Slytherin was an interesting house. It was different than the beast-like wilderness, possessive and indulgent, that reigned over Gryffindor or the solitude-based and almost non-inclusive silence that no doubt consumed the bulk of Ravenclaw. He was almost certain it was different than Hufflepuff, who he'd heard to be almost pack-like in structure. Inclusive, to a fault, as they weaved their loyalty tight around one another and built they own house followed morality. Law. Structure. Togetherness.
That was admirable, actually, from a house of proclaimed misfits.
But Slytherin…
Slytherin oozed a particular culture built on sophistication and political bondage. The order of dominance was very clear, startling in the strength and determination of those who ruled their year with sly words and near unbreakable alliances. There was no contest of bravery here. No proclamation of self-proclaimed righteous or false sense of puffed up nobility. It was a calm and almost studious atmosphere. It was a steady current of treasured prestige, a constant pulse like a settled heart. It was dangerous in a way that reminded Harry so strongly of undercurrent thoughts and yet revealed secrets. Of mystery and battle-blessed courts of olde. Who would have guessed that the hum in the moisture-slick walls of rock that surrounded them was the constant heady rhythm of magic and silent warning? That to disobey those who thought themselves in power would be to undoubtedly fall to the bottom-rung of servitude, one that you were bound to respect, one that no mere witch or wizard could rescue you from. That, unspoken, there swam a sense of ministerial bestiality that was graceful, natural, and instinctive. They were a thinking populace of, mostly, one-mind sharpness. Fiercely protective of their own beyond their den, no matter their social grace, and yet so intense in their chilling passion behind closed doors as life-long friendships were created out of nothing but promises and a nose for power.
They were animals, just as much as those they said were so beyond them, just better at hiding it. Not monsters, per say, but creatures of ambition that called to other creatures of the same. It was overwhelming. Inspiring…
It was home.
And he embraced it, drowned in the almost sick sense of heavy potent magics that swept up from the perfectly laid cobblestone beneath his feet to the heady thud, thud, thud of it that infused the walls. Slytherins practiced here. Expressed their prowess here. Toyed with each other in practice for greater far more important games. They flexed, metaphorically, their political ties that olde blood had granted them and they wished to expand upon. The structure was clear, the honor behind it even more so. They were quietly vicious and yet under the expected amount of control without foolish perceived notions of evil to strangle them.
Perhaps, that was why he'd been approached as soon as he'd passed the threshold. Perhaps, that was why the entire collective turned to face him, suspicious and angry. He was an invader, no doubt swaddled in Muggle sensibilities that would soon push ruination into their carefully maintained balance of give and take and take and take….
But he knew… knew by the hum of his own magic and the wild thumping of his heart-not in fear, but in an eagerness to claim-that he belonged here, that he was another lord among lords waiting to bind and bound his court until all they knew was worship and his love.
Of which he certainly had so much to give.
So, it was with an off smile that he watched the first group approach, the first clutch of brave Slytherins in his exact year, that perhaps saw him more threat than brethren and he couldn't help but admire how quick they were to oust him-him, this child of Light. He'd forgive them that, he supposed. After all, no one treated a Slytherin unkindly unless it was another Slytherin.
They protected, they controlled, they dominated their own.
They took care of each other.
And Harry had not yet earned such a right, to view such intimate workings, to see them vulnerable and touching and cuddling as they let themselves relax in their protective clusters on well decorated couches, before they built back up to their vicious natures to face the world outside, the world that had been taught to hate them for little reason other than it was easy to hate.
He would show them though, that there was more than hate within a being. That power came from mastering an entire plethora of skills and emotional range. That manipulation could be done to those you obsessed over too. So then… who would he… who could he… add to his family?
As if unaware of the tension he provoked he slipped further into the room, watched as the group shifted their positions and came before him, their expressions carefully blank-a masterful use of the skill, he suspected, when one was about to challenge an unknown-but others were standing too, lifting up from their chairs and crafting a semi-circle of judgement. He noted, briefly, that it was a mixture of younger and older years, but what he was proud to discover was that his group of friends stood among them. Waiting. Begging to be used.
Not yet.
"Potter," the first one said, a scrawny boy with an upturned nose and eyes that seemed somewhat dulled by a lack of impress. "I see they allowed you to come here."
The crowd murmured just a bit, stirred by an impending sense of aggression and a lack of supervision.
Since, Harry had asked Snape to leave his snakes in his gentle care.
"So they have," Harry whispered, his voice pitched with curiosity, his gaze wide and imploring. "I'm happy to be here, honestly."
"Oh?" Another voice said, one that came from the crowd, only to be followed up by a snide, "we aren't happy to have you here."
A rumble started, a soft laugh, a snort, a snicker…
"That's unfortunate," Harry whispered as he used a hand to push back a strand of hair from his face in an act of morose.
They were emboldened, the group before him, the group that commanded the attention of so many others, "Yeah. Yeah, for you I suppose that is true."
One of them, one of the four that stood there, looked around in a manner that might have been inconspicuous if Harry's attention hadn't been so steady. It was clear they were looking for some symbol, some sign of an adult that might interrupt their fun. His initiation, or lack thereof, as they attempted to bolster their esteem with those that watched was a very private affair.
Then, there was shifting, other figures that twisted slowly, curiously, toward his back. Those of familiarity whose heavy push of magic seemed nervous, concerned. He didn't have to watch them to know that Draco and his collective were trying to get near him without appearing to bold in action. He hadn't ordered them to do such, but the initiative was nice. There was risk and he couldn't fault his tools for their want to protect him.
But, he didn't need protecting, that was not their purpose.
The scrawny one spoke again, brave, inspired by the lack of resistance from the crowd and the interested look of those who were assumedly above them in strength and skill, "You see, Potter, I and mine don't think you belong here. Your attempt to escape your shame and your peers because you aren't very strong or brave at all has been noted, though. I guess that's a little cunning."
More laughter, a little strained as Harry tilted his head and flared his nostrils, as he felt the power in his belly whip through his limbs in reaction to a curdling fire. His lips parted in a soft little laugh, one of sudden interest, as the people around them swayed in the clutch of the moment, of his supposed humiliation. "Pardon me? Mister…"
"Higgs," the boy replied, "of the Higgs family. A right few generations of pure blood, you know?"
"Oh yes, of course, Lord Malfoy did allow me a rather liberal use of pureblood records. I am not unaware of your supposed generations."
That made the boy, Higgs, twitch, "Supposed? And that was real? The rubbish about the Malfoy family taking you in?'
Harry didn't have to answer the question, the one spat toward him with an expected amount of disgust. Instead he rolled his shoulders in a shrug and heard a voice call from his back in suave tones and mild amusement-
"It is." Draco drawled. He had taken a chair behind him, his hands folded upon his lap, one leg crossed over the other in gentlemanly fashion, "he is the Malfoy family ward."
"Is your old man mad, Draco?" A voice called from the crowd, playful despite the malicious bite it carried.
Draco only shrugged as Zabini wandered over, looking far too smug and casual as he took a seat on the arm of the chair and swung his legs. "It isn't much my business, what my Father decides to do."
For a moment, the space was quiet, introspective. Some, those that had held their distrust, now placed that upon Malfoy, but Draco seemed rather at ease about it, perfectly at home among his house, lacking any of that manic overexcitement Harry had seen at the Manor.
He'd learned something after all.
With a soft sigh of dismissal, he lifted a hand and used it to toy with the edge of Zabini's arm sleeve in a manner so casual that Harry knew this was a normal occurrence among them, those who were touch-starved with too much responsibility and not enough affection. It wasn't an act of nerves that made Draco place his hand over Zabini's own-who, in returned, only gave off a grin of hunger toward the crowd, as if he were privy to some grand secret and Harry suspected, in reality, he was-but something rather thoughtless. He didn't bother to give the situation any of the attention or seriousness that those that had approached him perhaps thought they deserved.
Higgs snarled as his companions grew stiff, "So what are you then, Malfoy? A blood traitor? Taking in just any stray? Your Father has fallen, so I suspect it's not just yer mum who has been rumored to suffer from the Black madness, is it?"
That got Draco's attention. That got, in fact, a great deal of attention. It got a gasp from the crowd, the stirring of Crabbe and Goyle who suddenly broke from the space to stare at Higgs with flabbergasted offended expressions and balled fists. It got Nott to step up from his place-in some lone corner, once dismissing the entire ordeal as preposterous-and moving so fast to Draco's side that Harry would have thought he'd run there.
His hand was upon his shoulder, white knuckled, while Draco stared with an expression that seemed incredibly chilling. It was almost enough to make Harry's heart thump with excitement. To see another fill with such loathing, such sudden fury, was so stunning.
But Higgs was still talking, unaware of the danger, unaware that his companions had taken a step back, "And you, Potter? You dirty half-blood? With your mudblood mother? Don't you think she'd be awfully sad that you ran in here, hoping for salvation? What, thought you could hide behind Malfoy? He's making a bloody mistake if he thinks he can protect the likes of you from us, from the real Slytherins who actually care about the right stuff."
No one stepped forward to interrupt. No one tried to wrestle control of Higgs, who panted and narrowed his gaze, who refused to feel embarrassed by his outburst as his lips twisted into a smile more grotesque than friendly. And indeed, it was incredibly unkind, filled with all the childish cruelty of the fanatical. It went beyond wanting to protect his house. Higgs wanted power. Prestige. Recognition, no doubt. He approached Harry to be seen, to be considered as the one who took out the filth and knocked Draco from his promised throne.
And Harry, with lips pressed thin in his own answering smile, only narrowed his gaze as that all became clear. How horrid of Higgs, to question his prestige before his house for all the wrong reasons. Unforgivable, really.
"So, I will send you back out of here, back to the filth, to your little wrong-sort friends and your shame, Potter and maybe, on the way out, you could take Malfoy with you? I assume his days are up for this stunt. He should have been the first to ruin you in your sleep, when you came back sobbing because 'oh no, the Muggles hit me!'"
One breath.
Then another.
And Harry laughed, some loud uproarious thing that had the people around him jerk and the crowd ripple with confused excitement. His power rose, sharp and heavy, swept from his person in a billowing wave of writhing air and vicious heat. The children at his back, his brethren stood abruptly. The chair they had clustered around was shoved back with such feral force that one might have, truly, thought them mad or angered by Harry's expression of joy, and expression that crowed past his throat swaddled in untold cruelty, in absolute delight, in a chilling howl of unmatched perversity that even those at Higgs back stepped back, hurriedly, jerked as if on invisible strings, pushed as if to separate them from the one that had inspired such sounds.
And Higgs. Higgs was bewildered, pale faced and chest puffing, stuck between fury at being laughed at and terrified of the pressure pounding at his skull, at his body. The knocking horrid beat of magic that commanded his surrender, that he bow, that he prostrate himself before the superior boy and beg and beg and-
It was only once Zabini and Malfoy had tossed the last couch, quite literally, away from Harry that they stepped up as if controlled. One. Unit… of power, to complete the semicircle until it was whole. His supporters at his back-Draco, barely held in place, barely calmed from his own need to destroy, that Harry called so willingly within him-and those who didn't believe in his power at his front.
But he would make them believe. He'd make them believe because he could, because he wanted to. Because he refused to be the rock, the catalyst, the puppet in even Higgs bid for power.
He was there to consume and devour, no one else.
So, he quieted down and settled his laughter, allowing it to taper off into a rumble of pleasure as he practically tasted the irritation at his back, the darker offense that they oozed, the eagerness to perform for him, for their Lord beating against his magic and sending him soaring.
This is what it felt like to be needed, to be wanted.
Did Higgs feel that? Had he ever?
"Mr. Higgs, was it?" Harry purred, a curling rumble that slipped from his chest, the sound of gravel underfoot, that unbalanced those present while his hounds remained coiled at his back, ready to strike. "Mister I Am Pure For Centuries Higgs, was it?"
The boy bobbed his head, his throat tight, his breath wheezing. Harry kept his focus upon him, let his magic crept along his skin, plucking and prickling, waiting to peel flesh from muscle and bone.
Higgs finally croaked out a, "yes."
Harry took a step forward and the crowd held a collective breath. Behind him he heard a sudden wild bark of laughter, courtesy of one Theodore Nott, who coughed thereafter and mumbled a soft 'sorry'. It only made Harry's lips twist upward into a saliva-slick smile, into a display of shiny perfect teeth that was rather unhinged and very little sincere.
Cruel, someone might have whispered. The smile was cruel, but Harry considered it honest.
"Mr. Higgs, it would be foolish of me to expect you to understand the shame and horror of being at the tender mercies of zealot Muggles." He shook his head, released a snort, "Do any of you understand? Have any of you ever felt weak? Powerless?"
He didn't wait for an answer, he knew what it was, and the question was rhetorical at best. His soft laughter, much more controlled than the uproarious bellowing he'd done before, was much-like an idle hiss.
Higgs twitched, wand raised, gaze somewhat wild as Harry, with tilted head, took another step forward. The storm within him shifted and curled, pushed out against his skin and sought release, but he kept it contained and carefully wound about his limbs, even as it pulsed and tingled at his fingertips.
"Without magic, without escape, it becomes an unfortunate circumstance. What would you have done, in my place, Mr. Higgs? If you had been hit, disrespected by the worthless?"
He paused, silent, as Higgs swallowed again, his gulp nearly audible, "I… I would have…. A real wizard would hardly tolerate-"
Harry's rude snort interrupted Higgs babbling. "Mr. Higgs, don't be so secretive with your answer. Tell me. Show me, what would you have done? With no wand, with no ability?"
He opened and closed his mouth, gasping like a fish out of water, the flesh of his neck red and flushed with strain as Harry took another casual step closer.
"You don't know?" He sighed, "Do you know why we do what we do? Why wizards and witches, good smart wizards and witches, don't overestimate these Muggles?"
Harry lifted a hand, causing Higgs group to jerk and Higgs himself to inhale sharply, and with a gentle murmur he wriggled a finger and began a side-ways wag, gathering magic, twisting it to his will-
The boy to the right began to screech, his gaze glassy, his hands wildly patting at his body, his feet dancing erratically as spittle pooled from his mouth and the muscles on his body flexed. He jerked and bucked like a man being forcibly manipulated and Harry hummed while he did so.
There was a scream from the crowd and Higgs twisted around on the heels of his feet with a display of fright and need for self-preservation Harry was surprised he possessed. His wand moved wildly from the boy to Harry and back again-unable to decide who he should focus on-but his voice was trapped in his throat and his squeaks of surprise drowned out by the screeching that bellowed from the manipulated boy.
"Oy," Harry called, his hand still raised, his magic singing, free, free to work, free to move, free free free free, "they have an ability, a power in numbers, mob mentality-like pack animals, obeying hive orders."
He had no issue raising his voice above the noise, especially as the poor puppet-boy's throat twitched as he struggled to draw more breath in to make sounds.
He did, finally, manage as much, as someone in the crowd yelled to call for Snape, while others moved closer, too curious to care about the wellbeing of one of their own. It wasn't until the other boys Higgs once had at his side began to nearly run to merge into the crowd that the boy Harry held completely and utterly under his control began to scream again-
"I'm burning, I'm burning, I'MBURNINGI'MBURNING."
Harry nodded. Yes, he supposed he was, in fact, burning. He supposed his body felt alive in a manner it never had been before. He supposed he felt as if he were boiling, bubbly blood and magic beating wildly against the flesh-cage that held him until all he knew, all he could envision, was the wild flames of religious fanatics licking at his flesh and peeling back muscle from bone.
He garbled near the end, unable to continuously express the terror that struck him, only making those intense sounds of distress as Harry turned his gaze onto Higgs, who had fallen back and onto his arse once his poor unfortunate companion had begun to howl in his agony.
"You see, Mr. Higgs, when there are enough of them, when they discovered us so long ago, they burned us. It's not to different, suffering is suffering, you see, and Muggles are dangerous and deal very well in suffering. They took our wands and bound our hands and roasted us for being different, for playing the freak. And, allow me to tell you, I was the freak to those Muggles."
He hummed for a moment, watching the 'burning' boys face as it began to turn blue, "So, you must understand that, if they were able to burn, in those old days, so many of us true witches and wizards, upon our discovery, that it isn't difficult to leap to the idea that I was forced to endure some rather nasty unmentionable agonies at the hands of the ones who kept control of me. It was more than a little hitting. Could have been more..."
Higgs was to shaky to come to his feet. He tried, several times, but ended up flopping over onto his bum. Behind him, Draco laughed, some wild strained sound that covered his own crazed adoration of Harry and his expression of power, a power that no doubt lured such worship to the surface of all the Circle at his back.
"But, I am no longer swaddled in their control, in the pain that kept me meek and mild. I would dare say I am no longer The Boy from first year, that I am happy and pleased to be among my true house… to be with my loyal family."
The crowd shifted in manic anticipation, trapped and ensnared by the power Harry expressed, by the accomplishments of his ability. With a soft huff of satisfaction, he released the burning boy, and he collapsed, all limbs and no grace, onto the cobble stone with jerky movements and a lack of consciousness.
"So, I ask again, Mr. Higgs, with his pure lineage and, no doubt, superior power and brilliant mind. Please, tell this humble half-blood, what you would have done to the Muggles, to any Muggles, who hit you?"
Finally, finally, Higgs rose to his feet, though his grip was less than proper on his wand and his pallor was a nasty shade of green. "I don't know what you're playing at Potter, I don't know what sort of… of trick you did to him b-but, you don't scare me. You are nothing. A real wizard wouldn't have even found himself in that situation! You're just like any other filth, just another mudblood."
Harry had to admit he was impressed with Higgs conviction and stability, with his stable voice and glaring gaze.
"I see," he whispered, "then show me. Do magic, true magic, before us. Show us what a wizard of pure untainted blood can accomplish."
With a few rapid pants and a sneer Higgs threw his arm forward, his loud shout of incendio and clumsy wand movement doing very little to make the spell all that impactful. Harry jerked to the side, a quick and sudden movement of a much more nourished and athletic body. His snap instinct-honed through Quidditch and an enjoyable summer at the Malfoys-had been more than enough to carry him into the simplistic dodging motion meant to avoid another sloppily shot spell.
"No," Harry mumbled, his voice nearly drowned out by another screech of a spell, "that isn't enough."
Higgs, either impatient or perhaps maddened by Harry's lack of retaliation or ability to be hit, suddenly snarled out a word that was barely recognizable, before a sickeningly yellow flash of light cut through the space between them-
Only to slam harmlessly and ripple around the sudden couch that Harry had wordlessly grasped with his magic then thrown toward Higgs, who, unsuccessfully, tried to dive out of its trajectory.
Hearing the sound of his body collide with the couch was satisfying. Hearing him cry out in pain and surprise even more so. The meaty smack of his form slamming into the cobblestone with the couch upon him echoed in the deathly silent space, but nobody moved to help the boy even as he writhed and cursed and demanded for assistance-claiming that his family held so much more power than anyone could imagine and that they best help him teach this mudblood a lesson.
So, it was no surprise when Draco and Zabini stepped around him, eager to drag the boy from beneath the couch-
"Come to your senses? To fuckin' late-"
And threw him on the ground right in front of Harry.
They stared at him, waiting, Draco's foot upon his skull, Zabini's foot cruelly pressing down at the small of his back, while he writhed like a worm. And while Harry kept his gaze upon the boy, the crowd was a buzzing wave of exhilaration, talking about the use of his wandless magic, about the prestige of his bloodline and wondering how? How could someone born to a mudblood be so powerful-
"Mr. Higgs-"
Draco spit, rather unrefined, upon the boy in question, a rolling cloud of hatred and pent up aggression.
Harry continued, "-blood doesn't appear to be much of a defining factor in our ability. You are on the ground, kissing the filth and swaddled in spit, and I, the Heir Apparent of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, am standing before you."
He tittered a bit, let that sink in, let the boy grow flushed in his humiliation as the Slytherins began to close the circle, drawing closer, wanting more, whispering-
"I knew that kid was an idiot."
"What was he expecting, exactly, from this?"
"You sure Potter's a half-blood? I've never felt this sort of pressure before."
"You're focused on that? He threw a bloody couch at him without uttering a word!"
-and Harry inhaled deeply, hands upon his hips, gaze thoughtful…
As Theodore approached and deeply bowed behind him, rolling out a- "My Lord, my prince, may I approach?" That had the entire crowd snap their flapping jaws shut.
Now the crowd grew worried, infused with a nervous thoughtful sort of curiosity. Harry only gave a nod, neither denying nor confirming the title.
"Mr. Higgs and some of those around us, do not understand the importance of your coming. Your very presence is a gift to us. To have such an heir of such noble birth returned to us, no matter his Father or lovely Mother, is something to be treasured. We, Slytherin, are just protective of our own and our ways and-"
"Heir Nott," Harry drawled, "I am not here to disturb the way of Slytherin. I am here to enhance upon it. To fill our coffers with more gold and our courts with more vassals, the right sort, stolen from the wrong."
Higgs opened his mouth to speak but a cruel and sudden stomp to the back of his head from Draco put a stop to that. Instead, the boy screeched as he bit his tongue and blood bubbled up and out a corner of his lips.
Good.
A voice from the crowd, "The wrong sort? What are you playing at Potter?"
Harry tilted his head, hands linked before his body, his trademark stance of innocence, "Why, aren't you lot tired of being seen for less than what we are? Aren't you tired of the besmirching of our traditions-"
"The Light and the mudbloods cause-"
"No," Harry said playfully, and yet that one word was enough to make the voice stop talking abruptly, that and the slight flex of his true being slithering across the walls, forcing the space to groan and the massive window that gave sight beyond their space to darken, gurgle with the shifting body of the creature beyond it, called by Harry's lure.
"No," he said again, "no, I don't think that's it. Not exactly. They are brainwashed, those others, and we've allowed them to be. They were stolen from us-"
"But they're worthless, no sort of magical ability-"
"Shut up, Rosier. Didn't you just see what he did?"
Harry waited for the crowd to settle before he continued, "They were stolen from us, slandered to us, and we believed they were worthless, different. Yet, let it be known that they are alone and willing, but taken by the wrong sort to fatten their numbers and destroy our own and that is what makes them worthless and us weak."
Then, Harry lowered his gaze to Higgs and with a gentle sound he said, "You make us weak, Mr. Higgs. You and your closed-thought. You have no admiration to rule, to conquer, to consume. To control every aspect of magical blood, even the blood we've mistakenly forsaken, when we should have been stealing it, retaining it..."
Slowly a smile broke across Harry's face, some perverse manifestation of gentility and mischievousness, "I do."
Harry lowered into a crouch, bobbing on the tiptoes of his feet, keeping his bum properly off the ground and his robe over one arm as the snake about his neck revealed itself and slithered down and around until it was very visible and hissing angrily.
That drew another surprised inhale from the crowd as Harry cooed and stroked the head of the snake with one hand while Higgs shook and trembled, defenseless, pinned…
"That fear you are feeling? That's what I felt. That helplessness… the very notion that there was nothing I could do. That I was nothing before something greater…"
Harry paused for a moment, to watch the blood trickle down the side of Higgs face, before he spoke again-"Mr. Higgs, I will help Slytherin by any means necessary. I will take back our power, our respect, our right to be wizards, real wizards, Mr. Higgs, as that is important to you. I will enhance our traditions, I will thicken our blood with the very beings the Light stole from us. I will correct our misconceptions and build new houses of power, that spew of our greatness and worship our olde Lords."
Now the crowd mumbled, now they buzzed with growing fever. Magic brushed against his own, subdued and subservient and he smiled, like a prince before a wayward peon, as Higgs began to wheeze beneath the pressure of his captors.
"But first, I must show you what a lord, a true Lord, of the right sort of thought can do. The power of a Lord who is not afraid of filth, not afraid to command it, to control it, to twist it, to make it powerful and screaming his praises to the heavens."
The power of his Lord, the Lord they would all worship, soon enough.
"Back. Count. Forty seconds." Harry whispered, as Draco and Zabini quickly shuffled backwards just when Harry drew fingertips through Higgs hair, ignoring the spittle and sweat and whispered-
Crucio.
He'd never seen a body bend the way Higgs did. Never saw someone flop and slam their flesh over and over without care or consequence into dust and blood. His howl was all-consuming, so much louder than burning boy's had been, so much more gratifying and pure and beautiful in a way Harry would never fully fathom. Yet, despite the pain, despite the curse he inflicted upon the boy, he could feel his very soul cry out from the successful casting. He could feel his magic, hot and singing, bring him a satisfaction he couldn't really describe. He ripped off the shackles of his naivety then, tore off the mantles that had bound him to paltry tricks and ideals he couldn't possibly believe in. He shed his skin in that moment, tore off his will to bind it to one purpose, one idea of unification in the most perverse sense. He'd carve pain in this world, into more than just Mr. Higgs, and draw obedience out of the masses while transforming those around him into so much more than political toys and pretty babbles.
He would cast the weak at the feet of the strong, pureblood or otherwise.
He would eradicate lines of wrong sorts and elevate the right sorts.
He would become the would-be, while not-being what he'd once been enslaved to.
All he needed was more of this, more magic, more potential, more intellect, more family, more more more more-
Until he had all their precious love.
"Time." Zabini's shaky voice came to him and abruptly Harry stopped, sighing with longing as he missed the addictive feel of power and control humming in his veins.
Then, slowly, he rose up while Higgs gasped and dry heaved and sobbed.
"That's what it felt like, Mr. Higgs, to be beaten by those Muggles. That's what it felt like to almost die. To be hit and hit and hit while begging to be saved…"
There was a whimper from the crowd, soft whispers, the addictive curl of terrified magic and the sickening pulse of his own might infecting the walls, crawling across the ceiling, consuming, oppressing…
"But I am merciful and pain will cleanse the sins of those who have the wrong sort of thought. Do you, Mr. Higgs, still have the wrong sort of thought?"
The boy in question whimpered and tried to curl up, but couldn't. Suddenly, Theo was at his side, digging hands in his hair and painfully wrenching his head back so that he stared, quite uncomfortably, up at Harry.
"Answer our Lord, boy." Theo hissed, his gaze glassy, coated with fervent worship.
Harry allowed his magic to wrap possessively about the Nott heir and noted, with pleasure, that when he shivered it was with longing and not from terror.
"I… I…"
Harry ignored his croak and pressed, patient, "Do you?"
"No," he wheezed.
"Then, perhaps, I will not hear the word mudblood from your mouth again, will I? As we continue to bring Slytherin into a near era of wealth and prosperity. The Silver Era of our absolute control. Argentum Imperium."
The crowd repeated his phrase, rolled the ancient words across their tongues, whispered them gently at first, then more passionately.
They liked it.
They coveted that.
Argentum Imperium.
"I... I obey," Higgs sobbed.
Draco scowled, disgusted, "He disrespected the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, your house of protection, my Lord."
Harry nodded, before he motioned for Draco to stick out his foot while he did the same.
"Then, Mr. Higgs, please correct your mistake."
Theo pushed his head down, pressed his nose and bloody jaw against Draco's foot first, as Higgs noisily slurped his lips and tongue across the polished leather.
Then he did the same for Harry.
"Wonderful!" Harry crowed, and suddenly the crowd broke out into laughter, sealed Higgs humiliation, his fate, his fall to the bottom, while he became closer to the top, "Then, all is forgiven!"
Theo released the boy, let him lay in his snot and tears as he moved to create a protective semi-circle with his other boys-Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco-and they moved as one unit to a spot at the center of the room, a spot they had earned, claimed a smiling seventh year, with the glossy gaze of awe in his eyes.
A spot they would keep.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
For weeks thereafter, they whispered of his power, wondered at the spells he'd used-sans the crucio, which everyone had heard. He had thought, for a bit afterwards, that some of those who had seen his work might have told some other authority but there had been no visit from the Headmaster and only a sigh of exasperation from Snape. He was safe, even from the cowering Mr. Higgs, who flinched and whimpered whenever he walked by.
Which, was all well and good, except...
"They are following you again, up to something, no doubt."
Harry gave his current company, Pansy Parkinson, a wistful look. "I believe they might miss me, is all."
Pansy gave a slight shrug, her arms free-courtesy of Harry carrying her bags with his own for her, "I'm not so certain."
She, among several other Slytherin women, had come to him after a brief introduction by Draco over the summer. She was, as far as he could tell, Draco's future intended and despite their initial start last year she seemed rather respectful-if a bit pessimistic-to him now. Or, maybe, that had been due to the performance he'd done upon his entrance to Slytherin proper.
"I don't like it, is all," she grumbled, before she sneered at a shifting shadow.
"Oh?" Harry said, his attention upon the nervous irritated thump of magic at his back, the two rapidly shifting dots that followed them.
He had far more time to wander with Pansy in the halls than Draco did, having become the new Seeker and all for the Slytherin team, a fact Ron had been sure to bemoan that particular day on the pitch that Draco had called Hermione a dreadful word. And, while Draco had expected reprimanding Harry had only shrugged toward his admission with a sigh and a mysteriously spoken-
"We'll see."
But now, now he was being stalked. That was his own fault, he supposed, since he barely paid the pair of them much attention as he crafted new relationships and strengthened the alliance of his Circle.
"It's just, what do they want with you, erm… my Lord. Since, you've made it pretty clear-"
"It's fine," Harry interrupted, brow raised, "it matters very little. I just want to return to the common room and begin our Samhain. I'd really like to start the rituals before-"
Hunger… need… rend… flesh
That slithered into his ears.
How odd.
His abrupt and sudden stop was, perhaps, extremely jarring by the rapid tightening of his snake about his neck.
It was also jarring for Pansy, who had walked a few paces ahead. And it was certainly jarring for the spies who rounded the corner so quickly and so clumsily they collided right with Harry's back. But it must have been surprising for the rapidly moving figure of Ginny Weasley as she slipped, from the shadows, with pale face and rapid breath.
They made for a… silly collection of limbs, and Pansy yelled at the indignation of seeing her Lord under a pile of Gryffindors while Harry, a bit taken aback, flailed like a fish.
Well! How dare they!
Untangling himself from the ball of gold and red and helped up by an almost manic furious Pansy he turned a chilling gaze to the tangle, only to see Ron get free first and leap to his feet with a-
"H-harry!"
Pansy opened her mouth to say something, something unkind no doubt, but Harry's grip upon her shoulder was enough to make her snap her mouth shut and press her lips thin in outrage. Goodness, it would take a bit to train this one.
"Weasley. Granger," Harry spoke cordially while he smoothed out his robes and adjusted his tie right before he turned a quirk brow toward the other girl Hermione was helping to her feet, "and…?"
Ron flinched at the cold voice and the address by his last name but quickly steadied himself and motioned toward the frazzled out of sorts girl. "This is my sister, um… Ginevra."
Harry tilted his head and wondered at the slight tremble in Ron's body. At the way he seemed to be swallowing harshly with flared nostrils. "Is something wrong?"
Ron cast a quick gaze to Pansy before shifting it back to him, "I… n-no, Harry."
"Harry? It's Mr. Potter, or better yet, Heir Potter, to someone like you."
Harry released a half-chuckle and shook his head at Pansy, "No. No. It's fine. We were friends after all-"
"Were?" Hermione whispered, her gaze upon Ginny, who seemed shell-shocked to be standing in front of him and had her eyes everywhere else but his own.
Harry was quiet then, watching them both, watching the way Ron slouched and Hermione grew tense, shielding herself, drawing inward. Perhaps she, more than the red haired boy, was used to…
"Well, it is true isn't it? Don't you and yours hate Slytherins, Ronald? I figured-"
"NO!" Ron screamed, and Hermione flinched while Ginny dropped the bag in her arms, startled, and scowled at the spilled contents.
"Sorry," Ron mumbled, "I.. I could never hate you Harry. Mate. We're… we've…"
He couldn't find the words, obviously, but maybe he felt odd expressing them before Pansy too, who looked entirely unimpressed with the display.
"Your house is irrelevant to us," Hermione mumbled, hunched over and helping Ginny shove items back into her bag, "Houses have never mattered much to me."
But she was subdued, no doubt still focused on Draco's harsh slur from the other day.
"They are all the same, for the most part," she mumbled under her breath, perhaps thinking no one could hear the… raw bitterness in her tone. "Everywhere. Everywhere is the same."
"Listen, Harry, could we just get some time-"
A scream.
Silence.
Ron blinked.
Then another scream as Harry, with slight frown, turned from them to face the direction, only to hear Hermione yell-"Ginevra?!"-as the girl suddenly sprinted off.
"Ron!" Hermione said, as she moved to follow the girl, a couple of Ginny's things still in her arms, "I'll… just…"
She shook her head and then ran off in the direction of his sister, while Ron looked helplessly after her. Harry, with a glance over his shoulder and a quirked brow said-
"Good day to you, Mr. Weasley."
And left him there.
Alone.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"Enemies of the heir, beware!" Blaise said, stretching out before he collapsed on the couch, practically on top of Harry and his books.
With a grunt and a bit of squirming Harry managed to position himself so that Blaise was now flopped over his lap in a manner more befitting a dramatic actor than the boy-vassal he was supposed to be. "I'm scared, my Lord. I'm scared."
He semi-curled into him, arms wrapped around his waist and Harry sighed deeply, knowing now that he wouldn't be able to dig further into the concept of magic potential, birth, and power-base statistics.
"Zabini," Harry grumbled, only to tug briefly at the back of his robes, "I was busy."
"My Lord, I cannot bare to be away from you for long." Blaise practically pouted, before his gaze shimmered in a manner more mischievous than serious, an expression he'd seen Parkinson wear once right before she'd purposely spilled all of Draco's ink on his fresh slacks.
"I'm sure," Harry drawled, saved from further dramatics as Draco and Theo slipped into the space, Draco buzzing with excitement and Theo with his usual delight masked under practiced control.
"Was it you, Harry? Are you the heir? Did you-"
Harry tilted his head and gently laughed, "I'd like to say it was, but… well."
On some level he knew that they knew he'd had little to do with… whatever had happened to that pathetic excuse for a cat. But they had hoped it was him, no doubt ready to cleanse the school of undesirables. He had only heard of the confused gathering of students around the stiff cat after he had returned to the dorms with Pansy, having to convince her that it was in their best interest to move away from the screaming, after all. Draco's claim of mudbloods being next aside, he was curious as to why and how such an act had been accomplished, especially since poor Filch had been unable to point any fingers, even in his raving lunacy.
History class, as droll as it was, had been no better, with Hermione waving her arm about and asking Binns about the subject of secrets and chambers.
"My Lord," Theo whispered, gaze open, though he seemed hesitant.
"Speak."
"About the chamber… No, about Salazar, ah… Lord Slytherin. Do you feel as if he… do we dishonor his legacy by…"
Draco toyed idly with some lint on his slacks, but it was clear he'd thought about this question too, or maybe, had convinced the boy-precious small Theo-to ask considering how enjoyable Harry's intellectual conversations were with him. How sneaky.
"Well, Theo. I think I know what you are trying to ask me."
"It is not that I do not believe in our current direction. I think that there are… benefits to the control and assimilation but-"
"Security, large security risk, they-" Zabini suddenly blubbered and Harry gave a snort before putting his hand down over Zabini's eyes.
"Hush."
The collective about him swallowed slightly, sans Zabini, who grumbled with displeasure across his lap.
"My friends, let it be known that our Lord Slytherin came from a time where Muggles held power and plenty of fire. When the secret of their existence came to light the filth abhorred us, envied us our superiority and our might. We had been nobles, controlling the land, rich with culture and privileged with higher education and for that they were displeased and eager to condemn our otherness. "
He gave a soft sound, a curious hum from the back of his throat, "So, it is no wonder that Lord Slytherin felt the way he did. I surmise that his original need to keep the Muggleborns out wasn't because they were beneath us in magic and potential, not entirely, but because they were… uneducated peasants. They had been conditioned to certain Muggle sensibilities and it would have been difficult to change their mentality. Admission into the school would have slowed the efficiency of pureblood education because, well, a pureblood would assumedly know magic all their life.
Furthermore, and most unfortunately, in those times of olde a peasant child would be needed to work long summer hours on crops for the lord that owned them. Do you understand? Admission of Muggleborns came at great a cost to ourselves."
"More reason to hate them, then." Draco mumbled, something venomous and vicious.
"Not entirely," Harry corrected, amused, "Our primary education, not the magical one, is relatively the same in terms of Muggleborn versus the average wizard or witch. Though our cognitive abilities are far greater they can count, they can read, and they can write. Which is more than most could do in the olde times."
Harry tapped his chin and nodded to himself, more than ready to share his thoughts. "Originally, I thought the Muggleborns just as great a risk as Slytherin did. Discovery of our people could lead to an old fashion slaughter. It's very possible."
Such words made Zabini shiver and he sucked in a rapid breath, "My Lord…"
But Harry lifted the hand that covered his eyes and instead gave his arm a squeeze, "Don't fret, Blaise. I would never allow you to burn."
But the boy remained somewhat forlorn with face tense and drawn.
"So, to protect our secrets, it was once thought that Muggleborn eradication was best."
Theo and Draco nodded.
"It isn't, though."
Theo swallowed, "What is then? How do we protect ourselves…?"
"Good question. Some of the greatest minds have yet to discover a way, more than willing to kill and slaughter blood we could conquer and control." He playfully tickled Zabini's ribs, causing the boy to snort and guffaw to his embarrassment. "The only fear we have from them is the fear of them changing our culture, destroying us, stealing our magic and exposing our world. Only two of those are really in danger, mostly pushed by the Light. Our cultural destruction and our exposure through constant Muggle interaction, unneeded, and unwanted if I might be honest."
Harry risked a glance to Draco, "Your father is on The Board, correct?"
Draco tilted his head, "Yes."
"Here's the thing. I have only a surface understanding of how much power that grants him versus our Headmaster. Let me be clear, upon arrival to this world I knew nothing and that made me incredibly vulnerable. If I'd known something, I could have started on this path to greatness much sooner. That bothers me, that I was left ignorant. That, many of us are ignorant. So, I ask, why don't we have a wizarding culture class? Why must everything be learned at the last minute?"
Here Harry smiled, a bit cruelly, "I'm surprised the bulk of us, those raised by Muggles, aren't bound in vassalage contracts already. It leaves us, all of us-yes, even you, Draco-weaker as a unit. We look foolish, catering to a Muggle lifestyle, when no wizard will need to be 'Muggle'. What we need, what we don't have, is a wizarding class, to teach those who come to adapt, to assimilate, to obey."
He chuckled a bit, allowed his chest to rumble with his desire for authority while his magic possessively washed over his court, earning a tremble as they shifted to be closer and Zabini mumbled something under his breath.
"Young fresh eager minds, loving magic, enjoying magic… they don't understand the gift they've been given. This chance at new life, at rebirth, to be more than garbage. They take it for granted, you know? Because we don't explain that they shouldn't. As do purebloods, with their haughty airs and lack of trying. I want effort, I love effort, and earning praise is far better than being given it, I'd say."
He was more than willing to earn their terror and feast on their obedience with all the satisfaction of a hard-worker.
"So, if they knew, if they learned, if they understood and respected and kneeled they could… would be accepted. Furthermore, in terms of security, why would… they go back if they had what they really needed here? If they were understood as beyond the filthy Muggles that tried to hoard them, to keep them from their trueness? To break the chains that bound them with misleading information and send them into ruin without so much as a warning? It's not difficult to retain the masses when their gospel is here, their purpose is here. When they could be so much more under the banner of our most gracious nobility once more."
Theo smiled, something interested, something curious, and Harry looked to him.
"Heir Nott, there is something I've always wondered, something I think would be possible to prove, if you are willing to… help."
Theo nodded, "Whatever you wish, my Lord."
"Then, here is what I'd like for you to do-"
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Ron swallowed harshly, uncomfortable, angry, confused, bewildered.
Harry only gave him a smile, devoid of warm, of comfort, while Hermione nearby watched them with an odd expression. Was it pensive? Fearful? Brooding? It was… intense, some shuttered off thing that made her pupils seem wider and her face so carefully blank.
Interesting.
Justin, on the other hand. Goodness, poor Justin, only sputtered and backed up and croaked before he fled, a coward in the face of Harry's ability. An ability that made every Slytherin in the room direct adoration toward him, which made his magic flush his skin and sing in his veins. Let them know, let them see, let them discover his rare ability-claimed as dark when it was nothing short of miraculous.
The snake that Ron had summoned-and boy did he look a bit green and regretful-had been blown back and away by one foolish Professor Lockhart. That snake had then decided that the best thing to do was attack the nearest target, Justin. Harry, with a snort, had told the snake to stop and Snape, with a groan and a bit of a tremble, had banished it.
"He should be grateful," Harry said, even as a few Gryffindors began to edge toward the door, scowling darkly, "I told the snake to stop. It didn't want to, you know."
If they heard him or cared, he didn't know.
"Y-y-you're… you're the heir? You have… that sort of magic…" Ron sputtered, but his voice was weak, his gaze disbelieving and his appearance now so pale that the red on his body stood out abruptly.
"Sign of a dark wizard," Hermione said, but it was stated so casually that Harry might have thought her uncaring or… bored.
Harry narrowed his gaze and Ron swallowed and nodded.
"It is but... " he shook his head, dislodged a thought, "barely matters, he's still the same, Hermione."
She only sniffed slightly, her lids lowered. "Right. Yes."
"Harry I'm so-" But Ron didn't get to finish, the class was emptying and the Slytherins were babbling excitedly and-
"Heir Potter." Neville interrupted, his expression calm, his gaze unwavering and clear and his conviction as strong as the healthy pulse of his magic, "May I speak with you?"
Harry smiled brilliantly, "Yes, Heir Longbottom. Lets."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Dumbledore called him to the office, a waste of his time to be clear but Harry was a polite boy, a good boy, and he would not disrespect Snape by ignoring the summons.
After he'd left Neville, a new Neville, a lion of unwavering strength and a peculiar but welcomed dark eagerness, with the Circle he'd taken to the halls and the winding pathways that would lead him toward a familiar place. He knew that Draco would attend to Neville, help with his magic, dark or otherwise and that Theo and Blaise would be sure to catch him up on more academic and political matters, mostly Harry's own need and desire to change the future. He knew, as he'd left them, that the boy wouldn't run.
That he couldn't run.
He had been captured. Conquered… and he'd embraced all that that meant. He'd only nodded to Harry when he'd been about to leave, wordlessly mouthing a soft 'thank you, my lord' before they had broken contact.
To which Harry had replied, 'of course, my brother'.
Now though, now he would be forced to endure a meeting with the Headmaster.
Wonderful.
"Harry, my boy, please have a seat." Dumbledore motioned to the chair on the other side of the office and Harry tossed a glance in the general direction of the elaborate fixtures, hanging portraits, and the-
His brows climbed so high they might have disappeared into his hair.
"Oh. Hah. This is Fawkes," Dumbledore said, looking playful and smug all at once.
Harry took care to school his disbelief and interest, "I see. A phoenix then? Rare."
"Very." Dumbledore replied, almost disappointed that he would not be able to wrap him up in curiosity, no doubt.
Harry sat, "What can I do for you today, Headmaster?"
"I wanted to let you know that some of the student body has-"
"Claimed I am the heir due to my ability, which is unfortunate and unnecessary."
Dumbledore blinked once, then again, "Yes. I wanted to let you know that I don't believe you are the heir as well."
"Ah, a relief," Harry bounced, toying slightly with the failing cushion in the straight-back chair he sat, "Slytherin doesn't think so either, which is nice. My house supports me. I am afraid I wouldn't have had that support in Gryffindor."
It was only Neville, with his strict and unwavering belief that he could do far worse than string up a cat that had made kept most of the lions out of his way.
"I am almost certain that Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger would have supported you, Harry. I talked to them-"
"Recently?" Harry asked, curious, holding back to rolling sensation of irritation that grew in his belly. Wondering, needing to know, if they were spies set upon him. If they had ever cared about him. If Ron's fear and disgust at his own loss of temper and his snake spell had been genuine or carefully crafted.
"Mr. Weasley, recently. Ms. Granger has been avoidant. I think she's a bit…"
"And what did Mr. Weasley say?" Uncaring.
"He felt bad for you, mostly. Wondered if you were doing well. If I had spoken to you."
He was leaving something out. Something important.
Harry exhaled.
"You seem to be avoiding them. Do you no longer wish to be friends?"
"It is just somewhat difficult, Headmaster. What with the rivalries and such."
"Ah yes…" Dumbledore leaned back, rubbing his chin, "but I would hope such things would remain strong despite the differences in your house. Young Heir Malfoy can be… intense I suspect. Wouldn't you like other friends?"
Friends that were blind. Friends that were eager to serve?
"Yes, I suppose I could try talking to them again. It was just… I was worried, sir."
"Worried? About what?"
"Well, sir. Even Hagrid said that Slytherins were vile. All of them evil and I've just been so… afraid. Afraid that I'd hurt them, that they'd hate me, that I'm evil."
Dumbledore looked off to the side for a moment, a crease in his brow, a bit of annoyance in the twitch of his cheek, "Nonsense. They think nothing of the sort. I think nothing of the sort. Being a Slytherin does not make you… evil. It's just that… some Slytherins can be wrapped in their ways and those ways can be damaging."
He tapped a fingertip across his desk while Harry stared at it, imagined it curling, flexing, reactive in agony
"You see, Harry. I've noticed you… visiting rather often with some of your yearmates."
"Yes, sir."
"And I hope that they haven't influenced you to bad-thought."
Oh no. Certainly not that.
"I am not certain how they feel about the way our world currently is and their parents might have strong opinions. Have they tried speaking to you about any of that?"
Harry lowered his gaze, suddenly and painfully aware that Dumbledore was trying to catch his own.
He was not an idiot. He was not a ragdoll, a puppet. He would not be manipulated.
"We talk mostly of Quidditch sir, and familiars and classwork, that sort. I talk to them about what it was like, with the Muggles-"
"-I see," Dumbledore was quick to interrupt before he sighed and nodded. "I do hope you'll realize then, who your real friends are and what loyalty to them means, in the future."
Harry smiled, something far too excited, far too passionate. "Oh, of course sir! I will."
I will and I do.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
He cornered Neville, pressed him against the wall of the alcove and hid them from sight. His belly burned with rage, with the need to punish, to show Neville his place and make him aware that he belonged to him. That every scheme, every thought, every ideal, was permitted because Harry permitted it and he didn't bother to hide his snarl as he allowed his magic to lick across his flesh, to burden him-
Though there was little space Neville fell to the ground, hard upon his knees and pitched forward, mumbled against the robes he wore, swallowed harshly and trembled but his gaze was not filled with the terror of the treasonous. No, when he opened glassy eyes there was nothing but worship there, nothing but disappointment in himself and the game he'd played.
"Speak," Harry croaked, containing himself, drawing back his ire and smoothing his expression into one of mild disinterest. How unbecoming of a gentlemen and a Slytherin to lose himself like that.
"My Lord, forgiveness, my Lord." Neville mumbled, leaning over to kiss the hem of his robes, an Olde Way mannerism which Harry accepted and allowed to settle him, to push back the billowing emotion, the need to be so authoritative. It soothed something in him, something olde and instinctive, and the pressure in his chest lessened. This was his servant, his vassal, his brother.
"Speak."
"I went along with it to keep an eye on them, they are manic lately, suspicious. I needed to know what they were doing." Neville hissed, venomously, "I wanted to tell you. Tried to, but-"
"Which."
"I was Crabbe, Weasley was Goyle."
"Granger?"
Here Neville snorted, something slightly crossed between kind and concerned, "She uh… she turned herself into a bit of a cat. Meant to get a Bulstrode hair, didn't. But, my Lord, she did manage to brew the three potions without… with barely any effort I…"
"You wonder how."
"I do."
"I'm working on that."
Neville nodded, "They are nosy, trying to solve the mystery of the heir. I probed… said maybe it was you. Ron's defense of you was so explosive I… and the way Granger stared at me…"
Neville rubbed his throat and sat up as Harry took a step back to give him space, "I thought she was going to hex my balls off."
The sudden laugh that burst from Harry's mouth caught him off guard and Neville gave him a sly look before swallowing the expression.
"My Lord, I didn't know we'd even get that far, into your den and… I didn't know Malfoy would say those things and… the dark artifacts."
Harry sighed, "He has a hard time being secretive. He enjoys boasting. He thinks it'll gain more favor for me. I had a… talk with him."
Neville shuddered, then continued, "They suspected it was Draco, actually. Thought that, maybe he was using you as a shield and forcing you not to change up the rumors. They said they'd do it for you…"
"I see," Harry bid Neville to stand and for a time they merely stared at each other, before Harry whispered, "I enjoy initiative, but don't do that again, don't risk yourself for those beyond the Circle."
Neville nodded, revealed and yet solemn, "Harry, I think… I think they… miss you?"
"I can certainly tell. They stopped stalking me, at least."
"Yes, they have."
For a moment Harry contemplated on his meeting with Dumbledore. On the idea of spies and happenstance. "I think they were set up to be with me, first year. I think that they might be… under Dumbledore's sway."
Neville sneered then, "I'd… if they so much as attempt to betray you to him-"
"Watch them for me, Neville. Be my eyes." Harry said, curious… "I don't need anyone to know about Draco's… artifact problem."
"As you wish it, my Lord."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Four months. Four months of tense silence. Of Slytherins walking in protective groups. Of Gryffindors scowling. Of Hufflepuffs looking scared and Ravenclaws appearing, somewhat, bored by the entire ordeal. Four months of fear beyond their wall, four months since poor poor Justin and some ghost had been attacked and shuffled up to the infirmary. That was four months for Harry to attend to his plans.
"Are you sure you don't want to be on the team?" Flint grumbled, "You're a bloody prodigy is all and I don't want to lose that."
Harry chuckled, watching the way Flint wrinkled his brow and scrunched up his nose, "I couldn't take Malfoy's spot. He loves Quidditch."
"He is a good Seeker…" Flint rubbed the back of his neck, "But, I think you might be a little… better."
Harry smiled, something cold but amused, "I'm going to help him over the summer. He'll be more than good when I'm finished."
But Flint wasn't at all satisfied.
"Next year, come to me again. I might have… an interest. I might be able to play another position. But I will not take his spot."
Flint sighed, but it was with relief. "Yes. Good! I'll keep you to that, Potter. You're a great duelist, but an even better Quidditch player. If we want to win, I need you somewhere on this team!"
They shook on it, Flint a little more powerfully than needed, before the older boy was moving on and away from the fields, leaving Harry to his thoughts… and the sound of a few voices.
"I don't get it, I just don't get it! It's not Malfoy? It has to be."
Weasley.
Harry moved quickly, turning to slip among the shadows of a nearby Quidditch bench, and with but a whisper and flick of his revealed wand he was camouflaged and irrelevant.
"Mmm," the second voice, a distracted Granger-
"Hermione, please! Will you listen to me for one moment? Or are you so lost in your bloody book you can't even-"
There was an odd sound, like someone swallowing too much air, before Hermione's soft almost dreamy tone said-
"I'm listening. Go ahead, Ronald."
There was a grumble and a huff before he spoke again, "Malfoy."
"Yes. You still think he's the heir? It's a bit difficult to believe. He likes a good brag."
"You can't possibly think it's Harry though, could you?"
There was silence, and in that brief moment from the next-
"It could be… it… could be but-"
"How could you even think-"
"-he's changed, hasn't he?"
Harry had to admit he was impressed by Hermione's ability to keep a calm and even tone, even while Ron raged around her.
"He hasn't its... The snakes, they got him all… I know he liked us, last year he really truly liked us-"
"-not me."
Harry took a sharp breath, startled by Hermione's dismissal of his friendship.
Apparently, so was Ron, "How could you say something like that? How could you-"
"-do you even like me, Ronald?"
Silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and heavy.
"I… don't be daft, Hermione. Sure, we don't' really get along that well and-"
"-Harry was a good buffer. He kept us together. He was our center. Our point. And I was, I have been… I'm very abrasive, I think. And, well, even you have called me, um, insufferable. He smoothed that out. Hid all my… hid all our edges."
Heavy breathing then, more silence, only to be broken again by Hermione.
"He… found better-"
"-Oh don't start this. Don't you start this-"
"-Think about it! Think about it, Ronald!" Hermione pleaded, her voice now practically echoing across the empty pitch, "The circumstances that brought us together. The insane amount of adventure, the danger, none of it remotely makes sense and now that he has others, now that he has betters, he's forgotten us-"
"-They aren't better than us. They aren't better than me!"
Hermione continued, despite Ron's yelling, "And when he needed us, they were there. They saved him. They cared enough to do more than send owls and worry. They-"
"-I tried, I-"
"-you were in Egypt! You weren't there-"
"-and you were!?"
There's a sound of something being thrown, the heavy thunk of a rock against wood loud in the strained silence that blanketed them.
"No. No I wasn't. I failed."
Ron wheezed, "Headmaster wants us to keep trying. Says Harry needs us-"
"-he doesn't need us."
"BUT I NEED HIM!"
Birds screeched, rocketed away and flew off, wings flapping and feathers sprinkling down around them.
Ron panted, his heavy breathing saying more than anything else that his desperation came from somewhere within, somewhere sincere and hurting.
"I need him. I miss him. He's my mate. My best friend. He's yours too, and you… you aren't even trying!"
"I made you the bloody potion, didn't I?" Hermione hissed, though her tone was strained now, trapped and thick with indescribable emotion, "You think I'm just happy he's gone? You think that this doesn't impact me-"
"-you're always in your bloody books, so it's difficult to even assume that Ms. Granger the swot, has any other cares other than her precious knowledge and classes."
Maybe Ron expected Hermione to bite back, to continue the remarks, but everything was quiet… so so quiet.
"I… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I didn't. Hermione-"
"-It's fine." But it wasn't, Harry could tell by the warble in her tone, "It's fine. It's fine."
But she was having a hard time convincing herself of that and Ron, to awkward and guilty, only grumbled under his breath, "I'm just sayin' that, I want him back…. Not because the Headmaster says we should keep watchin' 'em. I'm tired of watching my best mate, I'm tired of seeing him smile and laugh with them. I'm bloody jealous, and it hurts, and-"
Hermione took an unsteady breath, a sharp inhale that she released slowly, "I know. I do understand these things, you know. I'm not completely lacking in self-awareness."
"I don't know if you feel the same way I do."
"I… do, it's just. I'm not… sure if… maybe it's… easier for you. Maybe he… my blood status, you see."
"That's all rubbish, don't let them-"
"-it's not that easy. I have to… do something. Something other than this." She whispered, her words almost swallowed by Ronald's snort of irritation.
"I'm going to keep looking for Harry, for some of his time. I don't care what the Headmaster says. Harry knows what he's doing, he's gotta. I won't leave him again, I won't sit by and do nothing, even if I have to be friends with Slytherins, with Malfoy, with anyone!"
He was breathing harder, Harry could tell by the sound of puffing air, "Whatever you said… whatever we both said on the train, I don't know what it is, and he won't let me apologize for it but I'm going to try and I'm going to keep trying, again and again. No Muggles are going to touch him ever again, spelled like Dumbledore said or not."
Hermione gasped softly, maybe startled by Ron's conviction, his lack of respect to the Headmaster, or the venomous loathing he spat out the word Muggles with.
He cleared his throat, before he whispered, voice so low Harry almost missed it. " I know this year has been trouble, what with the slurs, with Malfoy, without Harry. But I won't leave you behind… if you tried, if you did something, I would drag you with me, kicking and screaming if I had to. But, Hermione, you have to not want to be left."
And then, with the sound of crunching gravel, Harry saw Ron's form, his balled-up expression of pain, his sweat-slicked forehead and pale face, slip right past his place of hiding and toward the castle beyond them. For a while after that there was nothing but the quiet, and for a moment Harry thought Hermione had left as he slowly turned to spare a glance around the corner, but she remained standing there, face carefully blank, her gaze on the spot Ron once occupied.
Before she lowered that gaze to the book in her grip and cracked it open, a slow smile bringing more life back to her cheeks-tear tracked and wet. "I am doing something," she whispered.
"For you. For us."
A growl then, almost inhuman in its intensity.
"I'll get him back."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Colin Creevey was not the brightest boy-wizard.
Harry wouldn't have even said he was the brightest laziest most inconsiderate boy-Muggleborn.
What he was was an annoyance, one that constantly followed him almost as much as the shy acting Ginevra or the pale-faced Weasley. For a time, the Circle had kept him occupied, coldly brushing off his inquiries about Harry for him with indifference and steel patience. They were always around him, protecting him from the flash of the camera or the babbling questions that came from a boy who seemed less interested in learning more about the world around him and more interested about falling into the illusion of Harry's proposed fame. He was, by definition, worth little of Harry's time and even worse, the sort of scum that made Draco grind his teeth and Blaise begin his idle complaints about Muggleborns all over again.
Just when Harry thought his little collective were starting to learn the right school of thought.
It was easily corrected though, brushed off as a ripple in the endless pond of talent. There would always be dirt, he'd reasoned, among the gentry. Always mud among those who wanted to prove themselves. Colin was just another example of peasantry and Dumbledore's allowance of the camera was another misleading venture to bring fear and paranoia to the elite. This was a ruse, an allowed and horrid one, to drive them to wrong-thought and a lack of unity and Harry was less than tolerant of the interruption.
So, he found himself somewhat lucky that he'd come upon the boy, who had just taken a picture of a dripping Luna Lovegood as she wandered, almost carelessly, into the hall. Parkinson and Greengrass, his current companions, looked more than a little put out, but he thought it had more to do with the seaweed in her hair and the bottle caps strung up around her throat than the boy pressuring the security of their world with his irritating technology.
"Ms. Lovegood," Harry said, curious about her appearance and the way she looked, almost longingly, in his direction, "do you need any help?"
Though Pansy was somewhat stiff neither she nor Daphne said anything about his greeting nor the steps he took to approach the pair. Yet, when Creevey turned around, camera in hand, Pansy was swift to unveil her wand and fling it forward in practice graceful motion, her hissed 'accio' filled with real bite.
The camera was torn from Creevey's grip with so much force that the boy was flung forward and fell flat on his face.
Harry stepped over him, frown in place as Daphne muttered a quick drying spell toward the girl, apathetic and yet anticipatory of his needs.
"Harry James Potter," Luna bobbed her dry, if now fuzzy, head.
"Where are your shoes? Your socks…?" Daphne uttered, before she coughed, aware that she hadn't been given permissions to address Harry's guest.
He only smiled and made a motion at Luna's feet, an urging for the girl to answer.
"It's difficult to hold onto one's things in the time of the infected," Luna started, her tone that lovely chorus of dreams and half-rationality. Yet, it was her gaze, twisting with the shadows of her ire and the dark silvery pockets of her mystery, that allowed Harry to understand more than what was ever said. "They aren't kind, you know. They can't be, not here, not there."
Behind them Creevey was getting to his feet, breathing hard, but Harry kept his gaze on Luna as she continued to speak, "I thought it was nargles, at first, changing the thoughts. I think it's something else, the wrongness of thought."
She tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling, "They bleed, always, first of mind then of body. It spreads, that infection, until they know nothing else. Inconvenient, really, but tolerable. I'll just have to step over it. The blood."
Behind him Harry heard the sudden snap of cheap plastics and the collapse of an object on the floor. He didn't bother to look, he knew, based on Creevey's sudden yell, that Pansy had done something unspeakable to his camera.
"Who was it?" He uttered, calm, interested.
"Ravenclaws, for now. More later, I suspect."
Daphne glanced from Harry to Luna, then back to Harry again. "One of the Patil sisters told me they call her Looney. Looney Luna, or some such nonsense."
Luna smiled gently, lifted a hand toward Daphne before she frowned and dropped it, "I'm dirty, so I cannot touch. Not yet. I need to be… clean."
Daphne swallowed nervously, gaze somewhat wide, nostrils flared.
Harry chuckled, "That's a secret, Ms. Lovegood. However, did you…?"
She shook her head and motioned behind him and finally Harry turned, if only to watch Pansy laugh and kick at the shattered camera pieces, while Creevey, with tears in his eyes, glared at them all.
"How could you stand there, how could you let her do this?"
Harry shrugged, "She is not a dog, for which I command."
He sneered, "That's not what the rumors say, that's not what-"
"Rumors are interesting. Little legacies, a little bit of fact, not enough truth. Still important, if you use them right."
Creevey switched his glare from Harry to Luna then, and hissed out a- "Shut up!"
Daphne turned to face them fully, tearing her eyes away from the oddity that was Luna and instead made a shooing motion with her hand, "Leave us, wouldn't you? Important people are talking."
He pointed, rather rudely, at Pansy, "And what about her? What about my-"
"-How cheeky. You deserved that, you know." Pansy interrupted and Harry, with boyish charm and a few claps, began to laugh.
That seemed to do it for Creevey, who gathered his broken pieces, tossed one last glare at Harry, then spit right before him.
"You should be ashamed, sticking with people like this. You aren't anything like the books!"
And just as Pansy snarled and lifted her wand he was running, calling for a teacher, for anyone.
A coward.
"Daphne?" Pansy hissed, adjusting her tie.
"Tonight. After dinner. Crabbe should work."
"You'll want Goyle too. It's easier when they are together. They complement each other, it's in the song of their magic, and the set appearance is a nice touch."
His companions tossed a look at him, then to Luna, before they nodded and gave shallow bows, right before they were moving down the hall. To plan their schemes. To avenge his honor.
He turned his attention back to Luna, "The song of their magic?"
"Everyone sings. Though some are softer than others. The ones who are too afraid to barely utter anything at all."
She tilted her head then, pinned him with a look, drew her magic across him in such a way that he felt it again. A buzzing. A careful examination-
And then, it was gone again.
His movement was so sudden he surprised himself. He whipped out his hands, slapped open palms around her arms and pulled her closer, his gaze searching, his magic, his every essence, insanely possessive.
She giggled, such a girlish normal sound, "Did you enjoy it? Their conversation?"
He thought briefly to the way Pansy and Daphne spoke about him, how they instantly knew just what he wanted to hear. He opened his mouth to reply, to hiss out a 'yes' but-
"No. Not them."
His grip tightened, his heart beating within his chest in idle excitement. "You were there?"
She gave that curious 'meowrl' sound again, "You were there."
He wasn't going to get much beyond that, was he?
"They hurt."
He remembered those words spoken before, from his faithful, from his familiar.
"Three days… three days and he'll come. Four days and…"
Well, here she chuckled, lifted her dirty muck covered fingertips to brush across his clean robes, his cheeks, his hair. He barely paid the act much attention and he whispered, suddenly, "Say it, would you? Let me know, let me hear-"
She sighed, dreamily, "My Lord."
And he grinned.