Draco's Delay

"I hope you haven't lost track of your goals with your new enthusiasm for Quidditch."

Professor Quirrell managed to make the sentence sound completely bland and utterly derisive at once.

Harry winced. "I haven't forgotten," he said, though he'd spent less time in the past weeks practicing his spells than any time since his arrival at the castle.

"Then, please, demonstrate."

Harry got the distinct feeling Professor Quirrell knew exactly how little time he'd spent on his assigned spells.

He took a breath, steadied himself, and drew his wand. He ran his fingers over the raised patterns that ran down its length and over the twisting base where it connected to the handle, trying to find some connection to ensure his spells would succeed this time.

He felt Professor Quirrell watching him. It grew more and more uncomfortable until at last he stopped putting it off and began casting.

"Lumonitio. Incendio. Aguamenti. Stupefy."

He carried on down the list, matching each incantation with its wand movement. Mostly. Twice Professor Quirrell stopped him and corrected his wave, or moved his wrist slowly through the tight curve. Then Harry continued, repeating the corrected gestures as closely as possible.

It still felt unnatural, his motions clumsy like trying to write with his off-hand, but Professor Quirrell assured him that was normal.

"Almost no one masters these spells in their first year. But you can't afford to be like everyone else."

"I wouldn't mind being like everyone else," Harry mumbled. "At least then I wouldn't be less."

Professor Quirrell stilled. He sat quietly watching, long enough for Harry to wonder what he'd said wrong, before finally speaking.

"The truth, Harry, is that the world doesn't want us to be strong. They will do everything possible to convince you that you're not as good as you are, that you can't be better than they are."

"Haven't you told me from the start that everyone gravitates toward strong leaders and will admire us if we're powerful?"

"Yes. But that's a distant sort of power. The sort where they know from the beginning that they are of lesser status. The problem arises when they feel they should be better than you. For whatever reason, they're secure in their superiority. And then you stand up, you prove them wrong. Which is easier? To accept the upheaval of their carefully ordered hierarchy? Of course not. They try to tear you down, until you're back beneath them where they think you belong."

Harry found himself nodding. He'd never had words for the feeling before, but what Professor Quirrell described perfectly encapsulated his relationship with his cousin.

Dudley wanted Harry to whimper, wanted him to cry, wanted to see him at his most pathetic. And until he got that, he wouldn't leave Harry alone. Attempts to defy him only drove him to greater cruelties, until Harry got the message. When pushed, fall down and look pathetic. When taunted, don't snark back. Dudley was shallow enough not to care if Harry's behavior was obviously exaggerated.

But what began as self-preservation had become far too much ingrained habit. Harry had stopped trying to stand up for himself years ago, and now there was only so much words could do.

"Miss Parkinson is a good example for you," Professor Quirrell continued. "She's the sort of person who sees what she wants and acts on it. When anyone tries to stop her, she asserts her dominance without hesitation. She refuses to back down. You need to emulate that, Harry."

"That's not what Professor Snape says."

"Because he doesn't care about you. His concerns are for Slytherin house as a whole. Whether you personally grow into your true destiny and power, or allow the opinion of the masses to control your life, it means little to him. He doesn't know what I do, he hasn't seen the true strength that hides at your core. We are not like the rest. You are not like them. You needn't allow the manufactured constraints of society to control you. We are Heirs, Harry. Heirs of Slytherin, and of magic itself."

"I'm only halfblood," Harry said automatically, self-deprication coming as naturally as breath, but Professor Quirrell interrupted him before he could say more, slapping one hand on his desk.

"NO, Harry. You are not 'only' anything. You are new to this community, ignorant of its ways, but that doesn't make you less important. Thiss power is ourss, the ssecrets are ours, never forget thiss."

"But what's the point? I can talk to snakes, and yes, it's really amazing. If it weren't for this, you might never have found me. But how does that make me better than anyone else?"

"Haven't you felt it? The ease with which spells come to you? Your tongue is trained to subtleties most wizards couldn't dream of. You can feel the difference, taste the shape of power as you say it. I've rarely had to correct you more than once."

Harry nodded, a bit uncomfortable, but strangely pleased at the same time. Even if it wasn't anything he'd done or earned, Professor Quirrell's words felt like praise.

"So that's why I'm the first to say new spells right."

"Yes. And that's only the start. Once you're older, once you've mastered the movements for all the basic spells, we can move on to some truly exceptional magics. There are secrets you and I will explore together which only an Heir of Slytherin can uncover. Powers only we can learn."

Harry grinned eagerly, caught up in Professor Quirrell's enthusiasm.

"So long as you keep that in mind," the professor said dryly, "and don't spend all your time memorizing Quidditch scores."

Harry felt overwarm with embarrassment. "Everyone else cares more about Quidditch than spells. It's easy to get distracted."

"Everyone else can afford to be useless and pathetic," Professor Quirrell snapped. Then, at Harry's expression, he sighed and his voice softened. "If I didn't truly believe you had more potential than anyone I've ever met, I'd not be so insistent on this. Right now, your magic is at its most volatile, its most unrefined, its most open. Learning simple spells in the prescribed manner will make you a standard wizard with ordinary power. But if you can find it in yourself to press a little farther, work a little harder now, in later years your power will be unmatched. Can you truly say that Quidditch is more important than that?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "But alliances are important too. You said that in the very beginning. I'm not good at talking to people, but when we're all excited for Quidditch everything is easier. So which is it? Should I be practicing magic, or making friends?"

Professor Quirrell smiled faintly. "Better. But you have plenty of time to do both. I trust you'll at least make an effort to remember?"

Harry nodded, resolving to himself that he would practice every spell at least once every day. He'd find time. Somehow.

"Good. For now, let's run through the set again."

They did so, then another time, then another and another until Harry's arms ached and he felt weak and shaky all over. He still hadn't managed most of the spells in the list, but he trusted Professor Quirrell's assessments more than his own. If he believed Harry would be able to do this, then Harry would try his utmost to do so.

Professor Quirrell conjured a goblet of juice for him as he sat afterward, too worn out to walk all the way back to the common room just yet. They sat and talked about things of less consequence - the other students, Harry's progress in socializing, his daily successes and failures.

They even talked for a time about Quidditch - though Professor Quirrell only asked questions and had no replies of his own. It was obvious he only cared because of Harry, and only a very little even then.

When Harry returned to the common room, Pansy was sitting with Phylis and talking animatedly while her older cousin mostly ignored her, with the occasional 'hmm' or 'maybe'.

"Want to go outside a bit?" Harry asked, but Pansy shook her head.

"Too wet," she said, and upon consideration it really was.

Harry sat down and tried to find a way to be interested in their conversation, but it was entirely about the proper application of various cosmetics, which Phylis didn't care about and Pansy seemed quite content to ramble on about at length.

Harry eventually gave up and went back to his room. Draco was there, with Vincent and Gregory, casting spells with quiet intensity.

"What're you practicing?" he asked, without trying to be snarky this time. Harry had enough of his own wand problems to know it wasn't necessarily any fault of Draco's, who ordinarily did so well with spellcasting. For him to be spending this much time on a spell, it must be a difficult one.

"Something's not working right," Gregory said. "And it's getting worse."

"What's wrong?"

"Spells are slower and weaker," Vincent said. "You must have noticed."

Harry shrugged. "I thought I was just bad at magic. You're saying it's not just me?"

"Yes," said Draco. "If even I'm having problems, there's something wrong. But no one in the older years noticed anything, so whatever it is seems targeted at someone in first year."

"You make it sound like someone's doing this to you," Harry said. "Or, us, I guess. But that's impossible."

"You wouldn't know what's impossible or not," Draco snapped. He scowled. "You've only been here a couple months. Your muggles wouldn't know the difference between a charm and a chimpanzee."

Harry felt himself blushing. It was true, of course, but Draco didn't have to be so mean about it. It took conscious effort not to duck his head and look anywhere else.

"Then what is it?" he asked.

"If I knew, then I'd have done something about it already, wouldn't I?"

"You can tell the difference," Vincent said. "There's a little lurch. A bit of a pause. It's not normal."

Harry shrugged. He had enough trouble with his wand, from the very start, that he couldn't tell if anything were lurching or hesitating one way or the other.

"Nothing comes as quickly as it should," Draco said. He snapped out a "Lumos!" and the light flicked on. But Harry thought he could see it, now he was looking; a split-second hesitation between the spellcasting and the light. Not like Draco's usually perfect spellwork.

He drew out his own wand and brought it up before him. "Lumos."

It didn't work, so he tried again. This time the light activated, though it had the same hesitation as Draco's.

Harry frowned. "I wouldn't have noticed that."

"It's getting worse."

"How quickly?"

Gregory scoffed. "Too quickly."

"Is there anything we can do?" Harry asked, concerned now.

"We can perform exhaustive testing, record data for comparison, and eventually compile a complete chart of who, where, when, and for how long this delay is occurring," Draco drawled.

"Is that. . . what you're doing?" Harry asked.

"No. It's what a Ravenclaw would do. Do I look like I have time to do something like that? It would be a complete waste of effort. I can tell you right now, it's targeted at us. This room, particularly."

"But what kind of spell could do that?"

"If I knew, I'd already have dealt with the problem. Obviously. My father could raise a fuss and have it dismantled if I could tell him what it is. As it is, all I have is a few spells taking longer than usual, and not enough to be noticeable."

"So it happens outside the dorm too?" Harry asked.

"Less so the farther we are. Outside the castle, there's no delay. The upper floors seem a bit better, but it still only affects us." Draco drew a hand in a circle motion, indicating himself, Harry, Vincent, and Gregory, as well as Shawn's bed which was currently empty.

"It's them Gryffindors," Gregory grunted. "I know it. They're tryin' to make us lose."

"It would be just like them," Vincent agreed, "but I don't think they could. It would take a 'claw to plan this."

"So we're probably facing an inter-house conspiracy against us," Draco said, lying back on his bed. He tucked his hands behind his head. "They don't want us to dominate the House Cup for another year, and the best way to stop us is to sabotage the first years before we have a chance to become a threat."

Harry privately thought this didn't make a lot of sense, but then he also was less competitive than most of his housemates. The cup was a competition, and he'd never been very good at trying to win. He wanted Slytherin to do well, would gladly root for them and try to make their victory more certain if he could, but he wasn't wrapped up in it like the others were.

He couldn't shake a subconscious certainty that any team he tried to help would end up losing. Better to keep out of it.

"How will we stop them?" Gregory asked.

"I don't know yet," Draco said. "Harry, are you in?"

"Sure." Harry didn't want anyone to sabotage his dorm, regardless of house cup or rivalries. "What do you need me to help with?"

"Just keep an eye out. If you see anything suspicious, let us all know so we can investigate."

"I think most things are suspicious," Vincent said. He squinted at Harry. "For instance, why are you here?"

"Because it's my room too?"

"How are we supposed to be sure you're really Harry? You don't have your girl tagging along after you, isn't she always wherever you are?"

"Not in the boys' dorm!" Harry exclaimed. "And leave off on Pansy. She's good and loyal and fun."

Draco smiled slowly. "Yes, she's so loyal. As long as she thinks she can get something from you. No one else would be so patient, so willing to correct her every error and do her studying for her."

"Hey, that's not how it is."

"Isn't it?"

"No!"

Draco shrugged. "Yep, it's the real Harry. No one else would be so confident in defending that bitch."

Harry flinched and blushed. Vincent grinned.

"You shouldn't be mean to her," Harry said. "It's not a good idea to be divided in our own house."

"As long as we present a unified front to everyone who would tear us down from outside, it doesn't matter what we do inside. And you can't get much more inside than this."

"But she's powerful and rich, didn't you say so yourself?"

Draco smiled even wider. "I wouldn't insult her to her face, of course."

"That's terrible," Harry said.

But he knew he wouldn't dare to repeat Draco's insults to Pansy either. He had the feeling she'd react very poorly indeed.