4

The next morning, Harry arrived on time to find Pansy sitting upright and cross-legged on one of the most uncomfortable-looking chairs in the waiting area, paperwork covering her lap.

"Good morning," he said, a little confused.

Pansy didn't move her gaze from the paper. "Draco won't be here for another hour."

"He told me ten," said Harry, still confused.

"You'll learn," was all Pansy said.

Harry looked around the waiting room and sighed. Pansy went back to ignoring him.

Harry smiled to himself. "So…" he said.

"Yes?" said Pansy.

"You have a daughter?"

"Yes."

"With Padma – or Parvati?"

Pansy's face was like stone as she told him, "Yes." At his frown she said, "Fathom the meaning of that on your own time, Potter. I have work to do."

Fortunately, Malfoy arrived before actual bloodshed could ensue. There's a sentence Harry never thought he'd hear himself think.

When Malfoy breezed in, Harry noticed that he seemed positively dressed down; his dress robes were grey instead of his usual 'Professor Snape' black, his hair was tied back neatly instead of flowing majestically over his shoulders, and he was carrying a paper cup of coffee.

"Good morning friends and enemies!" he chirped.

Pansy glared. "Do shut up, Draco, unless that coffee is for me."

"Dearest Pansy," Malfoy grandstanded, "I adore you so and yet it never would have worked between us. Look at you – the morning changes both your appearance and your character and not in any positive way."

Pansy practically snarled, "Coffee, Draco?"

Malfoy handed it over, and turned to Harry. "Secretly she loves me, too."

Harry raised an eyebrow and said, "Perhaps we should leave her to her tetchiness."

Pansy growled, "Not until you've signed these. I do have an office of my own to go to, you know. Other clients, even."

Malfoy smiled winningly. "But do they bring you coffee?"

"They pay me."

"That's not real love."

As Harry listened to Malfoy and Pansy banter back and forth rapid as a snitch darting around the Quidditch field, he wondered, not for the first time, what it would have been like to be a part of this kind of dynamic. It did seem to tie into the Slytherins ethos – they obviously cared about each other but they were all desperate to hide it as though it could be used against them. Harry thought about Al growing into that and felt a twinge – and yet, it didn't seem to have done Malfoy nearly as much harm as Harry had believed. Malfoy had a good relationship with his son by all accounts, and if his wife was, quote on the continent for the sake of her health end quote, and had been for about two years, well Harry was hardly in any position to judge.

But except for the occasional flashes of exhaustion Malfoy was always cheerful, with an edge of malice, and always thinking, ready for "the next stroke of undiluted genius," as he had referred to his thoughts, to which Harry had rolled his eyes.

Watching Malfoy and Pansy though, their back and forth meaningless banter, which he'd never really had with anyone, seemed nice – to be able to talk and be reassured of your closeness without ever having to open up about your feelings or any of that other marriage-counsellor claptrap. He loved his friends, he'd loved Ginny – and yes, he could safely say that was past tense now – but Malfoy was the first person he'd ever felt related to him as though he were a springboard, throwing ideas and insults and trying to create a bounce. Harry rather liked it.

"Anyway, Potter," Malfoy said, bringing Harry back to the present. "The interview is in five days and that means that you have a hell of a lot of practice to do. We have to take you from this," he waved a hand that somehow conveyed to Harry that he was a complete disaster, "to someone people can really look up to."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "People do look up to me."

"But for all the wrong reasons!" Malfoy announced. "Are you articulate, charismatic, eloquent? No!"

Harry brushed it aside in favour of humour. "In other words I'm supposed to become you?"

Malfoy ignored him. "So no 'ums', 'ers' or other nonsense syllables, no fluffing up your hair, gods, Potter, your hair, no referring to past triumphs and no false modesty!"

"Er," said Harry.

Malfoy held up a hand. "No! No, no, no, Potter, were you not listening?"

In fact Harry wasn't; he was too busy laughing.

Five days later, Harry sat on a leather chair Malfoy had picked out ("Something homey but classy, gives you that boy-next-door feel"), in a cashmere sweater Malfoy had picked out ("Muggle clothes will really help sell this idea"), ready to tell the reporter the things that Malfoy had picked out ("Just don't cock this up, Potter").

Harry didn't know the reporter Pansy had arranged to have interview him; he wasn't even particularly sure he knew much about the publication, Nightingale. But according to Pansy they were the new voice of the liberal wizarding media, could be relied upon not to spin everything to the Ministry of Magic party line, and although their circulation wasn't huge, Pansy had said with a grim smile, "If they've got your first interview in twenty years, it bloody will be soon."

At least it wasn't Rita Skeeter, he thought to himself, trying to keep his mind from seeing Colin Creevey the way he did every time someone took his photograph.

"Just be natural," said the photographer. "We want candid shots." The photographer, Ritchie something, looked a little familiar, and as he gently rearranged Harry's hair, Harry noticed Pansy smiling to herself.

The journalist, Rhiona something, seemed a little star struck. She kept telling him what an honour it was. Harry bit his lip and nodded.

"Please Rhiona," he said, "Let's just start the interview."

"Of course," she said, blushing, and took out a notebook. There wasn't a Quick-Quotes Quill in sight, Harry noted and relaxed a little.

"So, Mr Potter…"

"Harry, please," he grinned.

Rhiona grinned back. "So, Harry. Usually you avoid the public eye. Why choose now to break your customary silence?"

Malfoy's words coming out of Harry's mouth: "Well, Rhiona, for the most part I felt like being Head Auror was doing my part for the wizarding world, but when I gave that up I realised there were other things going on that needed someone to speak out."

Smooth, relaxed, open. Malfoy would be proud.

"What specifically?"

"Everyone knows that my younger son was sorted into Slytherin house at the beginning of this school year. At the time, I reassured him by telling him about one of his namesakes, Severus Snape – one of the bravest men I ever knew. I told him that the reputation of Slytherin house shouldn't make him feel as though it couldn't be a place for him."

Rhiona nodded.

"But since being placed in Slytherin, Al has been telling me that he and his housemates are frequently bullied by members of the other houses. I'm sure everyone had altercations at school," he rolled his eyes a little, "I certainly did. But the persistent nature of the bullying is what worries me, and it seems to stem from the attitudes of the wizarding world as a whole."

"Go on," Rhiona said, scribbling frantically.

"Did you know that the board of governors blocked a portrait of Severus Snape taking its place among the other Headmasters?"

Rhiona blinked. "I did not."

Harry's mouth twisted. "It was kept rather quiet." McGonagall probably wouldn't thank him for bringing that up, but it had to be done. "That, and there is currently no Head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts. Headmistress McGonagall assures me that she has been attempting to recruit for the post, but there have been no suitable applicants. And without proper role models," he leaned forward meaningfully, as if he had been doing this all his life, "what kind of citizens can we expect these children to become?"

"You were rather good, Potter," Pansy said after the interview. "Made your points, gave your opinions, answered all her questions without being too open – too open always looks desperate." She nodded to herself. "You really were rather good."

Harry sighed. He hadn't much cared for Draco's coaching at the time, but during the interview he kept hearing the instructions in his head (smile, stay relaxed, always seem warm, goodness Potter, I'm surprised you know that word) and it had helped. The thought of it brought a smile to Harry's face now. Strange how something so resented could turn into a comfort.

"Think Malfoy will be happy?"

Something odd crossed Pansy's face before it was smoothed away like a wrinkle from her skirt. "No doubt. This is a very good start, Potter, very good indeed."

Harry smiled. "Do you think it will help find someone to take the job?"

Pansy sighed. "People will probably come forward, sure, but the downside of what we've done today is that now, the choice for head of Slytherin is going to seem even more important. It's going to have to be someone who can really be a symbol."

"A symbol," repeated Harry thoughtfully.

"Do you think you could get McGonagall to consult with a third party about who to hire?"

"No chance whatsoever," Harry replied, but his mind was somewhere else.

"So, what are we going to do?"

Harry smiled at her. "Well, I'm going to lunch. Goodbye!"

"I know it's a hell of a thing to ask," Harry said, placing his tea cup carefully on the coffee table. "But it has to be someone completely above reproach."

Andromeda Tonks rolled her eyes just slightly. "And the fact of who I am lends a lot of credibility to the move. It's smart, Harry, it really is – here I am, the one person who straddles the line from the right hand of Voldemort to the dead heroes."

Harry nodded. No one could ever accuse Andromeda of being slow. She placed her own teacup down on the immaculate table and looked over at the photographs waving from the mantelpiece – Teddy of course, but also the litany of her dead: her husband, her daughter, her sisters as children. Harry doubted she was really seeing any of them. The one thing he'd always admired about Andromeda was the way she drew strength from all her losses instead of being cowed by them. Even in the Great Hall on that night, looking at the bodies of her daughter and son-in-law, she hadn't cried. She'd come up to Harry with dry eyes and she'd said, "Thank you for killing the son of a bitch."

Harry said now, "I would feel so much better if I knew someone like you was looking out for them."

"Well, of course," said Andromeda with a touch of impatience. "An old friend, Slytherin from the days when the positive traits were still perceived. Of course. But I am old, Harry."

"You are much, much younger than Professor McGonagall," Harry pointed out.

Andromeda smiled reminiscently. "Ah, Minerva. She was so hard on me in school, you know. It would be a rather delightful twist to be working with her." Her face became serious again. "Harry, I want to help, I do, but I am tired. I never meant to start my mothering days over again in my forties and while Teddy is a darling, it hasn't been easy. I'm ready for some quiet."

Harry nodded. "I can understand. I just thought…" He blew out an impatient mouthful of air. "I live alone now. Lily's with Ginny and we still haven't sorted out who gets her when. James and Al are away. If I didn't have something to do I'd run mad."

Andromeda laughed, and for a split second Harry saw the merest trace of Sirius in her face, which even to this day usually made him think of Bellatrix Lestrange. "Oh, well," she said, "I never said I wasn't bored. But a new career in my sixties? What would I even teach?"

Harry smiled. "That question I didn't come with an answer for."

"Nor should you!" she retorted, though her eyes were smiling. "I think you've done quite enough in the way of making me feel as though this is all pre-arranged."

"I haven't spoken to the Headmistress or anything," Harry hastened to assure her.

"I should hope not!" she said. She hesitated a moment, looking at him intently. "You're working with Narcissa's boy on this?"

"That's right," Harry nodded.

"He didn't come here with you?"

"I didn't tell him I was coming. Not because I think he won't like it, but I didn't know if you'd want to see him and he tends to get… enthusiastic," Harry felt his mouth shape a smile as he came up with a euphemism for Malfoy's habitual exuberance.

"You like him?" Andromeda said, tilting her head to the side.

Here at least it was safe to admit it. "I do. No one was more surprised than me, but he's actually got a lot of good qualities – he's charming, but it's more sincere than his father. He can be warm, he looks after the people he thinks are his responsibility, and he's taken responsibility for a whole lot of people. He's fun to have around, actually," Harry finished, smiling again at the thought of Draco's manic energy and mercurial moods.

"You care about him?" Andromeda noted.

The thought took Harry by surprise. "Er, well, we work well together." He could feel heat rising to his face, and tried not to squirm under Andromeda's sharp eyes.

Andromeda looked at him very seriously. "You have to be careful, Harry. Slytherins are many things that people have forgotten – resourceful, smart, determined, single-minded. People always remember ambition and pureblood and so they overlook everything else. I destroyed my family to be with Ted," she said matter-of-factly, though the words made Harry flinch, "and I thought it well worth the price." Her eyes bored into his. "But you have to know, Harry, even the best of Slytherins will crawl over everyone else to get what they want."