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Ch. 21: Day 10, part III: Convention of the Snakes

Once Malfoy had left, it was a relief to be able to sit alone in silence. Harry finished eating, but still he sat, staring sightlessly at Draco's empty plate. Now that he actually had a moment to himself, he realized how burnt out he was. The last nine days had been emotionally grueling, between the stress of having to get home and the rather disturbing discovery of his feeling for his ex-nemesis, and his fatigue prompted doubts as to whether or not he would be able to cope with this next challenge.

He wished suddenly that Ron was there with him say that everything would be okay, and Hermione to assure him that she would help him sort everything out. 'Cause right now, he really didn't know, and the haunting solitude allowed a daunting fear to grow. He felt ill-equipped for war. What did he know of fighting evil megalomaniacs and their dark henchmen? No more than what he had gleaned in five years of near death experiences, and what Dumbledore had shown him in his pensieve; and that wasn't much.

With a sigh of frustration, Harry stood and left the kitchens. He didn't particularly want to return immediately to Malfoy's oh-so-pleasant company, but he pushed his tremulous feelings deep within. Malfoy was dead right: there was much to be done, plenty of responsibility to go around, and now was no time to be distracted by transient puppy lust (or whatever it was between them). This was WAR. People had died, people he had cared for, and many more were going to die. This was going to be the worst experience he would ever be subjected to, of this he was sure, and in a few months the Tempus Quaero adventure would be just another episode in a never ending series.

The talking-to did wonders, and by the time Harry arrived at Snape's quarters, he sported a grim, determined expression that only a fool would have crossed. If war demanded fighters, leaders, and heroes, well then he would be all three. He would be victorious or die trying; and if the latter was the case, then he would make his death as costly as possible.

He rapped loudly on the door, and there was a long pause before it creaked open slightly to reveal a sliver of Snape's body and one glaring eye. "It is neither safe nor permitted for you to wonder the halls alone, Potter," the unbearable git reprimanded.

"I wouldn't be if Malfoy had waited for me to finish eating," Harry growled, really not in the mood for Snape's malicious bullshit.

"There's a war going on, Potter, if you hadn't noticed. Time is of the essence," came the sneered reply.

Harry saw red and he was barely able to restrain the urge to clock the potions master. "Let me in, or I'm leaving," Harry hissed, finding no difficulty in tapping his inner darkness. "I've got better things to do than talk to you. As you said, time is of the essence."

With that, he pushed open the door and, surprisingly, Snape let him, though he looked like he was on the verge of committing bloody murder – but that was acceptable, because Harry felt like doing just the same thing.

He must have spent longer sitting in the kitchens than he had thought, for in Snape's study, several students had already congregated; specifically, Blaise Zabini, Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkison, Theodore Nott, and a half dozen seventh years whose names uncertainly flashed through Harry's mind. Couches had been extended to fit everyone, with Malfoy standing, now turned around to witness Harry's entrance. His arched eyebrow asked what exactly had taken Harry so long, but he was the only one who bore such a neutral expression. The rest of the Slytherins looked even more hostile than Snape, and far more suspicious.

"Potter," Malfoy said tonelessly in greeting, turning back to his audience.

"Malfoy," Harry replied, and came to stand next to Malfoy, his right hand resting on the wand in his robes and feeling distinctly nervous in this company, especially with Snape's odious presence hovering behind him. What exactly was he supposed to be doing here? These snakes looked as likely to bite him as talk to him. Malfoy, however, was very much in his element, and he knew exactly how to play his housemates.

"Here's your chance," Malfoy stated challengingly. "Kill him."

Harry whipped out his wand, his mouth falling open and eyes widening in shock. The Slytherins looked almost as taken aback, but did not move. When it became apparent that none would, Harry hazarded a glance at Malfoy, who stood perfectly still and perfectly poised, a cold expression on his face. For a moment Harry thought he was looking at the blonde's father. Had he miscalculated? Was this Draco Malfoy Voldemorte's property, like the one he had encountered just yesterday? "What the hell, Malfoy?" he demanded, sounding every bit as angry and betrayed as he felt.

But Malfoy didn't even look at Harry. "Well? What are you waiting for!" he snapped. "If you want to join the Dark Lord, here is your chance to make an endearing impression!"

There was a long, tense silence before a bulky seventh year spoke up warningly, "Draco, Professor Snape is right behind you."

"So!" Malfoy snapped again, this time even more forcefully. "He's playing both sides anyway." There were a several gasps, and Harry swore he could hear Snape inhale sharply. What the HELL was going on? "Whatever happens here, he'll be able to play it to his advantage with one side or the other. So, get on with it. Kill Harry Potter, that's what it means to be on the Dark Lord's side."

Though Malfoy's words had Harry's nerves screaming, he suspected suddenly that they had purpose. Malfoy was, after all, significantly more intelligent than his actions generally suggested. Harry assessed the Slytherins before him. They looked nervous and stressed, and displeased to be in this situation at all, and he unwillingly felt a degree of empathy for them. They were not in such different positions from him.

Finally, Clairden (whom Harry recognized from Quidditch) spoke up. "It's Harry Potter for Merlin's sake, and he's got a wand pointed right at us. It would be suicide."

"SO!" Malfoy barked. "He will always be Harry Potter, he will almost always be armed, and you will never get better odds than thirteen to one! As for it being suicide, you know the Dark Lord would have absolutely no compunction about ordering you to your deaths. So, if you want to be a Death Eater, then be one! Right now! You will never get a better chance!"

Okay, so Harry could sorta see what Malfoy was trying to do, but he really did not appreciate being used as bait, especially without forewarning. Apparently, some of the Slytherins were beginning to understand what Malfoy was getting at too, for they were beginning to shoot their displeased glares at Malfoy instead of Harry.

This time it was Bultrode who responded irritably, "Why don't you kill him then, hmmm, Draco? If you think it's such a great idea?"

"Oh, I don't think it's a good idea at all, Mil. If fact, I think joining Voldemort is just about the worst, most dunderheaded, destructive, and all around ill-fated fad to have ever hit the Slytherin house."

Malfoy's audience shuddered at his use of You-Know-Who's name, but they just about died when he proclaimed his opinion of You-Know-Who's cause. They gawked at him, stunned to the point of being unable to react. He was, after all, Lucius Malfoy's son, and accepted by all to be imminently following in his father's footsteps.

And so long seconds passed, as the Slytherins tried to figure out if Draco was testing them, but Harry Potter's presence at his side suggested otherwise. Eventually, Pansy shook her head gently and spoke, "Draco, no one here wants to join the Dark Lord. You must already realize that if you have specifically brought us all here together. But if you've brought the bloody Boy-Who-Lived with you, then you are aiming for more than that, aren't you? You want us to fight on his side. Now, I can't speak for everyone, but I can't go against my family like that."

There were nods of agreement from the other Slytherins, and Harry felt his heart fall. It wasn't going to work. Malfoy, however, seemed barely phased. "Okay, fair enough. But then when Dumbledore releases everyone to go home, you must flee. You must never contact your parents, or any of your extended family. You must leave the country immediately and go into hiding, preferably somewhere remote and muggle. And if you are ever caught, you will have to kill yourself immediately." Of course, there were protests, but Malfoy was the sort of powerful speaker that demanded attention under any circumstance. "Don't give me that crap. You're not stupid. My father's in Azkaban, but his alliance still ties me to Voldemort. Even if your families' were inclined to allow you to remain neutral, the Dark Lord would never give you such an option. Believing such foolishness will certainly get you killed."

"You don't know that, Malfoy," Clairden snapped, finally annoyed and scared enough to snap at the unofficial head of house.

Malfoy looked at his beater as though he was a particularly foul smear of feces. "Yes, I do," he spoke quietly and dangerously. His gaze stonily scrutinized at his housemates; then, in an abrupt movement, he yanked up his sleeve where the Dark Mark would have been. Instead, there was a thick scar running the length of his arm, from his wrist to his elbow. "Do you know what this is?" he demanded bitterly.

Whatever it was, it surely wasn't good, and Harry found himself warily shaking his head along with the other Slytherins. Though no one could see, only Snape was not surprised.

"This is what I got over the summer when I tried to convince the Dark Lord to let the seventh years return to Hogwarts, at least until the war broke out in earnest. My arguments were good, so here you all are and I am still among the living, but this is what I got for questioning his judgment."

His housemates looked uneasy, and Malfoy fixed each with his piercing gaze, before Zara (a quiet, reclusive seventh year that Harry could not recall ever having seen before) asked the question that weighed on all their minds. "You expect us to trust Bumbledore and. . . him?"

She nodded at Harry, who frowned slightly, but he had firmly decided to leave the entire ordeal up to Draco, who had proven much more adept at handling the affair than he could have ever hoped to be. This time, however, Draco seemed somewhat at a loss, as it took him several ponderous seconds before responding. "Only a week and a half ago, I wouldn't have trusted either of them – not to help us anyway. But something happened to change my mind."

Draco paused dramatically, ever the manipulator of words and people. The Slytherins' attention was obviously peaked, and the nine day disappearance of their leader and the Gryffindor Golden Boy escaping no one's notice. "Voldemort was going to mark me last weekend." Strange how something once so terrifying was so easy to say. . . "I couldn't let that happen, but I had. . . limited options available to me. So, I did something drastic. . . If it had worked, none of you would have ever seen me again. But it didn't work, and Harry here spent nine of the most fucked-up days ever trying to get us back. And then when we got back this morning, bloody Dumbledore is all acting like he knows I'm on his side, like he knows everything that happened. . . "

Draco's and Harry's eyes narrowed simultaneously, suddenly caught up in the implications of Draco's words. Both had been so used to everything being out of whack, plus the shock of the hearing about the attack, that they had barely realized the bizarreness of that particular aspect of the situation.

Behind them, Snape quietly cleared his throat (the Slytherins were beginning to look at them oddly) and Draco promptly got back on track. "So, to answer your question, no, I don't expect you to trust them. I expect you trust me, and. . . I can't believe I'm saying this, but I trust Harry fucking Potter," Harry glanced over sharply, pleased with the words whether they were true or not, "who in turn trusts Dumbledore. I know, it sounds like a chain of fools, but we are hardly in the position to be choosy, now are we?"

The Slytherins were completely deflated, which had probably been Draco's strategy in the first place: to remove every pillar of resistance and verbally beat them into compliance. Harry figured that the opportunity had finally arrived to say something that could actually assist in Draco's efforts. "A chain of fools? Well, then there really must be a separate god for fools and children, 'cause me, I've survived Voldemort in some form or another a total of, uh, six times. And Dumbledore, he defeated Grindenwald, and I've seen him fight off Voldemort at least once. I'd think we were pretty good options for allies, all things considered."

Draco turned to him and, for the first time since Harry had entered Snape's chamber, smiled. The Slytherins looked like they didn't know what was more unbelievable – that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were actually smiling at each other, or that they were considering (albeit reluctantly) aligning themselves with Dumbledore, Harry Potter, and a bunch of other people that they detested in no uncertain terms.

! BREAK !

In the end, there were two reasons that the Slytherins sided with Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore: because none of them wanted to fight for a genocidal megalomaniac, and because, after five years living with and being lead by Draco Malfoy, their bonds to him and their trust in him rivaled the bonds and trust that tied them to their own families. After some discussion in which Harry and Snape stood on the sidelines, a tentative agreement was reached to meet with Dumbledore and pledge their allegiance. Their rhetoric left open the possibility of backing out, but everyone knew that just by so considering their loyalties (and failing to kill Harry Potter), they had effectively made it impossible for them to join You-Know-Who. He would know of this exchange, and likely kill them before trusting them.

Draco and the Slytherins eventually decided to leave Snape's quarters and attempt to recruit a few more housemates who they considered possible converts, and Harry made sure to leave with them, having no desire to be alone with Snape at all.

Out in the dungeon corridor, Draco held back as the rest headed towards the common room. "Thanks, Potter."

Harry's smiled slightly, a little shaken by the entire ordeal. "It was nothing. You did all the work, and it was rather impressive if I might say so myself. You're quite the orator when you're not shouting, 'I'll get you next time, Potter'."

Draco's lips quirked gently in response. "Maybe. But they're still Slytherins. They never would have followed me if you hadn't been able to present a viable alternative."

Just this short, positive exchange was enough to lift Harry's spirits and calm his nerves somewhat. "Do you want me to come with?" he asked nodding in the direction Draco's housemates had gone.

Draco shook his head, looking suddenly grave. "I'm sure Dumbledore has a dozen things he wants you to do. Besides, it's house business now, we'll handle it. There won't be many more that we'll be able to recruit, especially not among the sixth and seventh years. Anyone younger than fifteen is probably safe – as safe as they can be anyway. . . As for those that we'll have to let return to their family," he added darkly, "well, lets just say I have a particularly Slytherin solution to that problem."

The way Draco said it made a shiver run through Harry's spine and reminded him that the blond prefect was much more dangerous, and devious, than he was wanted to believe. "What would that be?" he asked warily.

This time Draco really did smile, but it was neither attractive nor friendly. "You don't want to know, Potter, but you will definitely find out when the time was right."

And on that foreboding note, the two parted company.

! BREAK !

Harry returned to the Infirmary, supposedly to search out the Headmaster; but with Dumbledore, he tended to find you, not the other way around. Really, Harry wanted a few minutes with friends he hadn't seen in a week and a half. The alternate Rons and Hermiones had been relatively accurate versions of his own best friends, but it wasn't the same. These were the versions who would be his crutches through this war, and who deserved an explanation for recent events.

He tried to sneak into the Infirmary without drawing attention to himself, with some degree of success before Hermione cried out, "Harry!" and wrapped her arms around him. Ron leaned out of bed to slap Harry's shoulder warmly, while neighboring students watched with interest.

It took a moment to placate Hermione's need to physically express her affection, then Harry sat himself cross-legged at the foot of Ron's bed and they all grinned at each other like fools. The past days had been so stressful for all of them that it was an elating and giddy relief just to be all together again, alive and for the most part unhurt.

"Jeez, Ron, you're in here more than I am," Harry joked, though of course it wasn't true, for no one was in the Infirmary as much as Harry. Underneath his good humor, he was worried to see Ron hurt again. If he continued at this rate, his odds of survival were not encouraging. "What happened anyway?"

"Aw, it's just a scratch, mate. Got hit by a stray hex that made it through the wards. You should have been there! It was wicked!" Ron gushed excitedly.

"Terrifying is more like it!" Hermione one scolded. "Everyone was scared witless. But you'd have been proud, Harry. All the DA members stood their ground and protected Hogwarts. And more than just being brave, they were competent." She looked smug for a moment, clearly taking some credit for the their preparedness, before switching tracts and frowning in concern. "But what about you, Harry? What on earth happened? Ron and I followed you to the dungeons, only to find you and Malfoy unconscious on the floor!

I did research on time-altering potions, but the professors wouldn't give us any information to go on."

Harry's face fell, and he didn't know how much to tell his friends. He felt as though a lifetime had passed and though he was someone else now, someone who no longer fit snuggly into this world. It was all he could do to remind himself that he had always felt this way, that he had never been normal, that he had never been a perfect fit.

"Hey, it's okay, mate. You know you can tell us anything," Ron assured, and Hermione nodded in concurrence.

Harry sighed and gestured for his friends to lean in closer. "You can't tell anyone, alright?" The two Gryffindors nodded, so he continued in a hushed voice, "Malfoy concocted this potion-spell hybrid thing that I still don't entirely understand, called the Quaero Tempus."

Ron's expression was blank, but Hermione had obviously heard of it before and gasped. "That's supposed to be a myth!"

Harry shrugged. "Well, it's not, believe me. And it was horrible, worse than facing Voldemort 'cause every moment of every day I was stressed and afraid that I wouldn't get back and just get stuck in some alternate world with a bizarre Draco Malfoy. Or even worse, traveling between worlds permanently."

At this point, both Hermione and Ron were confused as to what he was describing. Frustrated, he tried again. "Malfoy screwed up! Or rather, I interrupted him before he finished the potion, and we were both sent through fucked-up alternate realities, all Star Trek like. And I had to figure out how to get back, because Malfoy couldn't remember anything. Then I had to convince Malfoy to come back with me. It was totally whack, but Malfoy had it even worse. He was put through some really horrible things."

"Serves the git right," Ron growled, completely failing to pick up on the undercurrent of sympathy in Harry's tone.

"No one deserves to have that happen to them," Harry responded a little coldly, to Ron's surprise.

"So you convinced Malfoy to come back to this reality, after he took the a mythical potion to escape?" Hermione asked somewhat skeptically, interrupting the temporary tension between Ron and Harry.

Harry considered her words for a second, then nodded: that was about right. As if to challenge his claim, Hermione asked, "How did you convince Draco Malfoy to do anything? He hates you."

Harry grinned. "Not anymore."

Ron looked incredulous, but Hermione's expression was identical to Molly Weasley's when she reprimanded the twins for some harebrained prank. "Harry Potter. What have you done?" she demanded.

"Nothing much," he professed, falsely calm. "Just spent the morning with him, recruiting Slytherins to fight on our side."

Ron's jaw dropped open. "Have you lost your mind?" Ron whispered harshly. "They'll betray us in our sleep!"

Hermione wasn't offering any obvious support one way or the other, so Harry took it upon himself to make a stand for reason and tolerance. "Damn, Ron. That's exactly what's driving Hogwarts students to become Death Eaters!" Harry explained irritably. "They don't want to join You-Know-Who, but they don't think there is any other option!"

"Of course there's an option! There's our side! The side of light and decency and stuff!" Ron's voice was beginning to grow louder and it pissed Harry off.

"Our side hates them!" he retorted shortly, cutting his friend short. "But we need them on our side, if only because we cannot afford to have them on the other side. . . I think we should give them a chance. Malfoy, uh, well," Harry began to stuttered and lowered his voice again, "He's really not all that bad."

"He's not so WHAT?" Ron bellowed, spurring Harry to grab his arm and hush him forcefully.

"SHHH! For Merlin's sake, Ron!"

"Don't shush me," Ron continued at a lower volume. "It's like. . . blasphemy."

Initially indecisive, Hermione rolled her eyes at the absurdity of that comment. "Oh, come on, don't be ridiculous, Ron. Harry's right, war's war, and we need every ally we can get. And if they're Slytherins, then we'll just make sure to keep an extra close eye on them," she informed diplomatically.

Harry nodded in agreement; he fully intended to keep a close eye on the Slytherin house generally, and one Slytherin in particular.

! CHAPTER END !

IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE: Obviously, this story is pre-HBP, as I started it almost a year ago. However, I am thinking of incorporating certain plot points from HBP, though clearly I will only be able to do so in such a way that is somewhat AU. Do you think that this is a good idea?