Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.
CHAPTER 27: Who Is the Prince of Slytherin?
At dinner that night, Harry and his two Slytherin friends sat on the far end of the dinner table away from Malfoy and his cronies. The two made eye contact at one point, with Draco crooking an eyebrow inquiringly at his defeated rival. Harry looked at him with a beaten expression and mouthed the words "after dinner" to him. Draco nodded smugly and went back to talking with his friends. Harry, Theo and Blaise ate quietly. They didn't talk to one another. They'd already said everything they needed to say.
An hour later, the trio were standing together in a corner of the Common Room. Harry scanned the room, which was fairly crowded as the returning Slytherins talked about school work or what they'd done during their week-long break or what broom closets they'd be meeting in for after-curfew hookups. On one of the nearby sofas, Rodney Montague was engaged in some intense conversation with his fellow Seventh Year Prefect, Olivia Kolumbiko, an attractive dark-skinned girl whose family hailed from South Africa but who could trace her Pureblood ancestry back nearly three centuries. The two seemed to be debating some arcane point about Arithmancy relevant to their upcoming NEWTS. On the far side of the room, Marcus Flint held court over the Quidditch team as they discussed new plays for their upcoming match with Hufflepuff. Finally, Draco entered the Common Room triumphantly along with Crabbe and Goyle.
"Here they come," said Theo quietly.
"Alright then," replied Harry. "Time to put on a show."
The two groups of First Years met near the middle of the Common Room.
"Well, Potter? Did you get that cloak for me? I'm looking forward to trying it out."
"Actually, Malfoy," said Harry amiably. "I had the cloak. Theo and Blaise will back me up – they've both seen it. But after having a week to think things through, I reconsidered and returned it to the Git. You see, I've decided that rather than give in to your petty blackmail, it would be more effective and practical and, honestly, more fun to simply crush you." He took a step closer to the boy, whose bodyguards tensed. "Like a bug. Under. My. Foot." And then, before Draco could say anything in response, Harry turned aside from him and moved to the center of the room.
"Ladies and gentle-wizards of Slytherin House!" Harry said loudly and confidently. "May I have your attention please?" The assembled Slytherins, who made up almost half of the house, grew quiet and attentive if somewhat bemused at the little firstie's presumption. "Thank you. As some of you are no doubt aware, there has been conflict within the First Year Slytherin class between myself and Draco Malfoy and our respective associates. Last Tuesday, just before the Break started, that disagreement boiled over into physical violence here in this very Common Room, and speaking for myself, I apologize for my role in such a vulgar display."
"Now as I see it," he continued, "this conflict between Mr. Malfoy and myself arises from his belief – about which he has droned on and on for months – that because of my lineage, my connection to the Boy-Who-Lived, and my general views on certain political issues, I am unworthy to hold a place within Slytherin House. Well, I have something to say in response to that. Indeed, what I have to say will, I think, prove my right to a place in this House rather conclusively." He paused then, and his winning smile suddenly became rather cold. "In fact, and without intending disrespect to anyone here, what I have to say may well prove that I'm more fit to be a Slytherin than, well, nearly every Slytherin currently residing in this castle."
Some in the crowd, especially the most staunchly Pureblood upperclassmen, started to mutter darkly at that, but Harry continued as if unconcerned. "Unfortunately, what I have to say also concerns somewhat delicate matters that I don't think should be bandied about the Common Room for everyone to hear. Unlike Mr. Malfoy, I believe that discretion and subtlety are important, if underestimated, Slytherin values. So, when I speak my piece, I will do so in a place of privacy and only in front of a small group of respected House members. With that in mind, I would ask that Mr. Rodney Montague, Miss Olivia Kolumbiko and Mr. Marcus Flint accompany Mr. Malfoy and myself so that we can continue this discussion," Harry hesitated for just a second, "in the conference room." And with that, Harry turned on his heels and headed towards Prefect's Row.
Behind him, the assembled Slytherins began talking in confusion (and for some, in outrage) until Marcus Flint loudly called out, "Hang on! What conference room?!"
Harry stopped at the corridor entrance and looked back at him. "The one at the end of Prefect's Row, of course." Then, he turned and continued on down the hall.
Flint's brow furrowed in confusion. "There's no conference room at the end of Prefect's Row!" he exclaimed.
"Oh, yes there is," Harry's voice loudly echoed down the corridor. "A big one, too!"
Now even more confused, Flint looked over to the Seventh Year Prefects ... and did a double-take. Marcus had heard the expression "the blood drained from his face," but he'd never actually seen it before. But at the moment, Rodney Montague honestly looked so pale he might as well have been drained by a vampire. For her part, Olivia looked little better as the two prefects slowly stood. Marcus moved towards them (past an utterly perplexed Draco Malfoy) in time to hear a shaken Olivia ask "Could it possibly be true, Rodney?"
Suddenly, Montague turned and practically ran towards Prefect's Row, emitting a trail of vulgarities that Marcus wouldn't have guessed the priggish Seventh Year even knew.
"Marcus, take Malfoy and follow Rodney," said Olivia firmly. Then, she turned and loudly addressed the rest of the confused Slytherins. "Everyone else, stay here! All other prefects, you will guard the entrance to Prefect's Row. No one is to enter until we return! If I catch anyone even looking down that hallway – including younger prefects – you can expect to be hexed so hard, they'll have to carry you to Madam Pomfrey in a bucket!" And with that, the young witch pulled her wand and followed the others down the hall.
As the room broke out into excited chatter, Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other and then towards Zabini and Nott. "Um, what's going on?" Goyle asked Harry's two friends.
"Your boss sowed the wind," said Theo calmly. "This might take a while. You guys know how to play Exploding Snap?" Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other again, shrugged, and started looking around for an open table.
Meanwhile, Olivia, Marcus and Draco had come to a stop behind Rodney, who was standing in front of an inky black portal where a brick wall used to be. "Okay," said Marcus, uneasily, "that's never been there before!"
"Olivia," said Rodney in a shaky voice, "this looks exactly the way they described the entrance to us. Does this mean ...?"
"I don't know, Rodney," she said quietly.
"But if it is, does that mean that Potter is ... you know?"
"I don't know, Rodney," she said again.
"What is all this? Some trick of Potter's?" said Draco irritably.
"Be quiet, Malfoy," Olivia said as she studied the door.
"Don't talk to me like that! My father – OWW!"
"Can it, sprog!" said Marcus angrily, after cuffing Malfoy hard on the back of his head.
Rodney and Olivia looked at each other and nodded before entering the passageway together with their wands drawn. Marcus and Draco followed. Once inside, Marcus was so impressed he didn't notice the soft grind of the door closing behind him. This was definitely a conference room, albeit an unusual one. There was even a conference table, flanked on either side by fancy chairs with brass snake-head finials. But at the head of the table, there wasn't a chair.
There was a throne.
To be more precise, there was a massive black throne that looked to be carved out of a solid block of basalt inlaid with silver filigree and with thick green silk cushions to provide comfort. But the most impressive – and intimidating – thing about this throne was what sprang out from its back: a number of truly massive silver snake sculptures, each with huge emeralds for eyes. By far the dominant one was the silver basilisk in the center that curved over the throne almost protectively. Its body was as wide as a tree trunk, and it loomed at least fifteen-feet tall with emerald eyes the size of a man's fist. Flanking it were a python and a king cobra that were almost as tall if not so wide. On the right side of the throne (from Marcus's perspective) were three smaller but still over-sized snakes – representations of an ashwinder, a boomslang, and finally a blue krait, though this one was, of course, silver. On the left side was a large runespoor with three heads growing out of a single over-sized trunk. The whole thing looked like something out of antiquity or myth, the throne of some ancient pagan serpentine god-king.
And currently sitting on the throne - as if born to it - was Harry Potter.
"Thank you all for coming," he said reasonably. "Please take a seat."
Rodney pointed his wand towards Harry. "Get out of that chair," he growled in a mixture of rage and fear.
Harry leaned forward with an innocent expression on his face. "Why, Rodney? Is ... is this your chair?"
"Dammit Potter...!" exclaimed Rodney. His wand hand was shaking and there were beads of sweat on his brow.
"Nah!" said Harry cheerfully. "I don't think this is your chair at all, Rodney. Nor yours, Olivia. Though, like every Seventh Year Prefect before you, I know you've been told by your predecessors about this chair ... and this room ... and what it probably means that I'm sitting here right now." He leaned back and turned his gaze to the other two Slytherins who were looking around the Lair in wonder. "Marcus? Draco? From the looks you're giving, I'll wager that neither of you know anything at all about this chair. Which is rather sad in your case, Draco. You see, not too long ago, your father sat where I'm sitting now. Lucius Malfoy claimed this seat when he was a student. His name is on one of those silver placards mounted over there on the wall." He pointed towards the next to last nameplate. "'Lucius Malfoy. 1970-1972.' But, I'm sorry to say that, no, this will never be your chair either."
Harry ignored Draco's look of confused petulance and addressed the whole group, raising his arms out to gesture around him. "This... is the Hydra Throne. It was crafted by Salazar Slytherin himself before he left Hogwarts to provide guidance to future generations of Slytherin students. This seat is reserved for the student who claims the mantle of ... the Prince of Slytherin."
"And that's you?" asked Rodney disbelievingly. Olivia had gently put her hand on his wand arm, which he slowly lowered.
Harry burst into laughter. "No, of course not! Don't be silly, Rodney! An eleven-year-old Prince? That would be laughable! Mind you, I do plan to be the Prince of Slytherin, but I have years to go before I satisfy the requirements of the position. No, I'm just sitting here now because, well, I guess you could say I have special permission for one night only. A dispensation, so to speak. Which is a good thing, since the throne is perfectly capable of killing people who sit here without permission. Now, as I said out in the Common Room, I have something important to say, but it's something I want kept quiet which is why we're here."
"You see," he continued, "there are reasons almost no one knows about this room or this chair or the whole 'Prince of Slytherin' deal. One reason is that the Prince himself is not someone who struts around bragging about his status. Or hers, for that matter – nearly half the Princes have been female. The Prince rules from the shadows, quietly shaping and guiding the House according to Salazar's vision instead of bullying others around like a spoiled child, an idea that is clearly beyond your comprehension, Draco. But the most important reason for the Prince's secrecy is, naturally, magic."
Harry gestured around the room. "This room – the Prince's Lair – carries a powerful enchantment, one that has preserved its secrets for eleven centuries. While this chair is occupied, whether long term or just temporarily, a magical contract covers the doorway, binding anyone who enters to an oath of secrecy. After we leave here, we'll all be completely incapable of discussing anything that's said in here tonight without the express permission of the Prince himself. And since I'm the acting-Prince, if for one night only, I'm confident we'll all be keeping our secrets. Whatever is discussed at this table, you won't be able to repeat to anyone else or even write down. You can't be made to reveal anything under Veritaserum or even the Imperius. And if a Legilimens tries to read you, all he'll find is inky blackness and silence where any memories about this room should be. All of which means I can say my piece without fear of gossip, and then, once you're satisfied with my Slytherin bona fides, we can move on to resolving my little conflict with Draco."
Draco made a face at Harry's familiarity, but inside, he was exceedingly nervous. He had never heard about this room or about any "Prince of Slytherin" and certainly didn't know that it was a title his own father had once held. Worse, he had the increasingly disturbing feeling that by pushing Harry Potter too far, he had unleashed something quite beyond his control. Something dangerous, perhaps even terrible. Following the lead of the older Slytherins, Draco sat down in one of the chairs nearest the door, opposite Flint. The two prefects sat on either side of the table in the middle chairs, leaving an open chair on either side of Potter. As they sat, Harry smiled warmly at them all, but Draco could see malice in those green eyes, and he shuddered slightly as he remembered Harry's promise to crush him like a bug.
"Alright, firstie," said Marcus somewhat irritably. He alone had absolutely no idea what was going on which, at the moment, put him in the odd position of being the one person in the room not afraid of Harry Potter. "We're here. What's so important that you have to say to us?"
Harry's smile actually broke out into a broad grin as he chuckled softly. "I am sorry, Marcus. I was a bit unclear. I said I had something to say that would prove my worthiness as a Slytherin. I never meant to imply that I would be speaking to any of you."
And then ... Harry Potter HISSED!
The other four had barely a fraction of a second to process the fact that "Harry Potter, Heir to House Potter and Brother of the Boy-Who-Lived is a bloody Parselmouth!" when they were all startled by the movement and sounds which erupted all around them. Each of the six-inch brass adder-head finials on the chairs instantly stretched into three-foot-long writhing brass adders which then twisted themselves around and extended their fangs just a foot or so away each Slytherin's head. Simultaneously, each of the silver snakes attached to the throne also came to life, writhing and hissing at the group. The great basilisk in the center bent down to look directly at Olivia who screamed in mortal terror for nearly eight seconds before she finally realized that it wasn't a real basilisk and its gaze wasn't fatal. It was another ten seconds before the rest of the screams died down into a general hysterical mumbling and hyperventilation so that Harry could finally speak.
"So," he said easily, "do I have everyone's attention?"
After a few more seconds of looking around in panic, the four Slytherins all slowly nodded. Rodney was the first to speak.
"You ... you're a ... Parseltongue?"
"No, Rodney, I'm a Parselmouth," Harry said. "Parseltongue is the language. Parselmouth is the person who speaks it. It's a common mistake. It took me a while to get it straight myself."
"But ... you're a Potter! Potters hate Slytherins! It's been that way for at least two hundred years!"
"Really? I had no idea it went back that far. I do know my birth-father has an irrational hatred of Slytherins. He sent me a lovely note about it the day after my Sorting. As I recall, you were all there when it exploded. But fortunately, James Potter didn't raise me, and so I haven't absorbed any of his ancestral bigotries. The general topic of Parseltongue came up when we were visiting Diagon Alley last summer, and he mentioned his belief that being a Parselmouth is a sign of being a dark wizard, which is ignorant nonsense, but I thought it best to humor him and not reveal I had the talent. Of course, out there in the Muggle world, I can only talk to actual snakes, but Hogwarts is so permeated with magic that nearly everything that even looks like a snake is susceptible to Parseltongue." He looked around at all the snakes that surrounded him. "As you have no doubt noticed."
"Is Jim a Parselmouth?" asked Marcus.
Harry perked up in amusement and considered the matter. "That's a very insightful question, Marcus. I can see why the ashwinder likes you. Honestly, I've no idea. Circumstances have never contrived to put me and Jim together in a room that had a snake in it. I wouldn't be surprised if he were, since he's my twin and all. Of course, my birth-father's views on Parseltongue are hardly a secret, so I expect if Jim does have the gift, he's concealed it. Or maybe he's just never gotten close enough to a snake because of a childish belief that they're all slimy and evil." Harry snorted. "Wouldn't it be hilarious if the Boy-Who-Lived were a Parselmouth, and it got publicly revealed? James would have a stroke. I'll have to look into arranging that."
"Anyway," he continued. "It is true that no descendent of Salazar Slytherin has ever married into the Potter family. Which means that I could only have inherited this gift – and it is exclusive to descendants of Salazar Slytherin – from my mother's side."
"But, your mother's a Mud..." the adders on either side of Draco's head hissed loudly, "that is, a Muggleborn. How can she be descended from Salazar Slytherin?"
Harry shrugged. "Well, presumably, reports of her Muggleborn status are somewhat overstated. Let's just say I've been exploring her family tree for a while and expect to have some answers by the end of this summer. Next question?"
Olivia looked at him speculatively while trying to ignore the basilisk that loomed over his head. "If you're not the Prince of Slytherin, who is?"
"As I said, there's not one at the moment. To become the Prince, you have to be a student who's gained the approval of all seven of the serpents who comprise the Hydra Throne, each of whom represents a different characteristic that the Founder considered important for his students." Harry pointed up at the basilisk looming over him. "The big guy, Rajah, represents ambition, although he prefers to think of it as 'vision.' For him, it's not enough to be personally ambitious, like wanting to get rich or famous. You need an ambition to shape the whole world to your will in some way. To Rajah's right is the python, Jormangand, named after the snake that encircled the world. He represents political acumen and the ability to form winning coalitions. For example, he is very supportive of my membership in an inter-house study group but is otherwise appalled at how insular the rest of the House has become over the last few decades. To Rajah's left is Ka the Cobra, who represents the Slytherin respect for intellect and academic excellence. Moving on down from him, we have Mara the Ashwinder, who represents cunning and cleverness. Next is Delilah the Boomslang, who represents the values of charm and subtlety which, as I've said, are greatly undervalued in the House nowadays."
He paused and looked over towards the boomslang. "In all honesty, I have to say Delilah's my favorite. She's a cutie." The boomslang twisted her body around until her head was near to Harry's. He hissed at her softly and then tickled under her chin, causing the silver snake to make a soft "ki-ki-ki" sound which the terrified Slytherin students all realized was the sound of a snake's laughter. Harry turned back to the group, focusing a suddenly grim expression towards Draco. "On the far right is the krait, Nidhogg, who represents ruthlessness," he said without elaboration. Draco swallowed. He suddenly noticed that the krait was staring at him intently and had been doing so for some time.
"Last but not least, on the opposite side, we have the runespoor, whose three heads are called Tisiphone, Megaera and Alecto. They collectively represent respect for wizarding traditions, which, I should point out, is not synonymous with blood purity."
"That's a lie!" exclaimed Draco despite the angry hissing of the brass adders. "Salazar Slytherin wanted to purge the school of Mudbloods!"
Harry sighed, and then flicked his wand lazily towards a bookshelf. "ACCIO SLYTHERIN MEMOIRS VOLUMES 1, 2 and 3."
And with that, three large leather bound volumes flew off the shelf and landed on the table with a thud. "The long forgotten truth, Draco, is that Salazar Slytherin was opposed to Muggleborns attending Hogwarts, but not because they were inferior. It was because he thought they would be at an unfair disadvantage compared to the wizard-raised students. In the days of Hogwarts' founding, a Muggleborn most likely came from peasant stock, which meant he was illiterate, innumerate, highly superstitious, and probably never bathed. Salazar believed that Muggleborns should be removed from Muggle society as soon as their magic manifested and inducted into a special preparatory school so that they could be elevated to the same intellectual and cultural level as wizarding children and integrated fully into magical society before being allowed into Hogwarts. For a variety of political and ethical reasons, his idea was shot down by the other Founders as well as the wizarding government that existed at the time, and so Salazar grudgingly accepted the presence of Muggleborn peasant wizards and witches who were mainstreamed straight into the school. And despite his reservations, there were a small number of Muggleborns Sorted into Slytherin during his tenure, many of whom earned his respect for how hard they worked to fulfill their ambitions and assimilate into magical society. It has only been within the last three or four centuries that the House has become so hostile to Muggleborns that almost none of them are ever Sorted here."
"Oh, and before we get too far afield, no, there was never a big fight between him and Godric Gryffindor that led to him leaving Hogwarts in anger. His wife contracted dragon pox and had a very difficult recovery, and he took both her and their minor children back to his ancestral home in Spain for the warmer climate, remaining there for the rest of his life. Gryffindor himself actually died of natural causes several years before Slytherin's departure, an event that he wrote of with great sadness and regret. The final volume of his memoirs, however, contains reference to his continued friendly correspondence with the other two Founders over a twenty-year span between his departure and his eventual death. Anything you've heard about the man to the contrary is just propaganda spread by blood purists who came along centuries later. Next?"
"Does all that stuff you just said mean that you don't support the Dark Lord?" asked Marcus bluntly.
"I assume you're referring to the most recent Dark Lord, the one who got himself blown up by a baby eleven years ago, and the answer is, no, I don't. I may not like my Muggleborn mother very much, but she did give birth to me, and I'll be damned if I ever agree to a political philosophy which says I should have never been born! What's more, the Hydra agrees with me. Over the past century or so, it has appointed Princes who adhered to blood purity doctrines because it looked like blood purity extremists like Grindenwald and later Voldemort," the other four gasped and flinched, "oh, for the love of ... okay, Grindenwald and You-Know-Who were likely to win, and Slytherins generally support being on the winning team. But then, those two lost rather decisively, and having had many years to consider the matter, the Hydra's consensus view is that blood purism has, on the whole, been damaging to Slytherin House, which is all the Hydra really cares about. Nowadays, people who by temperament and philosophy should become Slytherins instead go under the Hat begging to go somewhere else because they don't want to be stuck for seven years with a bunch of violently bigoted terrorist sympathizers, far too many of whom show obvious signs of inbreeding. Instead, we've become like the dark mirror of Hufflepuff – we scoop up everyone who doesn't belong in any other House and is also mean and prejudiced."
There was a long pause as the Slytherins digested this. Finally, Olivia spoke. "Why did you bring us here?" she asked quietly.
Harry took a deep breath. "And now we come to the heart of the matter. Draco Malfoy came into this House expecting to be the child-tyrant of Slytherin whose every command must obeyed. I derailed him from that and he's been out to get me ever since. For the most part, he's only been annoying, but last Tuesday, he directly threatened someone important to me. Theo Nott is my friend and ally and someone who I think will rise in time to become of great value to this House. But Theo's father is a psychopathic nutcase who should be in Azkaban and who's already gotten away with murdering Theo's mother right in front of him. And Malfoy basically told me that if I didn't do a good enough job of groveling before him, he'd tell Tiberius Nott that his son was hanging out with undesirables with the goal of getting Theo physically abused at best and murdered at worst. I found that ... unacceptable."
"And so, Olivia and Rodney," he continued, "I consulted with the Hydra for its advice. After several days of negotiation, the majority of serpents agreed that I could exercise limited authority as Prince tonight for the sole purpose of showing you two this room and allowing you access to some of the room's benefits in exchange for you helping me out with my Malfoy problem. In particular ..." He summoned another thick book from the shelves to land on next to Slytherin's memoirs. "This book is an auto-updating record of every question asked on every NEWTs exam over the last hundred years. It doesn't have the answers, but it does have references to where the answers can be found, as well as notations regarding questions which have been asked repeatedly and examples of spells and potions which, if demonstrated, confer extra points."
Olivia and Rodney looked at the book hungrily. "What do you want in exchange?" Rodney said.
"A way to keep Draco Malfoy from trying to hurt my friends. Permanently." Harry looked over towards Draco as if the boy were something he'd scrapped off a shoe. "Because I've been working on the problem for the last week, and, frankly, the only solution I've been able to come up with is to simply kill the little shit!" There was a brief shocked silence ... which was quickly broken by a soft "ki-ki-ki" from the krait who Harry had identified as Niddhogg, the exemplar of Slytherin ruthlessness.
Draco paled. "You wouldn't..."
"You directly threatened the life of someone on Team Harry, Draco." Harry interrupted in a voice like a razor. "If you completely ignored even the possibility of a lethal response, I submit that you're the one who doesn't belong in Slytherin. Niddhogg here had a lot of interesting suggestions, and between the two of us, we came up with at least four different ways to murder you before the end of term and get away with it. And once you leave this room, you won't even be able to tell a soul that I'm coming after you." He paused, as if to calm himself. "That said, I'm not ... eager to start a body count at the age of eleven, so at this point, I am open to any less drastic suggestions from my peers."
"An Unbreakable Vow," Rodney said instantly. "He'll swear never to directly or indirectly try to harm ... well, whoever you say."
"I will not swear an Unbreakable Vow!" said Draco in a fury.
"Then I will cast the Imperius Curse upon you and make it so that you cannot harm Potter or any of his associates," said Olivia coldly. "That, or I will kill you myself on his behalf."
"Olivia!" exclaimed Rodney in shock.
She just looked around the room, a smile on her face. "I knew of this place, Rodney, even before my predecessor told me of it. There have been stories passed down in my family for generations, but I had given up hope that I would ever see it myself." She turned to Harry. "I have an ancestor who sat on that throne as well."
He nodded. "Kristoff Kolumbiko, Class of 1756." He pointed over to the wall of silver placards. "Seventh column, third one down."
She looked where he pointed and smiled even wider. "Besides," she said, "it is as you said. Real Slytherins always pick the winning side. And from what I have seen tonight, Harry Potter, I think your ultimate victory is assured."
Marcus Flint slowly raised his hand, leery of the snakes on either side of him. "Uh, if this is about picking the brains of the Seventh Year Prefects, Potter, what am I doing here?"
"Well, I'd had an idea that as Quidditch captain, you could hold out the threat of keeping Draco off the team next year as a way to keep him in line. But mainly ... the Hydra asked me to bring you."
Marcus stared unblinkingly. "Hubuwhuh?"
Harry pointed again towards the placards of past Princes. "There are four people named Flint up on that wall, Marcus, though none since the 1870's. One Chief Warlock, one esteemed Hogwarts professor, one highly decorated auror ... and, well, one aspiring dark lord who died in Azkaban, but never mind her. The Hydra has had its eye on you for a while. It's the consensus of the serpents that you have tremendous potential that you're choosing to waste. They thought seeing this room might ... motivate you. And for what it's worth, Marcus, if I can be of any assistance in helping you, well, get on track, please don't hesitate to ask."
Flint blinked repeatedly and looked around the room again with new eyes. "Thanks, Potter, I mean, uh, Harry. I'll ... think about it."
Finally, everyone turned to stare at young Malfoy. The boy swallowed almost painfully as he looked back and forth among the pitiless faces of his four House-mates. He realized that he'd lost utterly, and so he moved on to what he might still salvage. "What would the Vow say?"
"Ki-ki-ki," laughed Niddhogg once more.
About forty minutes later, the five Slytherins exited Prefect's Row together, giving every appearance of having become great friends. Rodney announced to the Common Room (which was now jam-packed with nearly the entire Slytherin student body) that "Harry and Draco" had mended their fences and buried the hatchet and several other cliched idioms as well. In fact, Rodney, Olivia and Marcus all made a point of showing that they were on a first name basis with both boys, a highly unusual honor for two Slytherin firsties even if one of them was a Malfoy. Then, Draco made his way over to Theo Nott, apologized loudly and profusely for his "unconscionable behavior," and invited the other boy to come and stay with him at Malfoy Manor for the summer so they could get to know one another "as Slytherin brothers should." Theo magnanimously accepted both the apology and the invitation almost as if he had been expecting both.
Curfew soon came, and Olivia and Rodney were insistent that everyone go to bed on time. But the next morning, the majority the House rose early and rushed to the Owlery with urgent letters to mail home to their parents. Some were more detailed and discerning than others, but most carried a variation on the same basic theme:
"Something has fundamentally shifted in Slytherin House. And Harry Potter is the fulcrum upon which it has moved."
Draco Malfoy actually sent out two owls. His own personal owl carried a message for his father stating, among other things, that he had recently begun a friendship with Theo Nott, the son of Lucius's former associate, Tiberius Nott; that Draco had become concerned by how Tiberius Nott was treating Theo; and asking would it be possible for Lucius to prevail upon Tiberius to let young Theo spend the entire summer break with Draco at Malfoy Manor.
A second, nondescript school owl carried a much shorter unsigned message meant solely for the eyes of his mother, Narcissa Black Malfoy. It consisted of a single sentence.
"I will never reach the heights you desire for me while Harry Potter lives."
The next update will be posted between 4 and 6 pm on Monday, July 6, 2015: "The Calm Before," in which Draco does the unthinkable, Hermione experiments, and Harry rather naively thinks that everything is under control.
AN: This is one of the very first scenes I envisioned when I started working on this story five months ago. It's gone through a lot of revisions since then, but I have literally been waiting to see the line "And then ... Harry Potter HISSED!" since February. It's very satisfying.
Also, before anyone asks, it is not a plot hole that Draco can swear an Unbreakable Vow and still plot against Harry's life. The exact nature of both the Vow and its obvious and necessary loophole will be explained next chapter. Thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows. Keep 'em coming and Happy Fourth of July for those who celebrate it.