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Chapter Twenty-Six—A Lord In All But Name

"Potter."

Draco's shoulder knocks roughly into Harry, almost removing him from his feet. He grabs Lion before he can do more than rear and hiss, not wanting his snake to actually bite Draco. And then he shoots out his arm and blocks Theo from sending any spells after Draco, which probably counts as restraining his leopard.

"He slammed into you," Theo begins, voice as dark as his spots when he's transformed.

"Yes, I know," Harry says dryly, rubbing his new bruise. He turns around to inspect Draco, who's halted a short distance away and has his head turned, staring at Harry from over his shoulder. "What, Malfoy?"

"Meet me in the Charms corridor in half an hour," Draco murmurs, and disappears through the door into the common room.

"No," Theo says at once.

"I'm sorry, did he invite you?" Harry demands. He touches Lion in the center of the back again and lets his hand rest on a scale, finally calming down his furiously hissing snake. "It'll be fine. I'll have Lion with me, and you wound me, Theo, you wound me, if you think that Draco Malfoy of all people could defeat me in a duel."

Theo hesitates. "Well, no," he says finally.

"Well, then?"

"He could have a Portkey to take you to Voldemort, for all you know. It's practically a family tradition at this point!"

"I'll remind you that Lucius Malfoy isn't the one who slipped me that Portkey." Harry rolls his eyes when Theo glares at him. "And besides, I'm sick of Draco hovering on the outside of our group like a kicked puppy. At least I'll get to see what he wants."

Theo folds his arms and obviously searches for a way to climb over Harry's wall of logic. Harry feels his lips twitch, watching. He'll never tell Theo how entertaining he finds him, because Theo would not be amused.

"Okay," Theo says at last. "But you'll take Lion with you."

"I already said that."

"And you'll draw your wand in an instant if it looks like Malfoy called you there to duel with you."

"Like I'd keep it in the holster."

"And you'll call for help if you need it."

"I don't expect to need it. But yes," Harry adds, because Theo's face looks as if he has found a way over the logic wall, "I'll call you or someone else."

Theo scowls at him. Harry looks back, keeping his actual amused smile from breaking out, and finally Theo sighs and shakes his head and steps back from Harry with a glance at the ceiling, as if calling on invisible professors to witness his suffering.

"Tell Malfoy he's dead if you get injured."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate that," Harry says dryly, and sets out for the Charms corridor, pretending that he doesn't hear the footsteps stealthily following him, or the spell that Theo casts after a few minutes to silence the sounds of his motion.

It's useless to keep Theo from following, the same way that it would be useless to try to keep Lion from protecting him. Harry thinks he's finally learning that other people have pride and dignity they want to spare, too.

Draco paces back and forth in front of the classroom next to Flitwick's that the professor sometimes uses for demonstrations, beyond grateful that there are no late-afternoon Charms classes today. It's taken him long enough to work up the nerve to confront Harry, and he knows that if someone else showed up right now, it would probably all fall apart.

He has questions to ask. And although he doesn't really know what he'll do if Harry answers them one particular way, at least he'll have the answers and can stop stewing about this.

"Draco."

Draco takes a deep breath and tries to tell himself that it's a good sign Harry is using his first name. Then he tells himself not to overthink everything, and turns around to find Harry walking towards him with his golden snake on his shoulder.

Draco lets his eyes rake once over Lion. The snake is staring at him, but he's also staying on Harry's shoulder and hasn't spread his wings or hissed. Draco thinks that's as good as he's going to get.

Besides, insisting that Harry leave Lion behind probably wouldn't have worked.

Draco takes a deep breath. Harry has come to a halt and is waiting. He doesn't look over his shoulder like anyone else is coming. And the longer Draco waits, the higher the chance that someone will. Theo might even have gone for Professor Snape the instant Harry left.

"Did you deliberately kill my father?"

Harry straightens his shoulders. "No."

Draco nods. That was the question he thought would be most likely to receive the answer he wanted to hear. The others are trickier. "Did you deliberately set your dragon on my father?"

"No. I didn't know that she would be able to fly that far, or grow the way she did, or even find me."

"Were you—were you thinking that you might have to kill my father to escape?"

"No."

But Harry hesitates before he says it, and Draco pounces, the way he has to. He's so bloody sick of these unanswered questions tormenting him. Some of them are ones that he's been thinking about for a long time; some are ones that Hecuba Selwyn has raised in their correspondence. Either way, they need answers. "Why did you pause before you answered that?"

Harry looks at him quietly, taking in Draco's clenched hands and hunched shoulders. What he's thinking, Draco has no idea. Sometime when he wasn't looking, Harry got good at keeping a cool, composed expression on his face.

"Because I was hoping that I wouldn't have to kill your father to escape," Harry says at last. "But not really thinking it. If Chaos hadn't come and I could do it, I would have killed him on my own."

Draco closes his eyes.

He hasn't found out some of the things he was afraid of, like that Harry deliberately targeted his father, the way Selwyn suggested in one of her letters. But it's—hard to grasp what Harry's saying, hard to step back and see it from a distance the way he would have if it wasn't his father.

"Draco?"

How much does he owe his father, and how much does he owe himself?

Draco opens his eyes. Harry has come a little nearer, an expression on his face that looks like concern, although he steps back when Draco opens his eyes again. His face goes neutral, and he waits.

"What?" Draco whispers.

"I don't know what answers you were looking for," Harry says plainly. "I don't know what answer would repair our friendship, or if that's something you want. But as far as I'm concerned, you're not him."

"Of course I'm not."

"You're not an extension of him. You don't have to live in pain because he was an idiotic Death Eater." Harry ignores the way that Draco draws his wand on reflex. "He was your father, and of course it's your right to mourn him, but don't—don't destroy your life because you think it would be a good way to honor him. Don't do things and then think about the way your father would think about them."

Draco recoils. "How did you know I did that?"

"Because right after I was Sorted into Slytherin, that's what I was doing with my own dad." Harry's smile is fleeting and bitter. "I wondered if I disappointed him, if he would be upset with me. And the same thing happened when I started getting closer to Severus." Harry shrugs. "Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and still think that way."

"But getting closer to Professor Snape is a good thing for you."

"And learning to think independently is good for you, too."

Draco shakes his head, a lump sticking in his throat. "I don't know what to do." He misses his friend. His misses his father. His friend's dragon was responsible for the death of his father. No matter which way he turns, Draco thinks that he's betraying something.

"I can't make the decision for you," Harry says quietly. "But I can say that we'd welcome you if you want to return to our group."

"How can you—"

Harry gives another smile, one that's less fleeting and more bitter. "I'm a leader whether I want to be or not. I've managed to stop people from openly referring to me as a Lord so far, but that's probably coming." He stops, swallows, and goes on. "If I say that you're welcome again, some people would question me and some people would shout at me, which frankly is a relief. But they'll obey me and welcome you in again."

Draco half-shakes his head. Harry falls back a step, raising a hand to rest on Lion, who is hissing and rattling his wings.

"It wasn't a refusal," Draco says quickly. "I was just wondering the other day if you would ever see the truth of your position among the other Slytherins. I'm glad that you have and that you—that you would welcome me."

Harry nods cautiously to him and waits a moment. Then he asks, "Was there anything else that you wanted to talk to me about?"

"No," Draco says, and stares at the boy it's still hard to decide how to feel about. The cause of his father's death. The reason his father was there in the first place. The reason that the Dark Lord was defeated and Draco might have been able to grow up and know his father. "I'll tell you whether I want to attend the group sometime in the next week."

Harry nods and walks away. Draco slumps against the wall and closes his eyes, revolving the decision in his mind.

But if he thinks about it, it's already made. He might not have missed Harry specifically, but he missed the feeling of camaraderie with other Slytherins, and the lessons in wandless magic and dueling that they're working on.

He'll go back. Maybe he can try to make sure that he doesn't have to interact with Harry one-on-one all that much.

Harry would probably cooperate with that, Draco thinks, and part of him feels dizzy with relief.

Theo straightens up when Harry comes around the corner. "What did Malfoy want?" he asks, falling into step with Harry and ignoring the sideways glance he gets. No, he isn't going to pretend that he wasn't watching and primed to go get Professor Snape if anything went really wrong.

What he would have liked to do is transform and rip Malfoy apart with his claws if he did something. But he didn't know if Malfoy would, and he didn't want to explain another transformation that might leave him in a halfway state to Professor McGonagall.

"To ask about his father."

Theo narrows his eyes. "What did he say?"

"Asked questions."

"I mean more than that."

"That's what he did."

Theo opens his mouth to object, but Harry turns abruptly to face him, one hand resting low at his side. That doesn't mean much, Theo knows, not when Harry can use wandless magic the way he does. Lion is rearing on his shoulder, spreading his wings, and Theo keeps a warier eye on him.

Even though it's hard to turn away from Harry's face and the stormy look in his eyes.

"That's what he did," Harry repeats, softly. "Leave it, Theo. He's not like us. He didn't grow up the—way we did." He shakes his head. "He loved his father, even if Lucius Malfoy wasn't worth it, and part of him died with him. Leave him alone. If he decides to rejoin the group, then you can keep an eye on him. Otherwise, leave him alone."

Theo knows an order when he hears it. And he also knows it's significant that Harry's giving an order in the first place, since he would usually ask instead. From the half-tormented look Harry gives him, he's perfectly aware of Theo's thoughts.

But he did it anyway. Which means this is important.

Theo casts his eyes down for a moment and nods. "My lord," he says, and weathers Harry's sigh of exasperation before he adds, "But if he attacks you, or anyone else among our friends, I'll consider him fair game."

"Of course. Just make sure it's an actual attack, and not something that you mistake for one."

Theo falls into step next to Harry again as they make their way back to the Slytherin common room. He feels oddly happy and light. He's not sure if it's because this situation with Malfoy might finally be resolved, or because Harry didn't reject the name Theo gave him, or because Harry is learning to use his power, and that will let him protect them both.

But he feels it.

"Professor McGonagall!"

Minerva looks up, wary. She was on her way out of the Great Hall through the door behind the professors' table that joins up with a corridor near the Headmistress's office. But now a third-year Gryffindor student is standing up and waving her arms around.

It takes Minerva a moment to remember her name, since she never stood out much in class and never had detention with Minerva that she can remember. Romilda Vane, that's it. "Yes, Miss Vane?"

Vane takes a deep breath and looks around as if to make sure that all eyes are on her. Then she spins and points a dramatic finger at the Slytherin table.

Minerva follows the pointing finger with a sense of dread, and wants to clasp her hand over her face when she sees Harry Potter sitting at the end of it. He's looked up from his plate, and his eyes are fixed on Vane with what might look like polite incomprehension if one didn't know him.

Minerva does, and she can see the way his hand has tightened around his fork.

"Must we allow Potter to attend the school?" Vane demands with a tone of self-righteousness that makes Minerva wonder wearily how long she has spent talking herself into this. "He's a cheater, a liar, and someone the Ministry has specifically warned us against! And now he might be going mad, too!" The Prophet did feature a story about Mr. Potter's possible insanity this morning, Minerva remembers. She skimmed over it in a search for real news, which didn't exist in today's edition. "Do we have to keep him here? I formally call for his expulsion!"

At the Ravenclaw table, a first-year girl stands. Minerva thinks her name is Louise Edgecombe, a cousin of the expelled Marietta. "Ravenclaw House supports Gryffindor House's call!" she squeaks.

Minerva blinks, once, twice. She understands what this is now. It used to be an established custom at Hogwarts to be able to call for a student's expulsion if members of all four Houses plus two professors supported it. The expulsion wouldn't be guaranteed, but it would be seriously considered.

Of course, Minerva thinks as she watches Ernie Macmillan stand at the Hufflepuff table, things have changed.

"Hufflepuff House supports Gryffindor House's call!" Macmillan says in the pompous voice that Minerva once hoped he would grow out of. "The Heir of Slytherin is, frankly, dangerous. No one can convince me that he wasn't Petrifying students three years ago." He nods and sits down with his arms folded.

The silence that consumes the Great Hall in the next few moments is intense. It seems as if every person in the room is turning to look at the Slytherin table, although Minerva can't blame them because she's turning herself.

The silence continues. The Slytherins sit tight and don't look at anyone, or each other. But none of them stands to support the call.

And none of the professors at the High Table rise, either. Minerva is relieved. She would have had to have words with them later if they had.

"Headmistress!" Vane seems to realize how badly she's messed up, but her next words prove it's not for the reason Minerva thought it might be. "Even with only three of the necessary six supporting the call, you have to consider it!"

Minerva steps out from behind the table and clears her throat. "I do not, Miss Vane," she says. "The call for a student's expulsion based on students from all four Houses and two professors approving is a custom that is no longer honored. It was made illegal soon after the Statute of Secrecy was passed, since some of the expelled students made nuisances of themselves in the Muggle world and nearly revealed us to them. I assume you must have found some old legal texts that have not been updated in several centuries."

It's nearly ludicrous, the way Vane's face falls. She looks around as though the necessary support will emerge from somewhere else, and then folds her arms and stomps her foot. "Headmistress! He's a cheater and a liar who's going insane!"

"Why do you believe the drivel the Prophet writes, Vane?" Zabini calls lazily. "I could tell you a dozen things wrong with the article on the front page this morning—"

"You're one of his friends! Of course you would say that!"

"You're an idiot, of course you would disagree," Zabini says without missing a beat.

Minerva speaks up before a food fight or something worse can start. "Regardless, even if you had had the support of four students and two professors, Miss Vane, we would not expel Mr. Potter on that basis—"

"And you're just protecting him because you probably believe his insane lies! Or he's bribing you with the Potter money or something!" Vane's face is bright scarlet, but if any of it is embarrassment instead of rage, Minerva can't tell. "I'm going to write to my parents and see what they say!"

And she flounces out of the Great Hall, a few girls from the Gryffindor table following her. There is a storm of murmurs in response, and almost everyone turns in unison to look at Harry again.

Harry stands, his eyes cold, and walks out of the Great Hall, more than ten Slytherins following him.

The last thing we need, Minerva thinks with more despair than exasperation, is this kind of division in the school, now. But that is what we have, and it must be dealt with.