Chapter 37

Shifting Alliances

Draco's gaze was vague and unfocused, staring at a point in the distance out one of the Throne Room windows. His eyes distractedly noticed the Dark Forest with its ever-present cloud of grey hovering over it, and dimly wondered when the sun would finally decide to shine there.

"Focus, Draco," the King hissed to him without looking up from the parchment he was reading. The feathered quill in his hand made tiny motions as the King's hand signed the paper elegantly.

"On what, Father?" Draco said irritably, his jaw clenched. "The laws and regulations on our trading with Beauxbatons? Or the complaints about the rising taxes you keep ordering?" Draco glanced down at his own browned parchment—the one he was supposed to be reviewing. "All this political nonsense—"

"—will one day become your responsibility," the King snapped, looking up from his work and fixing his son with a look as cold and hard as steel. "Now stop acting like a child and read the document."

Draco returned the look and stubbornly refused to look down at the table before him. Instead, his eyes shifted to the enormous hall they were in, pocketed by windows and doors with guards at every entrance. As Draco looked around him, a familiar sadness, one that had been plaguing him for months, crept onto him like black tentacles clutching his heart. It was in this room he last saw Harry. He remembered the moment like it was yesterday, and still the ache clung to him like incessant leeches.

He missed Harry something awful and wished he could just wipe his mind of any memory of him. It wouldn't happen—not when every waking moment was spent remembering their time together and hoping they would be reunited again.

"Draco."

"What?" he replied angrily, knowing it was wrong of him to speak like so.

The glare he received in response was only to be expected, as Draco had been subject to them every day since Harry had left that seeing it again was like greeting a familiar acquaintance.

"I will not have you answering back or behaving in such an uncouth manner. If you insist on acting like a spoilt, petulant child—"

The doors to the Throne Room were suddenly opened and a handful of Slytherin soldiers arched in, dragging with them a very petrified looking peasant who looked about Draco's age. H

The King looked enraged. "What is the meaning of this?" he ordered.

The Slytherin soldiers bowed and forced the trembling civilian to as well. "My Lord," one of them responded, "This peasant is from the furthest outlying towns, near the border of the Nullius." The soldier shot a distasteful look at the man. "He claimed he has some information that you might find useful."

"What information?" The King glared menacingly down at the fearful man and Draco felt a little sorry for him. He wouldn't be surprised if the man wet his pants right then.

The villager swallowed and looked upon the King and his son with terrified eyes. "Your Majesties," he began respectfully, "A few weeks ago, while I was out hunting, I stumbled upon a watch tower I had never seen before. It was newly built, for sure, and I saw a small group of men in it. I overheard them talking about an army, my Lord."

This caught the King's attention. "An army?" he repeated.

"Yes, sire. He did not say whose, but he did say that an army from the north was being creating for a great battle."

"From the north?"

"Aye," the hunter nodded. "I heard them talking about their leader, too. They spoke of him like he was some godsend. They said he would finally restore peace in the land."

"And you heard no name?"

"No, sire." The villager twiddled with his hands, as if realising the feebleness of his so-called useful information. Draco was sure his father had no patience for this; he certainly didn't. "But … just recently," the peasant continued, "I was out riding west and I came upon another group of men."

Draco felt like rolling his eyes. For certain, this man sounded like he was creating plots on the spot; he probably only wanted compensation for his efforts.

"And what of it?" the King asked.

"They must have been a hunting party. Just a small group of four men, setting up a camp. I tried to get in close to hear but I only heart a bit of what they were saying."

There was a pause. The King growled. "Yes?" he snapped hotly.

The man jumped a little. "Uh … they, too, talked about a land in the north. And they mentioned a name. Gryffindor, I think."

Draco looked at his father to see what he thought of this, expecting him to be rolling his eyes and holding his temples in impatience. He was surprised to find a curious look on his face, as if he was indeed eager to know more. But he said nothing; he simply sat and stared at the peasant with a frozen gaze that was half-curiosity and half-familiarity, almost as if he had an inkling of what Gryffindor could possibly mean. Draco watched him cautiously, wondering what was going on in his father's mind.

When a moment passed in silence, Draco prompted, "Father?"

The King blinked, as if snapping back into the present. "Do you have any other information for me?"

The peasant seemed to ponder for a moment. "One of them, a red-headed male, was called Ron," he supplied with a casual shrug, as if that was the last bit of information he could provide.

Strangely, it was this last sentence that made Draco sit up, alert.

Ron.

Where had he heard that name before? Who had that name? He began wracking his brain, for he knew he had come upon this name recently.

"You will be paid for your effort," the King's voice cut into his thoughts. "Leave now."

The peasant bowed and turned to leave. Draco watched him walk towards the door, frantically thinking about the name Ron.

Just as the villager slipped out the door and closed it behind him, Draco remembered.

Harry had said it once. "My best friend's name is Ron. Ron Weasley."

Draco stood up.

His father looked at him in alarm. "Sit down, Draco."

But Draco didn't listen. In one swift motion, he ran to the Throne Room door.

"Draco!" his father's call followed him before Draco ran out and followed the path of the peasant.

He saw the man at the end of the corridor. "You there!" he called out.

The villager turned in surprise, entirely shocked at discovering the Prince of Slytherin had not only followed him, but was talking to him.

"Uh … yes, Your Highness?"

Draco ran up to him. "You said there was a man named Ron, yes?"

The prisoner stared at him in bewilderment. "Yes," he confirmed.

"What about the others?"

"I didn't find out the names of the others, my lord," the man replied meekly.

Draco could have rolled his eyes in impatience. "Can you describe them?"

The man began fiddling with his hands in nervousness again. "I … I'm not sure."

"Try, dammit!" Draco knew he was acting rather theatrically, but he was desperate. This was the first piece of news he had heard in the last few months that could be remotely related to Harry and Draco was willing to cling to it tightly. He didn't even know if this Ron was Harry's best friend. Draco was sure there were hundreds of Rons in the world. But that didn't stop him from hoping madly that it was a reference to Harry.

"Uh …" the man began sweating. "I don't … There were four of them."

"Yes, ok. One of them had red hair and was called Ron. The others?"

"Two of the others had black hair."

Black hair. Harry.

Draco's heart skipped a beat.

"And of these two, was one of them young? About my own age?"

In the time it took the peasant to think, Draco was ready to strangle him. Eventually, the man nodded. "I'm fairly certain. One of them was much older, but the other could have been your age, sire. I also remember that his hair was actually quite messy. Like a small animal could have lived in there."

The peasant smiled at his own little joke, but Draco wasn't paying attention.

His heart had sped up madly and he felt the urge to let out a loud whoop in excitement. Harry! It had to be him! Who else had hair like that? Draco was suddenly insanely glad that Harry never bothered to fix his chaotic hair. He was also relieved to the point of weakness that Harry was still alive.

"My Lord?"

"Leave me," Draco blurted, his voice edged with frantic exhilaration. "I need to …" he didn't finish his thought. He was already running to Pansy's house.

-mp-

"What?" was Pansy's first question after Draco burst into her chamber like a whirlwind.

"He's alive, and his hair is still as messy as ever!" Draco proclaimed, collapsing on her couch, with a large smile on his face.

Pansy stared at him. "I assume you're talking about Harry."

"Of course I'm talking about Harry!" Draco replied impatiently. "Who else would I be talking about?"

Pansy smiled. "You're right. Since you finally admitted your feelings for him to me, you hardly talk about anyone else."

Draco let out a deep breath. "It's just … I haven't heard head nor tail of him in so long, it's like … it's like taking a deep breath after being underwater for so long."

"What happened to trying to forget his existence?" Pansy asked with a wry smile.

Draco frowned at her. "Shut up, Pansy," he muttered, now a little embarrassed of the enthusiasm with which he arrived. She must think he was some sort of lovesick fool. Draco paused. One might argue that was exactly what he was.

She laughed delicately. "I'm only teasing." She sat down on the couch beside him, looking eagerly at her friend. "So how did you come by this information?"

"A peasant, believe it or not. Some stupid villager, who probably wouldn't know cotton from silk, came to me and Father and told us of a few conversations he had overheard. Anyway, one of the men he eavesdropped on was Harry." Draco could feel his heart rate speed up again, just by the idea that Harry was close enough for a Slytherin citizen to cross paths with him.

"How do you know?"

"He said he had messy, black hair, and that he had a man named Ron with him."

"Ron?"

"Harry once told me his best friend's name was Ron," Draco explained, waving his hand around impatiently as if brushing off the minor detail. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. The point is that he's …" he trailed of. He didn't know what the point was.

"The point is that any mention of Harry suddenly has you ready to shout from excitement?" Pansy provided.

Draco glared at her, but couldn't maintain it. She was right, of course.

But then, Draco dropped his shoulders as his enthusiasm seeped out of him. He remembered the vow he had made to himself when Harry had left Slytherin: that he would try and forget he ever existed. It was the only way to move on with his life and responsibilities. He couldn't spend the rest of his life pining after someone who was forbidden to him. He had duties to fulfil, never mind the absolute exhilaration he had felt when Harry was still in his life.

Now, with a mere mention of Harry, all those feelings came rushing back to him.

"What am I doing, Pansy?" he asked dejectedly.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm supposed to forget about him," he said. "Clearly, nothing can ever happen, and I promised myself I would wipe him from my life and memories." He snorted. "Well done, Draco," he murmured sarcastically to himself.

"Draco, you can't just erase your memories of him," she replied firmly. "He means a lot to you. You can't expect yourself to forget him."

"But I'm supposed to. I mean, not only is he a … man—" (Draco flushed a little) "—but my father wants him dead and I've had my marriage prepared for me since I was born!"

A look of anger flashed across Pansy's eyes. "Ooh, I could strangle that girl Astoria with my bare hands."

"You and me both," Draco replied miserably.

Pansy looked at him sympathetically. "Perhaps when you're king, you can change the laws and marry whoever—?"

"No, Pansy," Draco interrupted, looking down at his lap. "Harry … is a man." He laughed darkly at the impossibility.

"Yes, you keep saying that."

Draco sighed and spent a moment in silence with his thoughts. "You know I never ask you for anything," he prefaced, turning to face his friend.

She looked concerned. "What is it?"

"But I'm asking you this …"

"Anything."

"Help me forget Harry," Draco requested, looking into her brown eyes and trying to make her understand his determination.

"Draco …"

"Please. Don't ever mention him. I need to move on with my life."

She opened her mouth to object, but the look of Draco's face was resolute. Eventually, she nodded. But she also added softly, "You'll regret this, you know."

Draco released a long breath and felt his heart crumble. "I already am."

-mp-

Draco was in the Throne Room with his father once again when the second piece of news regarding Harry reached him. A single day had passed since and Draco was happy to note that he had only thought of Harry about a dozen times in the last twenty-four hours—a vast improvement to the constant barrage of memories of him he had experienced in the past couple of months. Perhaps, by the end of the week, he would have forgotten all about Harry.

"Your Majesties," came the deep voice of one of the King's trusted Battle Masters, who was kneeling before the King and Prince, dressed in his Slytherin green armour.

"What is it, Flint?"

"More news from the north."

Draco felt his heart tremor a little, but otherwise made no motion or sound. He told himself he didn't care one ounce what Flint had to say. He claimed he had news about the north. So what? It was probably something about hunting poachers in the Nullius, anyway. Hardly interesting.

Flint continued his report, "I sent scouts to ensure whether what we knew was true. It seems the peasant was not lying at all. There is, indeed, a great power and army amassing. My scouts tell me their numbers are growing daily, and that they pledge their loyalties to the name Gryffindor."

So much for poachers, Draco thought grimly. He couldn't stop his heart rate begin to rise and his stomach fluttering, even while he berated himself for his intrigue.

Draco glanced at his father and saw that same look of absolutely stillness cross his face, as it had yesterday when the 'Gryffindor' had been spoken. His eyes were glued and almost trance-like. Draco saw him nod almost imperceptibly as if coming to understand something. Draco didn't know what; no one was talking.

"This Gryffindor … is it the name of their leader?" his father asked calculatively; in a tone that made Draco think his father already knew the answer.

"I don't think so, my lord. I think it is more of a place than a person," Flint said.

"Then who is their leader? I need a name."

Draco decided he rather wanted to hear this name as well.

Flint nodded. "Aye, I heard a name. But it was not spoken with title or prestige. There was no King preceding it, which makes me doubt whether he is their leader or not."

"What name, Flint?" the King asked with a cold voice.

"Potter. Harry Potter."

Draco couldn't withhold his gasp—the sound was audible in the silence. His heart seemed to pause. A wave of emotions full of fear, surprise, love, relief and a hundred others, washed through his entire body, leaving him feeling weak. He suddenly felt like fainting, like he was starving for oxygen.

He had no idea what Harry's surname was—he had always assumed he had none—so he couldn't be certain this was his Harry. But … still … he knew it. Deep down, he knew Harry Potter was the man he knew. The man who had saved his life countless time. The man who was willing to die for him. The man he had given all of himself to. The man he loved.

Could he really be the leader of this new army?

Suddenly, the King spoke.

"Declare a state of war, Flint," he said, his voice cutting into Draco's thoughts like steel. Draco froze. War? "Let the whole Empire know. This man, Harry Potter, and his new kingdom, is now our primary and most hostile enemy."

Draco's blood ran cold. What? Why? He felt icy fear coarse through him.

"Withdraw all troops from Durmstrang. Ready our army. Whether he knows it or not, Potter has just waged a war with Slytherin and he is going to wish he never had," the King finished.

Flint bowed and turned to leave.

"Make no mistake, Flint," the King added darkly. "This will be the greatest war of this generation. And Slytherin will triumph."

"Yes, my lord."

The doors shut behind Flint with a dull boom.

Draco couldn't move; too terrified to speak or act. He didn't understand! War? For what purpose? What had Harry done? His pulse was racing, his palms were sweating, and inside, he was shaking with anger and fear.

"Draco." His father's voice was chilled and lethal, as if he could see into Draco's mind, as if all Draco's secrets were laid bare before him. He had never felt so alone and exposed in his life.

He knew he needed to speak, but he was scared. For the first time in his life, Draco was fearful of his own father. "Yes, my lord?"

The King went back to reviewing the parchment before him, as if nothing was amiss. When he spoke next, his eyes remained lowered on his document, but Draco still felt like he was seeing all. "I hope you are not displeased with my decision."

Draco swallowed and tried to act relaxed. "No, of course not," he lied, desperately hoping his voice was casual and snobbish; the same tone he would always use when he was younger and he looked up to his father like a god; like everything he did was right and just and all who went against him were evil. It dawned on Draco that now, nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he was now one of those 'evil' people who opposed his father. How could be loyal to a man who caused every cell inside Draco to tremble with fear, who imposed laws and traditions on him, who openly declared war on the person Draco loved? "You did what you had to do, my lord."

"I'm glad to hear it, Draco." The scratching of the King's quill as it scraped the parchment was eerie in the silent hall. It grained on Draco's ears, slowly eroding what little tolerance Draco had left.

"I'm so pleased to have your full cooperation, son," the King murmured in his chilly voice, a sickly honeyed voice that frayed with Draco's nerves. Draco knew he wasn't 'pleased' at all. In fact, Draco was sure his father knew he was lying through his teeth.

Unable to stand being in the room anymore, Draco stood abruptly. "Excuse me," he blurted before rushing out of the room.

The King didn't stop him leaving; he knew his son was desperate to flee from him.

From the moment Draco left the Throne Room, he knew he had officially—if silently—taken a stance against his father. And they both knew it. His life was now in danger.

-mp-

He spent the rest of the day at Pansy's house, eager to be away from everyone but her. He had ordered his handful of new bodyguards to remain stationed outside, and not interrupt them under any circumstances.

Draco tried to act like everything was normal around Pansy, but in truth, he was now terrified that everyone and everything in the Black Castle had somehow heard of his defiance and was out for his blood. The King had a whole Empire at his command; one word from him and Draco's life would be over.

He didn't return to his chambers until well after the sun had set and the sky had turned as black as his home.

-mp-

Despite all its defences, sneaking into the Black Castle was surprisingly easy.

Dressed all in black, Harry knew he would blend seamlessly into the darkness as he darted from shadow to shadow in the Castle's numerous corridors. He thanked the fates that it was a moonless night so that no light shone through the windows. The only lights were the sporadic torched flames held aloft in wall sconces that were easy to bypass.

It helped, too, that his hair was the shade of pitch, and all he needed to do was lower his head and back into a wall if he heard the footsteps of patrols.

He knew exactly where he was going. He had memorised these routes dozens of times and it was all coming back to him like it was yesterday. It was strange to think it had been months since he was last here.

Silent as a shadow, Harry meandered through the Castle, making his way to Draco's chambers. His heart was pounding madly with anticipation and eagerness. He couldn't wait to see Draco again. But did Draco feel the same? Would he be disappointed to see him again? Angry, perhaps?

In his heart of hearts, Harry simply knew Draco wouldn't have forgotten him. Not after the night they had shared. Harry hadn't imagined it; it was real.

Up ahead was his destination. Suddenly, Harry felt his palms begin to sweat. He noticed there were no guards stationed at Draco's entrance, which meant the Prince wasn't there. Perhaps this was better.

Quietly, he slipped inside Draco's rooms and looked around, smiling inwardly at his memories. A quick look around confirmed the Prince wasn't here. Draco's smell, however, was everywhere, and for some reason, this made it all the more real. Harry paused for a moment to outline his insanity with a smirk on his face.

He had just fled Gryffindor without second thought.

He had just travelled all day and night, without stopping, to Slytherin.

He hadn't slept properly for longer than what was normal.

He was bloody anxious to see Draco again and missed him like mad.

He still loved Draco and would do it all again.

Harry let his smile escape this time as he took a quick turn around the room, stopping for a moment as he stared at his bed. Here, he would wait to give Draco the biggest surprise of his life.

He watched the door, waiting, his heart racing faster than it ever had before.

-mp-

"Stay here," Draco snapped tiredly at his guards outside his chambers. "Do not come in, do not contact me, do not … In fact, unless I say so, assume I don't even know you exist. Yes?"

The four guards looked at Draco stupidly, and Draco could imagine, in that moment, they were just overgrown dogs. He rolled his eyes and felt his temper rise. "Imbeciles, the lot of you," he insulted without care, glaring at them angrily. Again, their faces were blank sheets, as if they didn't notice they were being talked to.

Out of patience, he spun around and walked into his rooms, slamming the door behind him and leaning against it. He let out a deep breath, relieved he was finally alone. Having his quartet of bodyguards around him all day was like a sick reminder of Harry, like someone was playing a cruel joke on him.

He felt like screaming.

When he turned around to face his room, he almost did.

"Hello, Draco."

Harry.

-mp-

Next Chapter: You'll read this …

Draco closed his eyes and breathed out, feeling his emotions stirred by the man's inebriating words. He opened them again and was transfixed by green. "Harry."

It was like that one word was the signal for the world to start moving again.

Harry lunged and slammed his mouth into Draco's.