CHAPTER 14: The Rules of Allyship

Disclaimer: I do not own anything belonging to JK Rowling or the world of Harry Potter.

…

I tentatively sit down next to Draco (in the conveniently placed only spare seat – something I'm sure has to do with Daphne or Theo or someone), and Pansy leans over him to hold something small and crown-shaped out to me, demanding, "Put this on."

"What is it?" I ask, turning the object over to see the words 'WEASLEY IS OUR KING' etched onto the front, then subsequently remembering what Daphne said in the library about some song Pansy came up with of the same name.

"A show of appreciation."

I shoot her a look and notice a matching badge on the front of her coat. And Draco's. And, turning behind me, Theo's, Daphne's, and Blaise's.

So, with a sigh, I fasten it to the front of my own.

She leans over again. "Firewhiskey?"

"No. Thank you," I answer, and then under my breath so only Draco can hear, add, "I want a clear head today."

If he hears me, he doesn't react, but when Pansy turns on the bench to offer liquor to the others, he mutters, "We need to talk, Arachne."

I restrain from rolling my eyes and note that he called me 'Arachne' and not 'Messer',which I take to be a good sign, then turn to survey him properly for the first time since Monday.

The injuries on his face have healed for the most part – the bruise around his eye is completely gone, and the gash on his lip has been reduced to an almost imperceptible scar. His pallor has improved marginally too, though it quite possibly might just be a slight blush from the winter chill in the air. He hasn't filled out again, however, still looking very much in need of several good meals and a decent night's sleep.

Why won't this boy take care of himself?

"You're the one who hasn't spoken to me for five days," I quip.

"I know."

He takes a minute to compose his thoughts. "The situation we're in… it's complex. There's a lot of moving parts to it and one slip – one tiny slip – is all it would take to ruin a lot of lives."

"You can say that again."

Initially when I came to Hogwarts, I thought the mission would be simple. Binary. Draco Malfoy was the bad guy. I was the good guy. I kill him, and the world is a better place for it. But with each failed attempt and each passing revelation, I've increasingly realised that there is nothing simple or binary about our situation at all.

Besides, if I'm supposed to be assassinating an assassin, doesn't that make me just as bad as him?

The players start to make their way out onto the quidditch pitch and Pansy screams, "Weasley is our king!", to which the rest of the Slytherins stand and jeer along, much more savagely than during the Slytherin vs Hufflepuff match (which I assume has something to do with the fact that Gryffindor, our main rivals, are playing). Mine and Draco's brief conversation has been effectively cut off, Draco standing up with the rest of the crowd to shout the loudest. His vocal cords almost break with the effort, and I stand up too not wanting to stick out like a sore thumb (and maybe also enjoying myself a little, I must admit).

The Ravenclaw players mount their brooms and do a lap of the pitch, followed by the Gryffindor team, captained, of course, by Potter.

Potter who, when he passes the Slytherin section of the stands, runs his emerald gaze over the crowd a bit too thoroughly.

What is he doing?

Does he still suspect me from the library?

That was over two weeks ago now, why would he still be fixated on-

Madame Hooch blows her whistle and calls everyone to order and we sit down, the two teams falling into formation opposite each other over the pitch. While the rules are being read out, I glance over my shoulder and see Theo staring at the Gryffindor team. He notices me and I send him a wink.

I really hope Draco wants to be allies. I don't want to have to kill him. Besides the increasingly apparent fact that he's not the villain here, I don't think I can hurt Theo either.

This list of people I care about is getting longer by the day.

Over on the pitch, Madame Hooch blows her whistle again and the players blur into action, crimson and navy whizzing across the stadium. I track the various figures through the air, lost in thought, when one of the Ravenclaw chasers shoots the quaffle at the Gryffindor hoops and Weasley misses it by about a metre.

"RAVENCLAW 10 – GRYFFINDOR 0!" The commentator yells, the same annoyingly biased Gryffindor who did it the last game, and our stand all get to their feet and break into a song I don't know but quickly catch on:

"WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING,

HE CANNOT BLOCK A SINGLE RING,

THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING:

WEASLEY IS OUR KING!"

Pansy turns to the crowd as if to conduct them for the next verse:

"WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN,

HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN,

WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN,

WEASLEY IS OUR KING!"

Draco, who up until now has been singing loudly next to me with a falsely smug expression, turns to conduct the Slytherins with Pansy, looking over his shoulder to smirk at Potter and flourishing his hands:

"WEASLEY IS OUR KING,

WEASLEY IS OUR KING,

HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN,

WEASLEY IS OUR KING!"

The song finishes and we sit back down, the game having since resumed.

I lean into Draco and ask quietly, "Don't you ever get tired?"

He smiles wryly, the ghost of the Draco from last term, and replies, "I get tired by a lot of things, Arachne. I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

"Tired of pretending?"

A pause.

Then Draco turns to look at me, molten silver eyes on my own.

"Of course I do, but it's expected of me," he explains, the corner of his mouth turning up darkly, "because my father would have my head if he ever found reason to believe I don't blindly follow him. I dug this grave. And now I must lie in it."

"Bed," I correct him, and his mouth twitches in mirth but I ignore it. "The saying is 'I've made my bed and now I must lie in it'."

"I know what the saying is."

"Then why did you say it wrong?"

"Because no matter how much I wish it were a bed, Arachne, I can't sugarcoat the reality that I've dug myself an early grave. That I was putting on this act long before I realized what was right and what was wrong and now I can't go back on it. I have no future," he taps his left forearm discretely where the Dark Marks sits under his clothes. "If the Dark Lord wins, I'll be his slave until I die. If he loses, I'll be sent to Azkaban for a very long time. If not for my crimes, then possibly my father's."

The confirmation regarding my recent thoughts of him eases my anxiety a little, and hope blossoms that I've not made a complete fool of myself and he wishes to be allies too.

I gaze out at the red and blue blurs. "You know, if you did accept my proposal, I would offer to talk to someone about your situation, or even speak at your trial if it came to that – just do something – but I'm afraid I don't have that influence."

Draco furrows his brow. "Isn't Messer an old name, though?"

"Yes." I cross one leg over the other, voice so low now it's almost a whisper when I explain, "But my family… we technically don't exist. The last war, they were on the Dark Lord's side. They spent a long time on it, knowing what he did was wrong but not able to get out safely, so they spent years planning their getaway. Erasing all the relevant documents and greasing all the right palms. By the time they defected, the Messer name couldn't be found anywhere. They couldn't be traced."

I look at Draco then, at the unidentifiable emotion behind his eyes. "That was twenty years ago. I'll bet you barely anybody here knows exactly how pureblooded I am apart from the very magical families or the teachers."

"I see."

"Yes." I smile crookedly. "But obviously if you don't want to be allies then I wouldn't even offer what little, possibly non-existent, help I can give."

Draco lets out a short laugh before sighing and running a hand down his face, expression now serious. "Well, while we're on that topic, I have made a decision. To be quite honest, it never really was much of one to make."

"Oh?"

"I think a part of me was hoping that you'd be the one to hold out an olive branch, too. To stop this strange dance we've been doing. Because if you were the one to do it, and it went wrong, then I wouldn't be incriminated in the eyes of the Dark Lord. I'm not a bad person – at least, I don't want to be – but I'm still very much a Slytherin, and my self-preservation comes first."

He continues, "If we get caught, you're dead, Arachne. And I won't be able to save you."

It takes me a minute to cotton on to the fact that he does want to be allies, having not explicitly alluded to it yet, and I exhale in relief before replying, "It's a good thing I don't need saving, then. Especially not from some posh boy who's probably never thrown a punch in his life."

"I have thrown a punch, thank you very much."

"Hitting your house elf doesn't count."

He pretends to look affronted, but I can see the humour dancing in his expression. "I've never hit a house elf."

"Well, if I wasn't shocked before, I certainly am now."

"You know, I'm starting to regret taking you up on your offer of allyship."

"Whatever do you mean? This is just an exercise in civility."

He snorts, and I smile, and we turn our attention back to the quidditch game (which is much easier to follow while sober, it turns out), where Ravenclaw haven't tried for another goal against Weasley yet.

I'm going over our conversation from a moment ago when I frown and ask, "So, if it was never really a decision, why did it take you so long?"

Draco shoots me a lopsided smile, causing my stomach to flutter, and answers, "After that stunt you pulled with the knife on Monday? I guess I wanted to see you squirm a bit."

I raise an eyebrow. "That would have worked if you were actually around to see me squirm."

"Ah, but you admit that you did?"

"Marginally."

"Sure."

"Look," I start, an idea rising to the surface of my thoughts. "If we're going to do this allyship thing – help each other out and whatnot – you've got to start attending meals and getting some decent sleep. I don't want you compromising me because you're too weak or too tired. Besides, with two brains working on whatever you're trying to achieve, I think you can afford to take some time to look after yourself."

He surveys me for a long moment before agreeing, "All right. Any other rules, Your Highness?"

I sneer at him. "No. But if you have anything you want to contribute, I think we should go through it now so we're both on the same page from the get-go."

"I agree."

I nod, and just as Draco is about to continue the stadium erupts into boos.

Which means we erupt into cheers.

I stand up, saying to Draco, "Let's give them a show, shall we?" before turning to conduct the crowd with Pansy and starting, "WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING!"

Draco joins, "HE CANNOT BLOCK A SINGLE RING!"

"THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING:

WEASLEY IS OUR KING!"

…

Draco and I spend the remainder of the quidditch match going over the terms of our allyship, and once we're done, they look something like so:

1) All meals must be attended by both parties and both parties must be well rested

2) Both parties do not talk about the allyship outside of the Room of Requirement (apparently, that's what the seventh-floor room is called, and it has a multitude of functions besides the room with all the clutter)

3) Nobody outside of the two parties must know about the allyship

4) Any communication between the allies regarding the allyship outside of the Room of Requirement must be done through the medium of quill and paper, and even then, only if it's an emergency

5) The allies will not change their behaviour towards one another when in public, and will simply act civil towards one another

6) If something goes wrong, the codeword is howler, which should be used to let the other party know as soon as possible

7) If one ally is compromised, the other may cut their losses and run, no hard feelings

"I'm happy with that," I mutter after checking off the rules using my fingers once more. The game has just ended – Ravenclaw won – and we clamber to our feet along with the rest of the stadium, the sound of shoes against wood and excited chatter filling my ears.

"Me too." Draco nods. "Do you want to meet tonight?"

I consider it for a moment before questioning, "Isn't Ravenclaw on the seventh-floor? Won't there be party-goers?"

"Yes, but that's the perfect cover for two students out of bed, don't you think?" He raises a sly brow.

"I suppose." I cant my head to the side. "Nine o'clock shall we say?"

"Nine works for me."

We begin to shuffle along the row and out of the stand, the throng of Slytherins all attempting to do the same making the process slow, and I hear Theo call, "Arachne!" behind me.

I turn to see him, Daphne, and Blaise all looking at Draco and I with varying expressions – Theo wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, Daphne smiling in a way that says I told you so, and Blaise with his mouth in a grim line trying to hide the thunder in his eyes.

That can't be good.

"Good game, don't you think?" Theo continues, oblivious to his friend's tenseness.

I shrug and smile. "I don't know what constitutes a 'good game' since I'm still pretty shaky on the rules. All I know is Gryffindor lost so I'm happy."

"At a girl."

He laughs, and Daphne joins in with him, but Blaise doesn't, his features not wavering from his hard expression. What is up with him? I'll have to keep an eye on the boy, on what he notices, observant as he is. I don't know what Draco was talking to him about at the breakfast table this morning, but whatever it was has made him more suspicious of me, that's for certain, and I make a mental note to ask Draco about it tonight.

Tonight.

A part of me still finds it inconceivable that Draco actually wants to be allies, but, apparently, he does, and my willingness to compromise myself isn't one-sided after all. I just pray that this isn't some trick to get me to open up to the enemy in order for him to take advantage.

I'll still have to watch my mouth around him.

Something I don't exactly have a good history of.

I shake my head and we finally exit the stadium, and for the first time in a while I feel somewhat at peace.

…

I enter the Room of Requirement at nine o'clock on the dot.

A carefully curated entrance, you see. Punctual. Not too early, avoiding the impression of eagerness, and not too late, avoiding the impression of unwillingness. The perfect balance to show that I want this partnership but I still don't trust him, because this will be the first time Draco and I will be alone under the pretence of being on the same side, and I want to make sure I do it right.

For I was the one to propose it in the first place, after all.

When I step through doorway Draco is already there, leaning against a shelf and leafing through a book languidly. All aristocratic angles and easy posture.

As if he's not threatened by me.

I school my own posture to mirror his ease and stroll over to him. "Been waiting long?"

"Terribly," he replies, lifting his gaze from the pages to meet mine and tilting the corner of his mouth up.

And I can't help the way my eyes flick down to his lips then back up.

His half-smile turns into a full-on smirk.

I snort in an attempt to play it off and move past him into the room proper, counting the shelves as I go in my usual way. "Come on, then, ally."

One, two…

"Yes, Your Highness," he replies before shutting the book and dropping it onto a nearby shelf then following me with even steps.

Three…

"Don't call me that."

Four…

"What – is Your Majesty preferred?"

Five…

"Arachne suffices just fine."

Six…

"But everyone calls you that."

Seven…

"That's because it's my name."

Eight…

"We need something different between us. A codename of sorts."

Nine, ten.

Bingo.

I come to a stop and spin to face him. "We're not spies, Draco."

"This sneaking around could be classed as subterfuge, though."

I roll my eyes before narrowing them sharply. "On the topic of espionage, I noticed you and Blaise seemed to be in the midst of an intense conversation this morning."

"What are you implying?" he asks, challenge in his countenance.

"I'm not stupid," I reply. "I know we said nobody should know about the alliance henceforth, but nothing was specified about people who've been informed previously."

"I didn't tell Blaise," he says firmly.

I send him a withering look.

"I promise, Arachne, I didn't tell him about my decision." Draco sighs and runs a hand through his platinum hair (which does look rather inviting, now that I think about– stop it, Arachne), before clarifying, "I did tell him about your proposition, granted. However, I didn't tell him I was even considering allyship an option, let alone being pretty much set on it. He thinks I told you today that we're to remain enemies."

"He still seems very suspicious of me."

"Of course, he would be," Draco says incredulously. "To him, there's no motive for you to make such an ultimatum."

Ah, so that means he hasn't told Blaise about what happened before Christmas.

A wise decision, but I can't stop the tiny voice in the back of my mind bemoaning that he's embarrassed of the almost-kiss and doesn't want to tell anyone.

Which is ridiculous.

I could stand here and question Draco all night, make sure for certain that he's telling me the truth, but I fear such a task would be futile judging by the serious way his brow is set. So, instead, I nod, seemingly satisfied with his answer, before turning down the aisle and making my way to where the Vanishing Cabinet sits under the thick blanket. I pull the material off the furniture and set it in a heap to one side, before taking a couple of steps back to eye the mahogany prism.

Draco comes to stand next to me hesitantly. Unsure.

He didn't know that I knew about the Vanishing Cabinet until now. Then again, how would he?

"Why are you trying to fix it? The Vanishing Cabinet?" I ask.

Draco looks at me sharply, unable to contain the astonishment that briefly flashes across his face. "How… how do you know about the Cabinet? Wait – how do you know I'm trying to fix it?"

I saunter over so I'm stood right next to the piece of furniture in question, and face Draco, leaning against the side laconically. "I found a picture of it in an old catalogue, and when I came back to inspect it again, I realised that it didn't work. It doesn't take a genius to put it together that you, who has been frequenting this room every waking minute and had forgotten to put it away once when I came here, are trying to repair it."

Draco simply stares at me, obviously trying not to let on how stunned he is at how much I know.

I smile, smug that I've surprised him, and continue, "That's not the most interesting thing in this room, however." I straighten and walk over to the record player which is back towards the entrance, Draco following me, still silent. "This is."

I remove the Smiths record from its sleeve and place it on the player before leaning over to grab the arm for the needle, but before I can lower it to the surface of the vinyl, Draco grabs my wrist, stopping my movements, the smell of black coffee and worn books with a touch of apple washing over me, a scent I didn't know I had missed until then.

Damned amortentia.

"Don't," he says in a low voice, deadly serious.

"Why not?" I ask breathily.

"Because," he moves my hand so the needle is resting to the side once again, then lets go, "it's mine."

Well, this is certainly interesting.

I raise a questioning eyebrow at him, but he doesn't make eye contact. "The record – it's mine."

"I gathered that much."

He exhales deeply. "We have both agreed previously, have we not, that we are not friends. Merely allies. Civil."

"So, allies are not allowed to ask questions?" I ask, slightly chagrined at his words because he is right, and I'm not sure why I even led him over here when I told myself I'd keep my mouth shut around him.

"Not ones relating to our personal lives, no."

"It doesn't say that in our little allyship rulebook."

"Salazar," he curses.

I raise my voice. "Why are you so touchy about this, Draco?"

"Because it's personal," he bites out.

"You've said-"

"And it's also very dangerous."

I'm silent for a moment, not sure what to say to his admission, before trying to lighten the mood, jokingly commenting, "I'm pretty aware that a pureblood owning a muggle record isn't exactly the done thing, to be quite honest with you."

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. "Now is not the time to be pedantic, Arachne."

"Fine." I throw my hands up in surrender. "I'll drop it."

But when I turn to make my way back to the Vanishing Cabinet, he starts quietly, "We snuck out once."

I pivot back around to look at him, not daring to say a word in case he stops speaking.

"Our group. We're all purebloods, old families, and I'm sure you're aware by now that we don't believe in the same prejudices our parents do, observant as I think you are."

He smiles at me, and while his words are remnant of Theo's (my behaviour must be more blatant than I think it is), my heart pounds – now is not the time – before continuing, "During the summer holidays, not the one that's just been but the previous, we decided to sneak out into the muggle world. We were curious. Still are, too. But back then we were curious to see if it was as bad as our parents made it out to be – some disgusting uncivilised place."

"But it wasn't," I hazard quietly.

"No." He shakes his head. "We met up to go shopping in Diagon Alley, then left via the Leaky Cauldron. We didn't venture very far in case anybody came looking for us and ended up at a music shop about a block away. It was… different, yet the same. Similar, but another world. And, lo and behold, they sold records. Same size as wizarding ones. We all bought an album each, thinking we could easily hide them at home, but then the Dark Lord started growing again, our families re-joining his side, and we realised that if any of us got caught we'd be dead. Or tortured. Made an example of."

He takes a deep breath. "In our fifth year, we found this place. Handy, really. A room that can be whatever one wants it to. We all hid our albums in here, thinking they'd be safe, but then I was charged with fixing up the Vanishing Cabinet, that also happens to be in this room, and I realised that nowhere is safe. Not anymore. That's why I don't want you to play it, Arachne. It's from another time, and maybe one day when this hell is all over, I will return to it. But until then it's too dangerous."

Silence. So quiet you could hear a pin drop. But not the uncomfortable sort, rather the understanding sort. The sort that comes after a secret, both people digesting the situation.

"I get it," I whisper.

Draco nods. "I'd also very much appreciate it if you didn't mention a word of this to anyone."

"Who am I going to tell?" I laugh self-deprecatingly, an attempt to bring the mood back up. "In case you've forgotten we have the same group of friends. Besides that, all I have is my parents, who I doubt would be very pleased about our current arrangement," I continue casually, turning to examine the other records I missed below Draco's one, and in my periphery, I see him staring at me.

With what looks like… sympathy?

Of course, it isn't sympathy. Not from the great Draco Malfoy. It's probably some sort of pity, intentional or not, stemming from the fact that he's always had everything – friends, money, status – and, having admitted earlier in the day that my status (and therefore money) is shot to pieces, I don't have any friends either.

My life is kind of sad when you think of it like that.

I stack all the albums neatly and turn back to him. "Show me what's wrong with this Cabinet, then. Time is of the essence, after all."

His expression brightens, and he says, "Yes, Your Highness," before brushing past me.

"I told you not to call me that."

"Whatever you say." He flashes a grin at me over his shoulder. "Your Highness."

And, with an exasperated sigh, I follow him.

…

A/N:

Ooh, it's getting good isn't it!

That's all I came here to say. Lol.

Let me know what you think, and I hope everyone is staying safe at the minute!

N.S

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