A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. Thank you for the support, interest, and reviews so far. I am honored.

Chapter 7: Politicking

Harry and Hermione shared a look, in which Hermione seemed to say it was his call and Harry seemed to grudgingly admit that he would have to at least acknowledge the speaker. With a brief sigh, he swung around on the bench and leaned back against the table, raising his eyes as he did so.

The statuesque, aristocratic, blond Slytherin stood before him, meeting his eyes with an aloof yet calculating certainty that did not surprise Harry in the least.

"Ok," Harry eventually said, "talk."

"Not here, Potter."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Greengrass," he said, for the 'Frosty Cunt' of Slytherin stood before him in all her 5'10" perfectly proportioned and coifed glory, "whatever it is you have to say to me should likely be said here, where your words and my words can't later be misrepresented."

Her eyes tightened, though there was anxiety in them as well. "What I have to say to you isn't for the ears of the entire school," she said, quietly, and forcefully. Harry heard Ron scoff behind him.

"You've barely said more than ten words to any of us since we started at Hogwarts," Ron said. "Why don't you wander on back to Slytherin and continue to live up to your reputation."

"And just what is my reputation?" she asked, her tight gaze swinging to Ron.

"Switzerland," Hermione said, causing more than just Daphne to focus on her in confusion. "And, ah, how to say this delicately…" she trailed off.

"Frosty cunt or ice queen or supreme bitch ring any bells?" Daphne asked, rather dryly, considering the subject of her question.

"Something like that," Ron muttered, the wind having been spectacularly taken out of his sails.

"Right, well, now that the proper introductions have been passed around, I would like to speak to Potter in private—and don't give me that look, Granger, of course you can come to." Her frozen blue eyes were once again on Harry.

He looked at Hermione and they had another silent conversation. He was aware that Daphne was rolling her eyes at them, but he ignored her for the moment. Eventually Hermione nodded and Harry turned back to the Slytherin.

"Fine, on one condition." Daphne made a bored 'get on with it' motion with her hand. It was plainly apparent, however, that her apathy was forced. "Ron, Luna, Ginny, and Neville will be there as well."

Daphne opened her mouth immediately to protest, but she paused before she could say anything and looked from person to person instead. Eventually she closed her eyes and nodded, knowing this would be the best she could hope for, under the circumstances. What Ron had said was true: she had never really spoken to any of them directly; or, if she had, it was too seldom or too long ago to stand out in memory.

"Fine. Now would be good. Where?" she asked.

Harry glanced around her at the Slytherin table. Most of them were unabashedly watching this exchange, with varying degrees of anger or open curiosity.

"You realize you'll have problems with your House if you're seen leaving the Hall with us, right?" he wondered.

"I've always had problems with my House. This will be no different."

"Fine," Harry agreed, not really caring about the consequences for Daphne. She'd had plenty of opportunity to stand down. "Follow us," he told her, standing. "We will do this in the Room of Requirement to ensure privacy."

He looped his arm through Hermione's as they made their way from the Hall, accompanied by much muttering and pointing from the student population; Ron, Luna, Ginny, and Neville were behind Daphne in the procession. Harry looked at Slytherin again and he noticed that Malfoy's face was buried in the Prophet; he appeared oblivious to everything else that was happening.

The silence lasted all the way to the Room. The echoes of their footsteps off the walls and floors were the only noises during the entire journey. Outside the room, Harry paced three times, asking for something suitable for a business meeting. The door appeared and he opened it, seeing about what he had expected: a small, medieval conference room with a low stone table and comfortable chairs. There was a fake window that appeared to look out on the Forest of Dean.

Once everyone was seated—Harry, Hermione, Luna, and Ron were on one side of the table, and Daphne, Neville, and Ginny were on the other—Harry motioned with his hand for the Slytherin to start speaking. The confidence she had possessed in the Great Hall had slipped from features and now she just looked weary and agitated, though no less strikingly beautiful. Most of the males at Hogwarts had quietly admired her from afar for a long time, and they knew that was as far as it would ever go, considering her reputation. Harry could admit to her beauty, but Hermione was and would always be the only one for him; in her own way, she was just as beautiful, if not as couture, as Daphne.

The Slytherin sat ramrod straight in her chair and folded her hands in her lap, ever the image of decorum.

"Is it all true?" she asked. "Everything in The Prophet?"

Harry shrugged. "I only had time to read the front page. That article was in fact completely accurate, surprising because of the source, really."

Daphne nodded absently, looking to the side for a moment. Harry had time to make eye contact with the other five; they were all as mystified as he was.

"Granger…Hermione…if I may, what did you mean by 'Switzerland'?" she asked, a sudden vulnerability tangible in her voice. The atmosphere in the room changed with her tone.

"Switzerland has remained neutral through practically all of the world's conflicts since it became a nation," Hermione explained. "The Greengrass family is known for the same, at least as much as it applies to the microcosm of Magical Britain."

Ron mouthed one word at Luna, with an implied question at the end: "Microcosm?"

She merely patted Ron's hand and shook her head, albeit she was smiling. Ron stared at Hermione, as he often did, like she had four heads.

"I thought so," Daphne replied; then she sighed, and the fight seemed to go out of her body. She allowed herself to sag in her seat, and she rubbed her face tiredly. Harry didn't think anyone currently attending Hogwarts, with the possible exception of the younger Greengrass, had seen Daphne so emotionally open.

"What is this really about, Gree—Daphne?" Harry asked, softly, using her given name instead. It didn't seem like they needed to be on their guard, at least for the duration of this meeting. The tenor of the whole thing had shifted completely around in the last two minutes.

"It's about Voldemort," she said, without any flinching or fear in her voice—just resignation instead.

Harry glanced at Hermione. He could see her furiously trying to puzzle everything out.

"Go on…" he urged.

Daphne finally met Harry's eyes head on with her own. "Look, the last time Voldemort rose to power, he left most of the neutral pureblood families alone, as long as they didn't speak out against him and the Death Eaters and as long as they paid some kind of monetary tribute.

"It's been clear to any of us involved in pureblood politics that Voldemort has been back since you claimed he was at the end of last year. The old Death Eaters, like Lucius," she said, nearly spitting the name, "immediately made plays for power at the Ministry in the world of pureblood finance as soon as their master was back. The fact that the Ministry ignored you and Dumbledore for so long was at first due to their own denial and incompetence, but gradually that became policy because the wealthy Death Eaters willed it. I would be willing to bet a fair number of galleons there is a marked Death Eater in some kind of position of power in most of the departments at the Ministry, and Fudge is as good as one with how little backbone that man has.

"Anyway, this time Voldemort is not content to let us ignore him or pay our way out of declaring sides. My father and mother have done their utmost so far to make sure Astoria and I don't get involved in any of this, but the last letter they wrote me implied that something would be changing drastically soon, or we would all be killed."

She finally stopped talking and, breaking eye contact with Harry, quickly looked to other five. Hermione was visibly processing the dialogue; Ginny looked pissed; Neville had his arms crossed over his chest and was staring at the ceiling; Luna had assumed her dreamy gaze; and Ron's jaw was hanging open in astonishment.

Harry, on the other hand, was staring at her impassively. Only the firm line of his jaw gave away the fact that he was thinking over everything she'd said, very carefully.

"I have two questions for you," he said, after an interminable silence. The tension in the room had reached unbearable levels. "Why don't you leave the country?"

Daphne raised a querulous, pencil-thin blond eyebrow at him. "Why don't you? Or any other neutral or anti-Voldemort magicals?"

Harry nodded once, conceding the point. "Why are you telling me all of this? You hardly know me, and the relations between Gryffindor and Slytherin are not exactly friendly."

"I'm telling you because you're the Boy-Who-Lived," she said, hoping for and getting a visible reaction from everyone. "You just beat Voldemort in front of the press and half the Ministry, and I know it wasn't intentional, but that was a power play if I've ever seen one. If I want to save my family, I think you're the best hope I have," she said. Then she added, quietly:

"I've actually thought that for several years now."

"So you're using Harry to get the protection you need?" Hermione asked, interjecting herself into the conservation. She was pissed the Frosty Cunt thought she could appeal to Harry's nobility and selflessness and get what she wanted. "Neville is a pureblood and he's not asking for protection," Hermione continued. "So are the Weasleys, and they're all what Voldemort fondly calls blood traitors. The Longbottoms and the Weasleys have always stood against what Voldemort represents, and you don't see them or other families like them coming to Harry asking for protection."

Daphne was trying to control her irritation. It would help nothing to lash out at Hermione, especially considering the obvious signs of a budding relationship between her and Harry. There would be no faster way to end this conversation than to insult his new girlfriend; and besides, Hermione couldn't help it if, as a Muggleborn, she didn't know pureblood customs.

"Longbottom Manor, as the main property of a Most Noble and Ancient House, is protected by a series of ancient wards and curses that even Voldemort would have a hard time breaching without losing a significant number of Death Eaters," Daphne explained, doing her best to keep her cutting annoyance out of her voice. "And the Weasleys have long been associated with Dumbledore, which means they have similar though not as comprehensive or ancient protections."

"Most Noble and Ancient House?" Hermione asked, looking at Harry and Neville. "Like the House of Black? What does that even mean anyway?"

Daphne started to speak, but Neville waved her off; he directed a curious glance at Hermione. "I'm surprised with how much you read about the Wizarding world you don't know, Hermione."

She rolled her eyes. "Forgive me if as a Muggleborn the archaic ways of magical aristocracy in Britain do not interest me," she said.

"Know thy enemy…" Neville returned. Hermione just stared at him. "Anyway, the Most Noble and Ancient Houses are the oldest families in the Wizarding world, predating Hogwarts even. And they do not have to be pureblood," Neville explained, "like House Potter, for instance."

"What?" Harry cut in. "My family is one of them?"

Now Daphne, Neville, Luna, Ginny, and Ron were all looking at him as if he'd grown four heads. Hermione was the only one that was as surprised as Harry by this revelation.

"You mean to tell me you didn't know you are the heir apparent to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter, which, by the way, is probably the oldest and wealthiest of all of them?" Daphne questioned, incredulously.

Harry was pissed. Here was another thing he would have to mention to Dumbledore. Not only had he been entirely ignorant of the magical world until he was eleven, but in all of his time at Hogwarts no one had ever bothered to tell him this: not Dumbledore, not any of the Weasleys, not Neville, and not anyone else who might have known; which, according to this conversation, was likely every pureblood or half blood in the school.

"Obviously not," he grated out. He could feel his magic yearning to be free. He clamped his iron will down upon it.

"But…but what about all those stories they always tell," Daphne asked, still unable to believe it. "That you were raised a prince of Gryffindor and had everything you ever wanted and…" she said, but trailed off when she noticed the murderous rage in Harry's and Hermione's eyes. Daphne had only feared for her life on a few occasions, and this was suddenly one of them.

"Who is 'they'?" Harry asked, the fury in his voice dropping it a register.

Hermione reached for his hand, and in an amazing display of empathy, Daphne watched as that simple action diffused the ticking time bomb that was Harry Potter.

"It's not important, Harry."

He took a deep breath and nodded. "You're right. You're always right." He focused on Daphne. "I did not know about magic until my eleventh birthday. I grew up with Muggles who despised magic and tried to beat it out of me, and, when that didn't work, starve it out of me. My bedroom was a cupboard under the stairs until I received my Hogwarts letter and I didn't know my name until I went to primary school when I was five. My aunt and uncle just called me 'freak.' And when I came to Hogwarts none of my friends felt the need to ever tell me about my family or its legacy or what that really meant." He turned toward the others at the table, fury once again radiating briefly across his face.

"Thought you knew," Ron said, immediately.

"You were there that summer, Ron!" Harry shouted. His magic was slipping free again, pushing against everyone in the room. "You had to break me out of that great big bloody cage they locked me in. And you thought I knew?" he asked. "What about my clothes, or my general cluelessness, or the fact that I grew up with the Dursleys? You knew all of that!"

Ron was looking more and more cowed; luckily for him, Ginny wasn't so easily flustered.

"We thought you knew, Harry," she placated. "And we knew all those things and didn't say anything because we figured you were waiting until you were of age to claim your inheritance, since you have to anyway."

Neville cleared his throat. All eyes turned to him. "That's not really true," he said. "The last heirs to Most Noble and Ancient Houses can claim their inheritance as soon as there is no Lord or proxy in place, which is why I am still scion Longbottom and not Lord Longbottom. My grandmother is the Longbottom proxy until I turn seventeen."

"Why did you never say anything, Neville," Hermione asked, still trying to calm Harry down. He was beyond words at the moment. His world had just radically shifted.

Neville shook his head once. "It's not my place. Old families, especially the oldest like House Potter and House Longbottom, do not interfere in each other's affairs. Longbottom and Potter have always been aligned, but it was never up to me to say anything to Harry about that alliance or his inheritance. It's considered practically a mortal breach of etiquette, which I've now done."

Harry stared at Neville. "I would have done it for you, Nev," he said, the hurt plainly apparent in his voice. Neville flinched slightly but did not back down.

"You don't understand, Harry, you weren't—"

"I WOULD HAVE DONE IT FOR ANY OF MY FRIENDS!" Harry shouted, bracing himself against the table. There was an earth-shatteringly loud ping as his magic rushed out from body, quickly enveloping half the castle in its raging storm. The six other people in the Room were mostly unaffected, though, as Harry attempted to control himself and push everything far away.

Neville was standing now, looking equally as furious as Harry. If the situation weren't so arse backward, Hermione and the rest would have marveled to see such strong emotion on the face of the normally stoic boy.

"YOU WEREN'T RAISED LIKE I WAS, HARRY," he shouted right back. "YOU DIDN'T HAVE PUREBLOOD AND NOBLE AND ANCIENT CUSTOMS SHOVED DOWN YOUR THROAT FOR HOURS EVERY DAY. YOU WEREN'T RAISED WITH THE CRUSHING EXPECTATIONS OF YOUR GRANDMOTHER AND YOUR AUNTS AND UNCLES, AND THEN THE AWFUL DISAPPOINTMENT THEY FELT WHEN THEY THOUGHT I WAS A SQUIB."

"You're right," Harry said, quieter now, though still louder than normal. "I wasn't raised like that. Instead, I was raised to believe I was the worthless spawn of two drunks, that I wasn't worth the food they weren't even feeding me, that I didn't deserve love or friendship or happiness; and all of that because the Wizarding world I'm supposed to fucking save couldn't even bother to check up on its Savior from time to time? Why is that? Why should I fucking care at all about any of this?"

The constant, almost suffocating presence of Harry's magic was the only sensation in the Room for several moments.

"Because you do, Harry," Luna started. "Because you can't not care. You don't have it in you to be callous or apathetic, not after what Voldemort has put you through; not after what he did to your parents and your friends. You may be the Chosen One of the prophecy, but you would still be on the front lines fighting against him even if you weren't. It's who you are."

Soon everyone except Harry was nodding along with Luna; Hermione finally got him to relax a little and Neville retook his seat. Harry clenched his fists momentarily, that all-encompassing rage passing over his features, but it was no longer directed at anyone in the Room. He let out a harsh sigh and sat back.

"Look, I'm sorry Nev," Harry said, his voice still strained. "But I am a little upset at all of you who knew about this, and we do still need to talk about it in a more civilized manner at some point in the near future. For now, though," he continued, turning to Daphne, "why did you bring up the status of House Longbottom?"

Daphne had quietly absorbed the drama that had unfolded before her. Harry Potter had already been an enigma, but now he was even more of one. She shook her head. She would have time to parse everything later.

"The Greengrass name is neither old nor extremely wealthy, so it is neither Ancient nor Noble. We have been Purebloods for generations, and neutral ones at that, but we do not enjoy the protections of Longbottom Manor or someone like the Weasleys who are aligned closely with Dumbledore," she explained. "That is why I'm here, and that is why I wanted to talk to you. You can offer my family protection, though you not knowing your heritage complicates matters."

"Any why should I?" Harry asked, leaning forward and staring deeply into her eyes. "Why should I offer you this 'protection' if you're going to remain neutral in all of this?"

Daphne Greengrass, the icy bitch of Slytherin, smiled at Harry. It was such a remarkable change in her features that he was forced to sit back.

"Because we wouldn't be neutral anymore," she said, finally arriving at the point of all this. "With the protection of the Boy-Who-Lived, coincidentally the heir apparent to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter, the Greengrass family could finally declare sides in this stupid war. You would gain a powerful ally."

"Powerful?" Neville asked, an uncharacteristic sneer in his voice. "Are you sure about that?"

"Think about it, Longbottom," Daphne responded, leaning forward. "If the Greengrasses were to align themselves with Harry and the rest of the anti-Voldemort campaign—we who have been known for our neutrality for at least two hundred years—what are the other neutral families going to do, especially with Voldemort pressuring them so heavily?" It was a rhetorical question, and they all knew it.

"They'll join Harry, too," she finished, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Doesn't that make the lot of you mercenaries, to some extent?" Hermione asked, a skeptical eyebrow lifted toward her hair.

Daphne shrugged. "Maybe, but we wouldn't be traitors, and we're not culpable for the beliefs Voldemort espouses. We never had a side in the first place."

Hermione started to say something else, but Harry cut her off with a hand over hers. Daphne was amazed. As far as she knew, Harry Potter was the only person that could stop Hermione Granger from saying what was on her mind.

"I know what you're going to say, Hermione, but don't bother. This isn't the place to discuss culpability where Voldemort and blood supremacy are concerned," he said. Even Hermione looked surprised at his somewhat articulate rejoinder. Harry paid no attention.

"Why me? And why now?" Harry asked. "Shouldn't you be bringing this type of thing to Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore is a figurehead, Harry," Daphne replied. "He is an extremely powerful wizard and has an incredible amount of political power too, but you are the one who will be on the ground deciding the outcome of this war. Dumbledore is merely a tool in your arsenal."

"I can only imagine how the Headmaster would respond to that," Ron put in, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Daphne nodded. "And that's exactly my point. He would twinkle away at me and maybe in two or six months he would think about doing something for my family, but by then it will be too late. He's too big picture for his own good."

Harry ran a hand through his shaggy black hair, briefly fully exposing his scar for her to glimpse.

"You're right," he sighed. He wanted to say so much more, especially about the status of his family, but he decided that would be a conversation he would be having with the Headmaster instead, and in the very near future. So many things about his life did not add up correctly, and Harry was just beginning to think the Headmaster would have many of the answers. His earlier outburst at his friends notwithstanding, he wasn't too angry at them anymore. From his perspective, this did seem to go a little above their heads.

"So what now, love?" Hermione asked. Harry's head snapped to her. It was the first time she had ever used any kind of pet name for him. Despite the stress of the situation, he couldn't help but smile at her. His eyes then trailed over his other four close friends.

"This is not something I'll decide myself," Harry started, glancing at Daphne. "Dumbledore has done that for years, thinking only he knows what's in everyone's best interests. So I'm going to start a new policy, right now, that will carry through the rest of the war and hopefully beyond. We all make big decisions like this, together," he finished. Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and Hermione were all sitting a little straighter by the end of his speech. It seemed that he truly was taking up the mantle of the Chosen One, though quietly and tucked away in the Room of Requirement with only six witnesses.

Harry stared at Daphne for several long seconds; she bore his gaze easily.

"I'm in favor of this," Harry stated. "We're going to need all the help we can get, and if the Greengrasses can bring over the other neutral families too, that's going to be a serious blow to Voldemort—financially, politically, and for morale as well."

"I agree," Hermione said. She was leaning into Harry now, taking comfort from his presence. It was amazing to her he could accept this responsibility so easily, but, then again, he wouldn't be Harry Potter if he couldn't.

"As do I," Neville added.

Ron and Ginny only had to look at each other for half a second. "You know what I think of Slytherin generally," Ron said, "but this makes too much sense to say no. Ginny and I will make sure the rest of our family is with it too."

Luna smiled slowly. "I've wanted to talk to Astoria for ages anyway."

Six sets of eyes stared at the blond Ravenclaw. She started humming to herself.

"I have one final question, Daphne," Harry said, turning back to her. "Do your parents know about this?"

"Not explicitly, no…but they have hinted this is the direction they wish me to take. Honestly, Harry, my sister and I wouldn't last the summer if you said no. We'd be killed, or raped and killed, and my mother would be too. Who knows what would happen to my father. Your defeat of Voldemort at the Ministry only accelerated his annoyance with all the neutral families."

Daphne's blunt, unfeeling description of what would happen to her should the Boy-Who-Lived not offer his protection took everyone by surprise, though Harry knew they shouldn't be shocked. It was how Voldemort operated, after all.

"Then I accept," Harry said, stretching his hand across the table. Daphne placed her cool, slender fingers in his and they shook. "What do I need to do?"

The Slytherin, given new purpose, sat up straighter again and looked around the room. So much had been decided here already that would undoubtedly greatly affect the coming war, and by schoolchildren.

"You need to claim your inheritance," she told him. "You can then make the Greengrasses vassals of the Lord Potter and offer us the protection of your family's ancient magic."

"…and how exactly does one do that?"

"Gringotts," she replied.

"I see," Harry mused, nodding his head. He looked around at everyone again. "Anyone fancy a jaunt to Diagon Alley?"

"You want to do this right now?" Hermione wondered, not condemning the action, but curious about his urgency.

"Why not? It's been kept from me for so long already. Seems like it will do a lot of good when I have it…so why not?"

Hermione nodded, agreeing with his reasons. The other four nodded too.

"Uh, just one problem," Daphne mentioned. "How are we getting there?"

Harry laughed, though it was short-lived. His ensuing grin was feral. "Just leave that up to me."