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Chapter 5: Alliances
"SLYTHERIN!"
The anxious silence in the Great Hall was shattered by a flood of hushed whispers.
Filius Flitwick glanced to his side, where Severus was quietly choking on his wine, and clapped politely at the new student.
The child slid off the stool and gave the Hat to Minerva – who looked a tad less composed than she usually was – and then walked to the green table, where he was met with quite a few disbelieving stares and a few glares, from some of the elder students.
Filius frowned. Such outright hostility from within the house was never a good sign. He was too often confronted with bullying in Ravenclaw to not know the warning signs. He turned to Severus, intent on finding whether the man had noticed – and what he planned to do about it – but the Potion Master was glaring at the Slytherin table, most specifically the first-year section, and Filius felt something like unease creep up his spine.
"Everything alright, Severus?"
The wizard shot him a startled look and seemed to finally come back to his sense.
"Yes," Severus drawled. "All is fine. I was merely… surprised."
Filius narrowed his eyes but decided not to call the Potion Master on his blatant lie.
Staff discussions this last week of summer had made Severus' dislike of the Potter boy very clear. That the man was now the boy's Head of House was worrying, especially if, as Filius was guessing, the Potion Master was not going to be able to put his bias aside.
A Head of House was supposed to act as a parental figure for the duration of the school year. Filius looked out for his eagles, made sure that everything was alright, advised and reassured them when they needed it, as did Minerva for her lions, Pomona her badgers, and Severus his snakes.
But if that one snake was unable to find shelter in his Head of House, Filius would have to offer his own protection.
He wanted to ask Severus to treat the boy fairly but had a feeling that drawing attention to the man's prejudices, when he had not yet done anything to the child – except sending a mild glare at the table – would pose more problems than it would solve.
He was going to keep an eye on the situation. If the Potion Master shirked his duties, then he would intervene. But, who knew, maybe Severus would surprise them all.
Ω
Blaise Zabini was waiting for and ancient artifact of unknown power to make up its damn mind.
He had expected the Hat to send Potter to Gryffindor with the same speed it had sent Malfoy to Slytherin, but that had not been the case. Now the hall was waiting in a silence that was becoming more and more tense by the minute. He was getting impatient, nervous even, but forced himself not to fidget like the redhead at his side. Probably a Weasley.
Blaise glanced at the Gryffindor table, replying to Granger's glare in kind, then at the Hufflepuffs, where Longbottom shyly answered his nod, and back at the Hat on Potter's head.
Mother had always been very clear that he was to choose his friends wisely. Friendships started at Hogwarts often lasted long into adulthood, opening many doors that would have been otherwise closed.
Blaise was clever, cunning and resourceful. He knew he was bound for Slytherin.
Oh, his loyalty and work ethics might send him to Hufflepuff, which, he supposed, would be another way to secure a valuable friendship. Longbottom had seemed decent enough. Should it be the case, he would not have too many regrets.
From what Mother had told him, the snake pit was a high-stake dance, where the smallest misstep could send the floor collapsing under your feet. But the thrill, she had said with that cold smile that could make grown men quake in their boots, the thrill made it all worth it.
He was excited to learn the game… but also incredibly wary.
"SLYTHERIN!"
Wrenched from his musings, Blaise looked up in time to see Potter get up, give the Hat back to Professor McGonagall and head to the Slytherin table.
Glancing there, Blaise noticed that the reactions were mitigated. Some upper years held their head high with a smug look that stated 'why, yes, we saw that coming, and not you', while others were shooting dark looks at their new housemate, who was noticing and gradually slowing his advance, looking more and more apprehensive, until he found an empty spot at the far end of the table.
While the Sorting proceeded with an Oliver Rivers – "HUFFLEPUFF!" – Blaise kept spying on the snakes' table.
The Slytherins were shunning Potter. It was nothing blatant, the glares had subsided, in fact, no one was looking at the boy sitting at the far end of the table. Potter was hunched on himself, looking miserable, and something cold and angry coiled in Blaise's stomach.
Potter was obviously not prepared to play the game.
Everything seemed to crystallize, as Blaise realized the opportunity that had just landed in his lap. His plans for Hufflepuff fell to the wayside.
High risks and higher rewards versus loyal friendship?
He was a Zabini. He would make sure to have both.
"Blaise Zabini?"
He looked up, startled, and noticed he was the last unsorted student. With an embarrassed mental facepalm, he made his way to the stool and sat.
"Oh, well, you seem to have done my work for me."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You have it, SLYTHERIN!"
He blinked. That had gone faster than expected. But he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he stood, handed back the Hat, made his way to the Slytherin table and pointedly sat next to Potter.
"Hello again," he said, turning to the boy with a small smile. Warm, but not too overt. It would not do to seem to forward in his offer for alliance.
"H-hello Blaise!" the other replied with a relieved smile, and Blaise winced at the breach in etiquette. You did not use someone's first name upon first meeting them, especially around old purebloods lines who cared a lot more about decorum than the regular wizard. A quick glance at the nearest students and, yep, they had heard the blunder, if the frowns directed at Potter – and himself – were any indication.
Rebuke him and I weaken this alliance. Let it stand and I lose credibility among the old lines in the house. How do I use this?
"So, Harry," he said, deliberately ignoring the elder Slytherins' attention, "What do you think of Hogwarts so far? Is it to your liking?"
I'm a Zabini, he thought in their direction, I wouldn't breach custom. Obvious conclusion is that Potter and I are close.
His bluff seemed to work, and the elder students went back to their own conversations. He allowed himself a small sigh of relief. That had been close. But Mother had been right.
What a thrill, and it was only the beginning.
Though his first priority would be to sit Potter with a book on proper wizarding etiquette, because his bluff would not hold long with another blunder from his ally, especially considering all the old lines heirs in Slytherin this year.
As he paid the appropriate amount of outside attention to Potter's awed tales of Diagon Alley, he surveyed the first-year students at their table.
The most noticeable had to be the Malfoy heir, with platinum hair and careful mannerisms that were accentuated by the rather lousy table manners of two heavy-set boys sitting at his sides. They were currently discussing with a Nott, if Blaise remembered the Sorting correctly. Next to him, sat a girl with an unfortunate combination of flat nose and square jaw, that Blaise associated with the Bulstrode line. Mother was on friendly terms with their patriarch, so the girl was a potential ally.
The other first-year girls had all gathered like a pack of hounds, though – and it was interesting to note – two of them were being politely but overtly ignored by the five others, among whom Blaise recognized Parkinson, Dew and Greengrass, to whom he had been introduced last winter.
He surveyed the table and, yes, two small boys facing each other and consorting quietly. He could not remember their names, but he would bet that they were half-bloods, just by how the elder students around the pair were carefully acting as if the two did not exist.
The headmaster's announcements of fates worse than death awaiting students in the 3rd floor corridor was… baffling, to say the least, but the unbothered reactions of the older Slytherins told Blaise that was on par for the course with the rumored crazy old man, so he did not worry much.
Eventually, the meal came to an end, and the prefects gathered their house's scattered first years to lead them to their common room.
Theirs was in the dungeons, with black leather couches, green tapestries lined with silver, and windows opening to the bottom of the Black Lake. The older years were already heading for narrow hallways half-hidden here and there across the room. Zabini took it all in as they were herded by their six prefects to the center of the room, near an imposing fireplace.
Once they had settled down, a dark-haired teen stepped forward.
"Welcome to Slytherin," he said softly. "I am Roy Henwood, and this," he gestured to a spindly blonde with glasses, "is Gemma Farley. We are the fifth-year Slytherin prefects. If you have questions, you ask us. Curfew is at twenty. Past that time, you are expected to be in the common room. Breakfast starts at seven, and classes at eight. On this board," He pointed to a silver-rimmed panel with neatly pinned parchments, "is a map of the school, with the most commonly used secret passages and shortcuts. Take note that the moving stairs will rotate clockwise when the moon is in its waxing phase, and counter-clockwise when it is waning. Shortcuts traced in green are only open during specific days of the week, passages in red are one-way use only. For instance, the west wing's bronze ladder between the first and fourth floor can only be climbed upwards. Any attempt to climb downwards from the fourth floor will get you a bath in the Black Lake if it is a week day." Henwood paused and smirked. "Please do not attempt to find out first hand where it will drop you on a weekend. We have Gryffindors for that." That caused a few nervous chuckles. "Anyway. The map can be copied with a simple duplicatus. It should be in your first-year charms textbook. If you have trouble with it, ask an older student for advice or come to us. Do not be late to class. The teachers will only be lenient for the first week, and you do not want to take bad habits."
Henwood glanced at the blonde girl – Farley – and she stepped up.
"In short," she stated with a smile, "No lateness, no lurking outside after curfew, and the use magic in the hallways is… forbidden. I would tell you to follow the rules, but this is not Hufflepuff." There were a few snickers. She grinned. "So, when you inevitably end up sneaking around and casting spells, do not get caught. We are Slytherin. We do not blunder about. And if you do get caught, hope it is by Professor Snape, because he will assign you a detention and that will be it. Anyone else… well. It would be shameful. And we are your family, now. You do not bring shame to your family."
She nodded to Henwood who took over:
"Farley said it. We are a family. We are a fraternity. It does not matter whatever rivalries there are between these walls. When we are out of the common room, we are Slytherins, and we present a united front. If you see a fellow Slytherin in trouble, you help them. I do not care if that help is finding a teacher, causing a distraction or hexing a bully. What matters is that you help. Because when you are in trouble, you can be assured that the whole House will be behind you."
"Now you have a long day tomorrow," Farley said and pointed to her left at a narrow hallway half-covered by a tapestry. "The first-year rooms are at the end of this corridor. Two students to a room. Your names will be on the doors, your trunks at the bottom of your beds. Good night."
With that, the prefects left for their own hallway – concealed behind a sliding wall mirror – and the first-years were left looking dubiously at the tapestry shadowing the narrow corridor to their rooms. Oblivious to everyone's hesitation, Potter stepped in first, and Blaise had no choice but to follow as if nothing was wrong.
The hallway led to a round antechamber, with two tables and a dozen chairs. There were nine doors spaced evenly on the walls, with names engraved in silver on the wood. Blaise took a few steps along the right wall, reading the names – 'Bulstrode, Davis', then 'Dew, Gilbert', 'Greengrass, Parkinson' and 'Perry, Rook' – until he reached the door facing the hallway 'Potter, Zabini'.
He stopped.
Well.
Either he was very lucky, or the castle itself was on his side. Turning back to Potter, who was looking at some carvings on the wall, he gestured to their door.
"Looks like we are rooming together, Harry."
"That's great!" the boy replied, almost bouncing with joy. "Let's get inside!"
The other first-years started milling around the antechamber, looking for their doors, and Blaise quickly glanced at the door left of theirs: 'Nott, Pale', then at the others which read 'Malfoy' (how did the prat get himself a single room?) – 'Hawke, Leverton' (he had no idea who those were; he really should have paid attention during the Sorting) and 'Crabbe, Goyle' (Heh.). It seemed that the left side of the room held the boys' doors, and the right side, the girls'.
Satisfied with his observations, he followed Potter into their room and found a narrow space with a small fireplace embedded in the far wall, and two beds lining the walls. Potter was sitting on the right-side bed, happily bouncing on the mattress and looking around the rather tiny room.
Blaise moved to sit on the left bed, when something scaly caught his eye at the feet of Potter's bed.
He froze.
Scales and claws and teeth.
"Potter," he squeaked, "why is there a mimic in our room?"
"What's a mimic?"
"That thing!" he shrieked, pointing at the thing and making some distance between him and it.
"Oh, you mean Chomp? He's my trunk."
He stopped trying to phase through the wall and glanced at Potter with incredulity.
"Your… trunk."
"Yes, I bought him in Diagon Alley, remember? I told you about it during the feast."
Blaise eyed the monstrous chest with its stubby clawed legs and white, sharp, finger-long teeth. The thing did not have eyes, but Blaise was pretty sure that it stared back. Then the lid raised an inch and a thin red tongue darted out, giving the distinct impression of a monster licking its chops.
Eeep.
"Don't worry," Potter said, "he won't hurt you."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I told him not to hurt my friends."
Oh.
Blaise looked at Potter, not really sure how to reply to the candid statement.
That's not how it works, he wanted to say. You barely know me. We aren't friends.
But Potter was smiling openly, and it was such a Hufflepuff thing to say – he was going to be eaten alive by the other snakes – and Blaise could not find it in himself to spurn that trust.
"Yeah," he breathed. "We're friends."
He forced himself to relax. Whether this move would succeed or fail depended on Potter's understanding of Slytherin's subtleties. Blaise had the time to explain a few basics before they got to sleep, but he knew he could not work miracles. At the very least, Potter's ignorance would make the game interesting.
But one thing was for certain.
Harry had the potential to be be a valuable friend.
Ω
And here we are, lads! Chapter five! Took some time to complete, because I kept being distracted by writing chapters for Remus, but your patience has been rewarded.
For anyone who wonders, Chomp is not a mimic. But Blaise doesn't know that.
Hope you enjoyed and, as usual, don't hesitate to leave a comment, they're great motivation to write.
Sincerely,
Claywind