The Wallflower a Painting
It's a bitter pill to swallow, but more often than not one can accomplish more from remaining unnoticed. Discretion is, in fact, the better part of valor. As an accomplished Slytherin, Harry Potter took those words to heart.
He had spent the better part of the last three years of his education at Hogwarts maintaining the appearance of a wallflower. He was utterly unremarkable. In fact, the only thing that stood out about Harry was his ability to maintain perfectly average marks in every class that he attended. When the school had been broken into, and some professor had apparently infiltrated the castle under the guise of being a teacher in order to steal something the headmaster was protecting, Harry had been comfortably reading a book in the Slytherin common room in the dungeons, a rather fascinating novel about a muggle detective solving crimes in London. When a young girl was taken hostage and murdered, Harry had been taking a stroll around the Black Lake.
He was the perfect shadow, utterly unnoticeable, a whitewash of background noise that often went entirely unnoticed. The Boy Who Lived title faded with him being away from the wizarding public, and with him lacking anything that set him apart from the ordinary, he went unseen and unheard. Just as he liked it.
As student going into his fourth year at Hogwarts, at the age of fourteen, Harry lay in his bed at Saint William's Home for Orphan Children finishing the seventh year Transfiguration textbook for the third time that summer. He idly twirled his wand between his fingers, the 11" holly and phoenix feather beauty slowly revolving with precise dexterity.
"-and as such, the most important part of transfiguration is visualization. By studying the inherent properties of an object, it becomes easier to transform the subject of the spell into the desired form since similarities become more apparent. Because of this, it is easier to transform objects into one of a similar mass, while more difficult to reduce or increase the mass. For example, the transfiguration of a matchstick into a needle would be simple for any novice, however, transfiguring a pebble into a sword would be immensely more difficult. In the case of the transfiguration of living material, this difficulty is exponentially increased…"
With a soft hum, Harry placed his book down on his lap and pressed his wand against. In a moment, the book began to fold in on itself and stretch, elongating into the form of a large snake. Pseudechis australis, also known as the Pseudonaja, a snake commonly found in Australia.
"Not very difficult at all, really," Harry chortled. The snake slithered up his arm, wrapping itself around his bicep snugly, releasing a content hiss. He absently stroked it with his free arm, looking out the small window of his room. He'd lived here for as long as he could remember, in this specific room. Dumbledore once told him that he had relatives, from his mother's side, a family of muggles who were quite set in their ways. Supposedly, he was entrusted into their care after his parents death. Likely, it was them who had left him at the orphanage. Not that he was complaining. As long as he did chores and helped the matron, Harry was often left to his own devices. Just as he liked. With all of his alone time, he'd poured over book after book, scouring all the information he could of magic. Magic was Harry's escape from the mundane. It made him extraordinary. He pointed his wand once more at the snake.
"Evanesco," he intoned, vanishing the snake. He reached behind him and slid his wand into the back pocket of his jeans, and tugged the length of his shirt over the wand, obscuring it from view. He swept his hair from in front of his eyes, and tugged on a pair of worn shoes.
"Matron, I'm leaving. I'm going to spend some time at the home of a friend from school. I'll be back in a couple of days," Harry called out as he walked down the stairs of the somewhat cramped orphanage. The matron gave a grunt of acknowledgement as he walked passed her. Harry walked to the edge of the road and extended his wand out. With a pop and the screeching of tires, a triple-decker, purple bus came to halt.
"Diagon Alley, please."
-0oOOo0-
Yet, Diagon Alley was not Harry's true destination. With a dark hood pulled up obscuring his face, Harry cut down Knockturn Alley towards what was his second favorite place in the world, stopping only briefly to observe a wanted poster for a escaped convict who'd managed the impossible feat of escaping from Azkaban last year. It was a quaint shop, called Tomb of Tomes, and boasted a large collection of ancient books, some dating back as far as just before the founding of the Roman Empire, during the time of Camelot, the last Magical Kingdom. It was here Harry worked, read, and felt truly alive. He was alive amongst the words of the dead. The irony was far from lost on him.
"Potter. You were supposed to be here two hours ago," A spectacled man with a scar just above his brow clucked.
"I'm sorry Master Cyrus, I was caught up with some summer homework, it won't happen again," Harry brushed off. Cyrus let out an undignified snort.
"Yes. I am entirely sure the reason of you being late was not a product of your disposition towards your odd fixation on turning pages and ignoring any sort of inkling of responsibility that tries to worm its way to the forefront of your mind," the disgruntled old man sniped. With a roll of his eyes, Harry pulled his hood back, releasing his mess of black, unruly hair to spread across his shoulders. He began lifting books and placing them on the shelf.
"Why a child your age chooses to sit amongst the dusty works of men who all thought they were much smarter than the other eludes me."
"You'd be hopeless and miserable without me, of course," Harry cheekily shot back with a grin. Cyrus huffed, and resumed writing in a ledger.
The wrinkled man paused. "Have you finished the book I loaned you? The one on Celtic rituals?"
"I have. Its properties were… illuminating," Harry grimaced. Cyrus nodded briefly.
"Sacrificing creatures that are magical in nature serves as an astonishing catalyst, and the ancient tribes were wise to recognize the validity of the use of such resources. Albeit, they were somewhat overzealous to say the least. Nonetheless, rituals have an esoteric power. It's similar to alchemy's law of equivalent exchange. Through sacrifice, the receiver must give something of equal value."
"Who is the receiver though? 'Gods and fae' seems like an unlikely answer," Harry interjected. At this, Cyrus looked up at Harry with great disappointment.
"For such a well read boy, you are still but a boy, bound by the foolish naivete that comes with supposed knowledge." Cyrus took a breath, and collected himself. "Truly, boy. Do you actually believe that there are no Gods? No magical beings who harnessed such power that they transcended the mundane holds of reality, and tore open a new path? Briefly, let me lend you the musings of an old man, and something you should consider. Is not the universe a collection of paths for the individual? And do not paths deviate? After all, you have heard the expression 'to go off the beaten path'. To leave the path well traveled, you simply pave your own way."
"Fine. Suppose there are such wizards-" "Boy, you can not seriously believe only wizards are capable of extraordinary feats of magic." Harry huffed.
"SUPPOSE that these gods did once exist as magical beings such as you or I. Why would they reward the sacrifice of, I dunno, babies and puppies? It seems a little… unnecessary."
Cyrus let out a guffaw."For that which is priceless, and has no comparable value, child." Harry paused from placing a book upon a shelf.
"The soul."
"Yes boy. The soul. And before you ask, no, I will not point you towards what magick's you can accomplish through harnessing souls. A foolish boy such as yourself would be locked away in Azkaban faster than he could say 'Quidditch.' Now. Cease bothering me and do what I'm paying you for."
With that, a comfortable silence settled between the two, and Harry shelved books and sorted as he saw fit. Occasionally, he grabbed a dusty tome that caught his interest and placed it in a bag slung across his back, planning to study it rigorously later. One specifically caught his eye. The Binding Ritualist, the Breaching of Mundane, written by a man by the name of Faustus Krex. He'd wait until he was at Hogwarts before delving into that one, he mentally decided. Another book, called simply A Runekeepers Guide by Gareth O'Malley he snatched from a shelf and opened next to a candle. With a snap of his fingers, he lit the candle, dimly illuminating the pages of the book.
"Impressive. How long have you been able to do wandless magic?" Cyrus's eyebrows raised.
"Not very long. I read in a book that wands were merely a focus, so I figured that simple tasks could be accomplished through a minimal exertion of my will and a slight flex of magic. It's not much different from the Incendio charm." Harry conveniently left out that he rigorously studied Incendio and all of its properties for several weeks before he was able to make the slightest spark. Cyrus nodded, and seemed to jot something down before returning to writing in his ledger. Opening to the first page of the book, Harry began reading.
The limitations of Runes depends upon the inscriber and how much the inscriber is willing to sacrifice. I once knew a man who fortified his muscles to the density of iron, and as a result, his bones became immensely brittle and would snap whenever he did so much as flex a muscle. Runes, as such, is a double-edged sword that is largely determinant around the purpose of the runes that have specific meaning. Or rather, meanings. The rune the aforementioned man used was a rune that meant 'Outer Strength', but had the additional meaning 'To draw from within'. This resulted in the rune drawing from the density of his bones, and transferring it to his muscles. Therefore, it is paramount for a Runekeeper to compile a list of runes and all of their meanings in a concise, comprehensive manner, and to test these runes rigorously until they achieve the desired results.
The page went on to discuss a variety of runes and how they could be applied. All very fascinating stuff. After what felt like minutes, the candle next to Harry went out, burned down to barely a stump. Harry cast a quick Tempus. 9:00 P.M. Cyrus looked up from his ledger, right where Harry had left him.
"Bed is set up in the back," Cyrus nodded towards to the very back of the shop, hidden behind several isles filled with books. Harry yawned and nodded sleepily and closed his book, placing it in his bag. He stood and waved a brief goodnight, before heading back to his room.
It was a perfect day in the life of one Harry Potter.
-0oOOo0-
Part of Harry's duties to Cyrus was that at the end of the week he was to bring a complete documentation of all transactions that occurred that week and give it to Vresnuk the Lazy, the goblin who served to account for the business expenditures of Tomb of Tomes. The promissary note would notify the goblins of the transaction of funds, and would move funds from the direct business account linked to a one way bag in which galleons were deposited from the store, and move it to a larger vault from where books would be bought from competitors and collectors. All in all, it was a very tidy process that Harry marvelled at the ingenuity, reminding him of a muggle's debit card, except working in reverse.
"Probably a muggleborn's idea," Harry mused. Wizards, after all, are quite set in their ways. Any sort of change that is proposed usually ends with the title of "Dark Lord" and "Dark Magic" and a one way trip to Azkaban. Really, pretty much anything was a life sentence in wizarding Britain.
Looking up from his pondering, Harry realized he'd reached the marble steps of the great Wizarding Bank of Gringotts. With a smirk, he mentally recited the famous Gringotts warning.
"Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there."
Goblins, as far as Harry was concerned, were entirely irrational creatures. Why would you let beautiful works of craftsmanship, piles of gold, and a hoard of ancient relics lay in a vault never to be seen? Madness. After all, if nobody knows something exists, does it really even exist at all? And if so, does it not serve no purpose in its existence? Harry briefly nodded at the two goblin guards standing at the entrance of the bank, and entered.
"Excuse me, mister…" he paused to read the plaque on the desk of the goblin in front of him. "Blathkul. May I be directed to account manager Vresnuk?" The goblin bared his teeth at the boy. With a slight hop, the goblin dropped down from his seat, and gestured over his shoulder for Harry to follow him without looking back. The light from the crystal chandelier glinted off the sleek granite floors, and each step the pair made seemed to resound around the room filled with little else other than the sound of quill on parchment and hastily scribbled notes. Blathkul knocked on a large oak door, and after a second, the door opened seemingly by itself.
"A mister Harry Potter, here to see account manager Vresnuk." Harry stepped into the office and eyed the room. It was very spartan, sparsely decorated save for a large painting of a goblin figure framed by intricately carved gold, and a desk centered in the room. A goblin sat behind the desk, and gestured towards a chair in front of him.
"A pleasure to see you, mister Potter. The weekly notice, I presume?" Vresnuk asked without looking up. He reached his gnarled hand up and plucked the missive from Harry's hands.
"Yes sir-"
"Potter. I am no wizard. We have discussed this. You will refer to me by my title or not refer to me at all."
"I meant yes, Account Manager." The goblin glowered at Harry. Vresnuk began analyzing the documents and let out a sharp tsk.
"These statements simply do not provide enough evidence as to why we should not close Tomb of Tomes and sell the property. As previously stated to Mister Cyrus, I am afraid that if the seven-hundred twenty-nine galleon deficit is not met, then Gringotts will be forced to seize the property and hold an auction. Gringotts apologizes sincerely." He waved his hands and the documents popped from existence, likely transported to a filing cabinet of a sort. Vresnuk resumed writing.
"And why are you still here?" the rather tired looking goblin asked.
"I was wondering if you could send for a goblin to take me to my vault," Harry asked sheepishly. Vresnuk looked up and licked his lips with a glint in his eye. "Mister Potter, you and I are both aware you have several vaults to your name. Would you care to be more specific?"
"The Black Vault." Harry instantly replied. Vresnuk nodded and tapped a small button located to the right of his hand. Within seconds another goblin entered the office.
"Griphook. Take Harry to the Black Vault," Vresnuk ordered. The goblin's, who's name had been revealed to be Griphook, head gave a sharp jerk as he looked over the young boy in front of him.
"Does the boy have a key?" Harry nodded in response. Griphook's eyes widened and a fanged grin adorned his face. "Right this way then." The pair began to make their exit.
"A second, Mister Potter." Harry paused and looked back at Vresnuk. "Should you, perhaps, be in need of a manager for any of your accounts, I would be more than happy to lend you my services. I'm sure you'd be far more comfortable with a familiar face to be-" Harry laughed and cut Vresnuk off.
"I appreciate your offer, however, we have two issues. The first is that I don't trust goblins," both Griphook and Vresnuk chuckled at that. "The second is that I can't do much with any of my vaults for several more years. It'd be a moot point." Harry gave a theatrical sigh. "Otherwise, Tomb of Tomes wouldn't be in debt to Gringotts."
"Of course. Regardless, should there come a time where you are in need of someone to oversee your accounts, I would be honored to lend my practiced hands," Vresnuk stated. Harry nodded in response.
"Good day, Account Manager Vresnuk. May your gold never cease to flow," Harry bowed slightly, and turned to exit.
And so, Harry found himself perusing the Black Vault, fingering through several old tomes that he had been hesitant picking up during his first trip to Gringotts first year. Discovering his ownership of the vault was a shock to say the least, but it was a welcome gift and Harry had yet to search for the root of the reason of how it fell into his lap. He ran his thumb up the length of the leather binding of a tome. "The Mentalist." Mind Magic. Incredibly illegal, dangerous, yet so rewarding. After all, why study for a test if you can pluck the answers from the minds of your classmates? For Harry, it had been exceedingly useful in allowing him to study his own interests rather than waste time on first year spells. He had honestly lost count of the number of times he had read the book from cover to cover. He wouldn't say he was a master legilimens. Definitely talented, with a comparable skill in occlumency, but not a master. Feeling confident in his abilities in regards to the magics of the mind, Harry grasped a tome that he had been waiting two years to read from. "The Illusionist."
-0oOOo0-
The official closure of summer abruptly reared its head, and Harry found himself once again sitting in a train compartment on the Hogwarts Express. A soft, dull roar resounds throughout the compartment that Harry sat in alone, his nose crammed deeply within the book he had taken from his vault. The Black Family had a large collection of obscure,"vile" magicks, and the art of Illusion was, while intangible, far from benign. The art was rooted deeply in taking control of the minds of others, whether it be through fear inducing hallucinations or simply by inspiring a false love within them. Reaching to his left, he grasped a mug and raised its contents to his lips. Muggle coffee, while not particularly having a satisfying taste, did wonders to prevent Harry from falling into a exhaustion induced slumber. The boy hadn't slept in several days, being so engrossed within the book he held in his hands.
"Power over the people, but power that is unseen. Power perfect for me," Harry mused. The corner of his lips were slightly upturned in delight. Unlike most boys his age, Harry did not have a taste for the flair. He preferred a subtle approach. 'Caution, cunning, and be unbeatable.' That was Harry's mantra, the rules he followed before making any decision. Harry wasn't a fool. When he came into this world, he knew he would have enemies. The likelihood of a famed Dark Lord being killed by a magical anomaly was slim to none, so it stood to reason that something else must have happened that night. After all. There was no body.
Just as he knew he had enemies, known to him and not, he knew that many would reside within the snakes den; the house of Slytherin. His home. Yet, unbeknownst to the sheep who believed they were wolves, Harry was the wolf pretending to be a sheep. Meticulously, he collected information on his entire year in his house over the passed three years. He became the hidden player that no one else knew was even in the game. With the magic of Illusions, he would be unstoppable and be able to step out from the shadows and gain real power.
A sharp series of knocking echoed from the compartment door. Harry grimaced. It seems that he would not be able to enjoy his book in peace. He waved his hand and raised the latch that locked the compartment door. After a moment, the door slid open, and two girls stepped in dressed in green robes.
"Excuse us. Everywhere else was full. Do you mind if we sit in here?" The dark brunette asked, chocolate brown eyes looking at him imploringly. She almost seemed genuine. This was Tracy Davis. A halfblood. Her father was a muggle, and her mother was a witch who owned a successful formal dress robe tailory, making custom robes for the wealthy and the noble. From what Harry understood, she was trained from the moment she could read and write to take over her mother's business, being the only child of the Davis family. A minor threat. Next to her stood Daphne Greengrass, of the Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass. Of Daphne's features, all were rather striking. She had a head of raven hair, a perfect hourglass figure, and a pair of startling lavender eyes. A model princess. Her father was a multimillionaire, with a massive hoard of wealth gained from being the head of Greengrass Exports, a shipping company that exported potion ingredients, materials, and magical items internationally. She keeps a small circle of friends, and has made no bid for power in the last three years amongst the Slytherin House. A large threat, should she gain a modicum of ambition, but of moderate concern as of now. However…
"You can drop the pretenses. I glanced outside a short time ago. Several compartments are fairly empty, and in fact, the one right next us is. Let's be honest to one another. You two are here because Draco Malfoy asked you to observe and see if I planned to take any action this year that might topple his precarious position as the Fangs of our year, since I apparently am the only person he deems a threat because of my lack of action. I would rather you were not here, but I am also not the type to simply dismiss you. That would be impolite," Harry spoke evenly. Daphne's eyes narrowed sharply as a frown settled across her face.
"Potter. Let us sit here for some time. We'll say you said nothing, and Draco won't bother us for the rest of the year." The Greengrass heiress took a seat without waiting for a response. Harry snapped his book shut and tucked it out of sight. Tracey took a seat next to Greengrass across from Harry. Tracey morosely fingered a pendant around her neck, uncomfortable with the silence that filled the compartment.
"So… Harry. Excited for the Triwizard Tournament?" She suddenly asked. Harry's eyebrows shot up, until he quickly schooled his features.
"Tracey!" Daphne hissed. "I told you that in private! Father doesn't know that I read the ledgers and saw that he'd been contracted for the tournament. If he finds out that I snooped in his office..."
"Relax Daph, Harry won't tell a soul. It isn't like he has any friends he could tell," she waved off with a smile. Harry had to cut a sneer off from shaping onto his face. Friends were pointless. They get in the way. Look at you for instance, you've single-handedly put Greengrass in jeopardy.
"You're quite trite, Miss Davis. I appreciate your candor. It's of a different taste than I would imagine of someone of your standing," Harry said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Daphne scowled furiously, while Tracey remained grinning.
"Thank you, Harry-" Harry? Did she really just refer to me as Harry? "You aren't so bad yourself." The girl hummed to herself. "It's going to be quite a treat though, the tournament, that is. Students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are going to be staying with us at the castle this year, and all three schools are going to have a representative that competes."
Harry snorted. "I imagine there isn't much of a prize other than a trophy and a pretty certificate saying 'Well done, you're going to pass your OWLS and get decent NEWTS. We. Are. So proud.'" The sarcasm in his tone was palpable. Tracey's eyes glinted, and a wry smirk formed on her lips.
"Cute." Harry thought, before he felt his cheeks go warm. He crushed the odd thoughts and accompanying feelings.
"Nothing so grandiose, no sir. Instead, the winner gets a trophy, eternal glory, and a thousand galleons. Quite the sum of money for a student." That got Harry's attention.
"With that, I could purchase the debt of Tomb of Tomes…" He began formulating a plot. "That's very interesting, Davis. Thank you for sharing this with me."
"This information was far from free, Harry dear. You owe me now," Tracey said in a faux haughty tone. Daphne shook her head in amusement, a gentle upturn of her lips being the only indication of her thoughts.
This time it was Harry's turn to frown. "Very well. What would you have from me?"
"To be determined," Tracey replied airily. Harry's frown grew even more pronounced. Oh, how he ever hated being in the debt of another.
"You seem to forget that I already have the information. Any recompense on my part will be solely out of my good will," Harry shot with sharp annoyance.
Tracey tutted. "How very naive of you to assume that I gave you ALL of the information, Harry. 'Tempt the fish with a worm, have a hook at the ready' after all. Despite what you think, Harry, I am a Slytherin. And," she leaned in and whispered, "I am a threat." With realization, Harry looked at her with a brief look of horror and slammed his Occlumency shields down, reinforcing his mind.
"Oh he's good. Very good Daph, Malfoy's right to be worried about him. Honestly, I'm wondering how we let a viper like him lay around us." She reached stood, and reached passed Harry and took the book from where he had tucked it away. "And he has access to some very dark magic to boot. A budding Illusionist. How Black." Daphne's eyes had grown to the size of the moon, and her eyes took a predatory glint. Harry looked at her, feeling fear for the first time in a long, long while. Then, he calmed.
"Congratulations. You've cornered me. What is it you want?" Harry summoned the book from her hand with the flex of his fingers. A simple display of power to put them back on equal footing.
"What I want is irrelevant as of right now. As I said, it'll be determined later," Tracey licked her lips and paused. "It seems you've been hiding a lot. Don't worry, Harry. I'll keep your secrets. For now. You just need to keep mine as well. People tend to feel very threatened if someone can pluck their thoughts from them." She stood. "Daph, let's go back to Draco. I think we've learned enough from Harry here." Daphne stood and followed suit. Tracey paused, and turned to Harry. She leaned in to him rather close, a hand on her shoulder, giving Harry and ample view between the valley of her breasts.
Tracey murmured in his ear, "You know Potter. WE could make very good friends. We have so much in common, after all…" Her breath lingered, tickling his neck.
"Noted," Harry replied stiffly.
"Adieu, Harry," She spun on her heel, and walked away, her hips swaying hypnotically. Daphne looked on, barely containing a giggle. She nodded at Harry with a look of amused pity, and followed her friend.
The minute they walked out, Harry through his hand forward, slamming the compartment door shut and dropping the lock into place with magical force. He slumped downwards, and groaned in frustration. Three years of careful planning. Three years of remaining invisible. Ruined in an instant because he thought he was the only one who knew Legilimency.
"Pity the arrogant fool. Yet, the die is cast," Harry shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Now was not the time for self pity. It was time to plan. It was time to take what was his.
He would rule Slytherin House before the end of the year.
-0oOOo0-
"And so, with the conclusion of yet another wonderful song from our dear Sorting Hat and the sorting of our new students, another year has officially begun. This year, however, will be different. Hogwarts will be hosting our friends from the Durmstrang Institute of Magic, and from Beauxbatons Academy. I am sure all of you are quite curious as to why this is the case. Hogwarts will be holding the Triwizard Tournament," With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore revealed a beautiful blue goblet, seemingly shaped from mythril and sapphire. "The Tournament is very dangerous, which is why I, personally, shall be warding the goblet so that only students of the age of seventeen and above can enter." Several groans rung out in response. "I wish for everyone to take this opportunity to make friends. This is a chance to see magic from an entirely different perspective, a wonderfully unique opportunity, and the chance to make new friends. They are, after all, our guests." He raised both his hands. "Now please. Enjoy the feast, and welcome back."
Bugger. That certainly complicates things. A standard ward is one thing, but something of Albus Dumbledore's creation? That's tricky. "That man has probably forgotten more magic than I've learned thrice over." Harry rubbed his temples. He glanced up and down the table and saw Tracey smirking at him. "And there's that." Harry grimaced and rested his head against the table. How could he turn this to his advantage?
"You alright there, Potter?" A voice next to him asked.
"I'm fine, Nott." Theodore Nott looked at him and shrugged.
"Suit yourself. You may want to fill your plate, however. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be going for fifths." Harry leveled his gaze on the pair that seemed entirely keen on stuffing their faces. Bits of food occasionally splashed out of their mouth and onto their robes and the table. Nausea swept over Harry.
"Potter. It seems that this will be quite the illuminating year." A cold, smooth voice washed over him, filling him with dread.
"So it would seem, Malfoy." Harry turned to meet the stone face of the only other member of the House of Slytherin that deserved the title of Slytherin. Draco's pale face looked uninterested, but his eyes revealed that he had discovered the most wonderful thing.
"I think it's time we brought our stray sheep back into the flock, wouldn't you, Potter?" Draco drawled.
"I assume Tracey has spilled all of my dirty little secrets, then?" Harry grimaced.
"Only to me. And Daphne, I suppose. Don't worry, no one else shall ever hear a word of it." Draco lilted. Harry nodded in response, and made a snap decision.
"Sure. You can play shepherd, but you and I both know I won't play the sheep."
"And that, Potter, is exactly what I'm hoping for."
A/n: And there you have it. A truly Slytherin story. Draco isn't a ponce, and the Snakes are far more cunning. This is what I believe Slytherin house really should have been. Don't assume love interests, and especially don't get attached. If you've read anything by me before, you know I love to kill characters off.