to people from other houses.” Theo said, leaning against the wall, “But that one has a bit more wiggle room.”
“If you want to complain to Weasley and Granger about us, he means.” Blaise said, with a smirk.
“But, if you’re allowed to do that, that means you also have to complain about them to us.” Draco said, haughtily.
“Equal opportunity gossip.” Theo said, nodding seriously.
Harry rolled his eyes and said, “I won’t be complaining about anyone to anyone else. And if I do, I won’t be keeping track of it like points in a bloody competition.”
“Ooh, a competition?” Draco asked, “I want to win!”
“Of course you do.” Harry said, fondly. “No competition. No winning. I like both groups equally.”
There was a silence. Harry realized what he’d just said, “No one tell Ron I said that.”
“Did you mean it?” Draco asked.
Harry thought about it. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
Draco just stared at him, and Harry found he couldn’t look away.
Pansy walked back up to them and said, “What are we talking about?”
Harry and Draco broke eye-contact, both looking off in opposite directions.
“Slytherin loyalty.” Millicent answered, “Harry hadn’t heard the whole spiel yet.”
“Ahh, I see.” Pansy said, leaning back into Millicent as she wrapped her arms around her waist. “Speaking of Harry, Professor Snape wants to talk to you.”
Harry narrowed his eyes at her. “What did you do?”
Pansy gave him doe eyes, “Nothing.” She said.
Harry raised an eyebrow.
“I may have mentioned that he should speak to you, but I didn’t give him any details. Maybe this will help the two of you work out your differences.” Pansy sounded hopeful. Harry did not feel hopeful.
But he supposed there was really nothing else to say, except, “Alright, I guess.”
“Great! He’s waiting in his office.” Pansy said, smiling.
Harry took a deep breath and turned to leave, but Draco grabbed his arm before he could. “Snape won’t be cruel. Not about this.” he whispered.
Harry smiled softly. “Maybe not to you or Pansy.”
Draco scrunched his eyebrows together. “At least give him a chance. Don’t go in angry.”
Harry considered. “Yeah, alright.”
Draco nodded and made a gesture that indicated, “Off you go.”
Harry made his way to Snape’s office, already dreading the conversation. He knew Pansy meant well, but he didn’t think Snape could set aside his dislike of Harry for long enough to be objective. Even if Draco did think “this” was different, somehow, than everything else.
It may have been different for him and Draco and Pansy, but that was different. Keep telling yourself that, Potter.
He’d arrived at Snape’s office. Harry hesitated for only a moment, and then knocked.
There was a pause, and then Snape’s voice said, “Enter.” Harry entered.
Snape was sitting on the far side of his desk, a chair available on the other side. They just stared at each other for several moments, but then Snape clearly realized that he, as the adult, had to speak first. “Come sit down, Potter. And close the door behind you.”
So you can torture me in private? Harry thought, but didn’t speak aloud. He really did intend to try, if only to avoid further misery for himself.
Harry closed the door and sat down in the chair across Snape’s desk. There was another silence where they both just observed each other, both seeming to realize relatively quickly that this meeting was different than any other they’d had with just them before. Perhaps it was a mutual willingness to listen.
“I must admit, I was surprised when the hat decided to place you in Slytherin this time around, Potter. I hadn’t observed any Slytherin qualities in you previous to that moment, but perhaps I was… mistaken.” Snape said, with a certain reluctance.
Harry didn’t think Snape had ever admitted to being wrong in Harry’s presence before. That alone proved this conversation different than any previous one. “I actually wasn’t very surprised myself, Sir. The hat did consider sorting me into Slytherin the first time as well. I just convinced it not to.”
Harry had explained that story to Draco, Blaise, and Theo his very first night in the Slytherin dormitories. Draco had burst out laughing, and when asked what was so funny, he’d just shook his head and said, “Potter, we could have been best friends this entire bloody time. And then Weasley would have been your rival. Imagine it! Imagine the world’s shock!”
Harry had just winced and replied, “Imagine the world’s shock when this hits the papers tomorrow.”
There had been a sympathetic silence. And sure enough, Harry Potter: A Slytherin? Had actually been the headline of the Daily Prophet the very next day.
“You convinced it to put you in Gryffindor?” Snape asked, bringing Harry back to the present.
Harry nodded sheepishly. “Yes, Sir.”
Snape laughed cynically. “No wonder it thought you a Gryffindor. Who else would have the audacity to tell that hat what to do? Astonishing.”
Harry looked for an insult, and then stopped himself. He was trying to get along with Snape, he reminded himself.
“What changed this time around, if I may ask.” Snape enquired.
Harry shrugged. “I just let it make the decision it wanted to make. Maybe it sensed… maybe it could tell that after the Graveyard last year, I decided to do anything I could to stop Voldemort. I suppose you could call it an ambition.”
Snape observed him candidly. “I do suppose you could, Potter. Fascinating.”
There was another silence, this one a bit less tense than the others. Harry thought they were doing remarkably well so far; he was even hopeful he’d make it out without detention.
Snape sighed and said, “On to the point of this conversation, I suppose. Ms. Parkinson may have implied that your home life is less than desirable. She did not tell me any details, nor did I ask them of her. You do not have to tell me anything you don’t wish to, although depending on the situation, I may like to inform the Headmaster, given that the muggles should be easy enough to remove you from, especially given the lessened effect of the blood protection after the Dark Lord’s resurrection.”
Harry stiffened. “The blood protections are lessened?”
Snape nodded. “The Dark Lord used your blood in the potion for his resurrection. That protection is now essentially a part of him as well. He can harm you, and Petunia Dursley’s blood connection to you is essentially useless in terms of protection.” Harry noted the way he said Aunt Petunia’s name with scorn, but that wasn’t the most important part of that statement to him. Not right now.
Harry felt fury racing through his veins. He clenched his hands together and tried to keep control of his magic. “You mean to tell me. That Dumbledore forced me to spend most of the summer in that house for no bloody reason?”
An empty potions vial on Snape’s desk exploded. Snape looked at it, casually cast Reparo , and then looked at Harry. “If the muggles are mistreating you, Dumbledore must be informed --”
Harry scoffed. “You can tell Dumbledore anything you like, but it won’t make a difference. He already knows.”
Snape went still in a way Harry knew was his way of showing deep rage. This may have been the first time Harry had been in the presence of that rage and not had it aimed at him. “You mean to tell me. That Dumbledore is aware of mistreatment and has done nothing whatsoever to interfere.”
“Nothing to interfere other than insisting I return there. Due to the blood protections. Which you have just informed me are essentially gone.” Harry said, meeting Snape’s eyes. There was something about their shared rage that made Harry want to trust him, even if only with this.
“What have you told him? Perhaps he has misunderstood.” Snape said, but he sounded like he doubted it.
“I may not have told him anything, exactly. But my first Hogwarts letter came addressed to Harry Potter who lives in the Cupboard Under the Stairs, so he clearly got his information some other way.” Harry admitted.
“They kept you --”
“In the cupboard under the stairs. Home sweet home. And Dumbledore also knew the Weasleys came to rescue me before my second year when the Dursleys isolated me in a room for three months with very little food.” Harry added.
“They starved you.” Snape said, matter-of-fact.
“Mhm. And Dumbledore is most certainly aware of the way they force me to cook and clean for them like a slave, but that’s nothing next to what would happen to me if Voldemort captured me during the summer when I’m outside Hogwarts’ wards. Except, oh wait. That’s not real, is it?” Harry went on, voice rising with rage again.
“This is completely unacceptable. We will go speak to Dumbledore immediately.” Snape said, getting up from his desk and grabbing his wand.
Harry stared at him with wide eyes. “Sir?”
Snape turned to him, met his eyes and said, “I do not leave my Slytherins in houses where they are unsafe, Mr. Potter. Not when I can help it.”
Harry stood up, preparing to follow him, but he had to ask, “What about Draco and Pansy?”
Snape’s eyes filled with a genuine sadness, one that Harry hadn’t quite been ready for. “Those are the ones I can’t help. Other than what I do for them here at school, of course.”
“Of course.” Harry said softly, following Snape to the door.
Neither of them said anything all the way to Dumbledore’s office, and when they got there, Snape used the password to gain entry, gesturing for Harry to go ahead of him into the spiral staircase.
At the door, Snape knocked twice and then pushed open the door without waiting for a response. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk looking over some parchments, which he set down when he saw them come in. “What can I do for you this time of night, my boys?”
Snape took offense to the name, Harry could see it in his clenched jaw, but he didn’t say anything about it. What he did say was, “Perhaps you could begin by explaining to me why you’ve left Mr. Potter in an abusive household for several years, despite knowing there were several wizarding families willing to take him in?”
Harry blinked. That was news to him.
Dumbledore removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. “Sit down, Severus, please.”
Snape did not sit down. “I will not sit until I receive an explanation.”
“Severus, you know about the blood protections on that house due to the presence of Petunia Dursley --”
“The blood protections that have almost completely vanished after the resurrection of the Dark Lord, you mean? You did tell me that yourself, after all. And regardless, no amount of family blood magic is worth leaving a child in a house where they are starved and treated as a house elf. There is nothing you can say which would justify that to me, Albus.” Snape said, placing his hands on Dumbledore’s desk and leaning forward, as if in challenge.
“What else would you have me do with him, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, exasperated.
Harry thought they may have both forgotten he was even in the room.
“At this point in time? Have him stay with the Weasleys over break. Give custody of him over to Sirius Black. As much as I loathe the man, he’s loyal to those he cares for, and Potter is certainly among that number. Keep him at Hogwarts over break and watch over him yourself? Ask me to take him in? Anything, Albus. Anything other than what you have done.” Snape was nearly vibrating with rage at this point, and Harry was unable to look away from the stand-off.
“Would you have truly taken him in if I’d asked you to, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, doubtfully.
“That is not the most pertinent point in my argument. But the answer is yes. If I had heard any of this before today, I would have taken him in. I would still, if I did not know there were others who care for him available to do so.” Snape answered, and Harry believed him. He would not have believed anyone else who told him Snape had said those words, but hearing them from Snape’s own mouth, Harry believed him.
“What you should have done is removed him from the care of those muggles the very moment you caught wind of abuse. I would ask you why you did not, but I know you will not give me a straight answer, so all I will do is insist that you remedy your mistake immediately.” Snape went on.
“And what will you do if I do not?” Dumbledore asked, a note of challenge in his voice.
“Remove him from the home of Petunia Dursley myself.” Snape said, and Harry did not doubt him.
Apparently, neither did Dumbledore. “And how about we ask Harry himself what he thinks of this?”
Snape scoffed. “Go ahead. I implore you to, Albus.”
“Well, my boy?” Dumbledore said, and Harry found himself the target of both adults’ gazes. Dumbledore’s eyes had their usual twinkle, but Harry didn’t quite believe in it as he had in the past. Snape was giving him a look that told him it was alright to tell the truth.
“If they would agree to it, I would like to spend the holidays with the Weasleys, Sir. I would be willing to pay for my upkeep from my vault, if necessary.” Harry said, although he doubted very much that Arthur and Molly’s pride would allow them to accept any sort of payment from Harry, “And if they refuse --”
“They would not refuse.” Snape insisted.
“If they refuse,” Harry went on, “I would like to stay at Grimmauld Place instead, Headmaster. Or at Hogwarts. Or really anywhere except the Dursleys’.”
Snape turned to Dumbledore, triumphant and expectant. Dumbledore looked from face to face, and when he found nothing but determination in either of them, he sighed. “Very well. I will contact the Weasleys tomorrow.”
“No, I will contact the Weasleys. And you will sign on to the letter.” Snape corrected him.
“You do not trust me?” Dumbledore asked, disappointment clear in his voice.
“Not with this. Goodnight, Albus.” Snape said, and turned for the door. Harry scrambled after him without a word.
Harry didn’t speak until they reached the corridor. “Thank you, Sir. Really.”
Snape glanced at him, then turned back to the corridor ahead of them, lit by lumos light. “I would have done the same for anyone in your position, Mr. Potter. But you’re welcome.”
They walked in silence for a few moments. “May I ask why, Professor?”
Snape didn’t answer at first, and Harry worried he’d pushed too far, but then he said, “I grew up in a similar situation. My mother was a witch, and my father a muggle. He had a drinking problem, and he physically abused both me and my mother. My mother was far too occupied with her own problems to take proper care of me, and when she got sick it only got worse. And when she died --” Snape stopped to take a deep breath, “When she died, I finally got up the courage to tell Professor Dumbledore what was going on in my home.”
Snape stopped walking and turned to look Harry straight in the eye. “And he told me there was nothing he could do. I was fourteen years old.” They continued walking down the corridor. “And so I went back to that house. And when Lucius Malfoy approached me to tell me about the Dark Lord, well. It sounded better than going back to my father’s house.”
Harry didn’t quite know what to say. Other than, “And was it? Better than your father’s house?”
Snape glanced over at him again. “Most decidedly not.”
“Oh.” Harry said, feeling a bit foolish.
“So now, whenever one of my Slytherins tells me that their family treats them badly, I do whatever there is in my power to assist them. It would be far easier if the Headmaster were willing to work with me, but we do what we must.” Snape went on.
“Why…” Harry began, but he didn’t know how to phrase the question.
“Professor Dumbledore has this strange idea that suffering builds character. This is not true. Suffering does not build character, it breaks it. Remember that, Mr. Potter, when you make decisions in future.” Snape said, just as they arrived at the door to the Slytherin Common Room.
“I will, Professor.” Harry said solemnly, feeling like he’d learned more about Snape in this one night than he’d known in the last five years. Their eyes met. “Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome, Harry.” Snape said, gave him a nod, and then began walking away towards his office. Harry watched him for a while until he was out of sight in the dark corridor.
Harry entered the Common Room and made his way through the low light towards his dormitory. On the way there, he ran into Pansy and Millicent snuggled up together on a sofa. “How did it go, Harry?” Pansy asked.
“Incredibly well, actually. Snape took me to speak to Dumbledore, and they’re going to see if I can stay with the Weasleys next summer.” Harry said, still rather unable to believe any of it.
Pansy’s eyes lit up, and she struggled free from Millicent’s arms to pull Harry into a hug. “That’s brilliant . I’m so happy for you.” And when she stepped back, Harry could tell that she was.
“Thanks, Pansy.” Harry said, with a smile.
“Now go to bed. You look exhausted.” Pansy instructed, with a grin.
“Of course, mother.” Harry joked, but made his way to his dorm nonetheless.
When he got there, the lights were out and Blaise, Theo, Greg, and Vince all had their curtains closed already. Draco, however, was reading his Transfigurations text by wandlight, but Harry had the feeling that he was actually waiting up for him. “Well?” Draco asked, softly.
Harry gave him much the same explanation he’d given Pansy.
“That’s brilliant. Really.” Draco said, but he looked down at his book as he did so.
“What is it?” Harry asked.
Draco looked up at him and smiled, “Suppose I’m jealous. Like you said, anyone in their right mind would be jealous of the Weasleys.”
His voice was sad, and in that low light, in light of everything Harry had learned about him, learned about them all that day, Harry felt a rush of affection for him, warm and soft. Harry walked over to his bed and sat down next to him, and before he could talk himself out of it, wrapped his arms around him for a hug.
Draco stiffened up at first -- Harry could feel the tension in his spine -- but then gradually he relaxed, and eventually he lifted his arms to hug Harry back.
“I would bring you with me, if I could.” Harry whispered, and he found that he meant it, more than he’d meant anything in quite a while.
“Would you, really?” Draco asked, a kind of sad curiosity in his voice.
“Yes.” Harry said, and then they were staring into each others’ eyes like they had been before, except now Pansy wasn’t there to interrupt them.
Nor was anyone else, for that matter. They went on staring, and Harry felt as if the world could have ended in that moment and he wouldn’t have noticed. And then Draco was leaning in, slowly, closer and closer, but he stopped an inch away as if waiting for Harry’s reaction. Harry leaned in to meet his lips and kissed him.
The kiss began soft and gentle, but slowly it deepened, and before long they were falling back to lay down on Draco’s bed, legs twining together, hands finding hair and robes. Draco was so warm, and soft, and nothing like Harry would have expected, if he’d thought to expect anything at all whatsoever.
They kissed for a while, but eventually they had to break apart for air. They didn’t move very far, though, resting their foreheads together, eyes still closed. “Nothing like suffering to bring two people together, right, Potter?” Draco asked, softly.
Harry thought about what Snape had said earlier, that suffering broke character rather than building it. “Not suffering. Surviving.”
Draco pulled back far enough to look into his eyes. Whatever he saw there must have been enough to convince him of something. He moved closer again, but this time it was to tuck his head into Harry’s neck and whisper, “I think you’re right, Harry. I think you’re right.”
The night was still and soft. Draco’s breathing and the weight of his body beside him were a comfort. Something about it drove all thoughts of the day he’d had right out of Harry’s brain until he felt nothing but peace. And eventually, he fell asleep.