Coming back to Hogwarts after the holidays was always a little jarring, and Harry had to admit he was dreading going back to school. It wasn't anything to do with Hogwarts itself —the castle was as wonderful as ever— but the atmosphere in it was gloomy since the beginning of the petrifications. The student body tried to put it out of their mind, and the fact that the mature mandrakes were already being chopped up into a potion helped but it didn't change the fact that the professors still hadn't found the person who had released a monster in their school.
"I tell you, it's a basilisk," repeated Theo to a stubborn Daphne. They were sitting in the common room, exhausted after the end of their exam week.
"That's not possible. The students would have been killed then. And how would it even get around Hogwarts? I say it's someone who got their hand on the grimoire of Medusa."
Blaise shook his head.
"That thing has been lost for centuries. Besides, if it was found it wouldn't be on the Isles but around the Mediterranea. Theo's theory makes more sense. Only a basilisk could petrify a ghost."
"It still doesn't answer how the students survived it," said Harry.
"The basilisk is weaker because it's been starving under the school for so long."
Harry inclined his head in agreement; he trusted Theo to know if there was a precedent for such things. After a minute of speculating about how exactly a basilisk could be getting around the school, he frowned.
"But the Chamber has been opened before, fifty years ago, and it killed one student. Nev' told me that."
He still wasn't sure how he felt about Neville going behind his back the way he did. He had already forgiven a lot of things to his godbrother, but the fact that he didn't trust him or ask for his input hurt. Harry really wanted to have a talk with Healer Merrythought about it to sort out his feelings, but he wouldn't be seeing her until the next week. He had already talked about it privately with his best friend, hoping for some advice. Blaise was all for getting some distance with the boy, and the Potter heir wondered if he might be right. But Harry was reluctant to lose Neville who wasn't just a dear friend but also a connexion to his parents. Both of their mothers had wanted them to grow up together, forsaking that bond because of such a minor thing felt wrong.
He bit his lip. He glanced at his friends, who were visibly following his train of thought, and decided to ask them. He explained the situation since they hadn't been there when Gemma mentioned it and Harry had only taken Blaise to get his godbrother's version of the story. Theo looked impressed at Hermione's brewing skills, though he shook his head when he heard she was still at the infirmary because of a mishap with cat hair. Tracey on the other hand wrinkled her nose when Harry explained Neville's reasoning about why Harry couldn't find out for them, though she relaxed a little when the Potter heir explained that Neville apologised. Daphne's expression was unreadable, as usual when she was thinking.
Blaise raised his hands in the air, leaning back against his armchair.
"You know what I think," he exclaimed, but he was smiling encouragingly, pleased that Harry was taking the initiative to ask.
"I don't think it's that bad," said Theo with caution. He thumbed the spine of the closed book he had been holding in his lap, thinking it over. "I mean. It's stupid, sure, but not malicious. He didn't do it because he didn't trust you but because he thought he could get a better result by doing it himself."
"But why didn't he talk about it before?" asked Tracey. "It's not like we haven't seen his little group several times since they started brewing, why wouldn't they mention it? It's obviously because we would have told him they can't come to our common room. I mean, come on! They're hidden from other Houses for a reason."
Harry looked over at Daphne, who was making a weird face. After a second, her expression cracked and she started laughing, doubling over from hilarity.
"I'm sorry, I just cannot get over the fact that they thought it made more sense to steal from Snape's cupboards, brew a month-long potion, stay at Hogwarts during the holidays instead of seeing their family, knock out Crabbe and Goyle and impersonate them, sneak out into our common room and interrogate Malfoy than to, what? Use, I don't know, a truth potion?"
Their composed friend's mirth was obviously contagious; soon they were all laughing too.
"I bet it was Granger's idea," said Blaise, wiping his eyes. "She's so smart but her brain always takes the longest route to solve problems."
"Obviously. Nev' would never think to solve anything with a potion."
Harry shuddered, thinking about all the times he had to stop his friend from putting the wrong ingredient into their cauldron. Partnering with Neville had definitely improved his reflexes, but Merlin was it stressful.
"But to answer your question, no, I don't think you should let that go. You and Theo are too nice," tutted the Greengrass heir, pointing at them.
Theo and Harry exchanged a look, nonplussed.
"I don't think it's too nice. It's just not a big situation. He made a mistake and apologised. If Longbottom was— um. " Theo shifted. "I keep thinking that having a fight with Longbottom would look really bad right now. Nobody seriously thinks he's the heir of Slytherin despite the weird rumours, and Harry breaking it off with him would make us look guilty, especially because we can't exactly explain what he did."
"That's… true, but also a really pragmatic way of seeing it. I take back what I said, Theo."
Theo raised an eyebrow.
"I don't know why you're surprised. I don't care about Longbottom. If his stupidity is hurting Harry I'm all for keeping our distance. I'd even argue for cutting contact if it wasn't such a bad move with the way things are." He paused before looking at Harry. "But I know your relationship matters to you, and that's what's important."
"But Harry's been excusing a lot of things because of that relationship," objected Blaise. "It will get worse if he doesn't do something about it."
"What did Gemma think?" asked Tracey. "She's the one who told you about it first, right?"
"She just said Gryffindors were silly thrill-seekers with snitches for brains," chuckled Harry. "I don't think she took it very seriously."
"I love your cousin," smirked Blaise.
Harry's lips quirked at his best friend's admiring glance at the Argentum court, who was swamped by homework at the study table.
"Thank you for your advice," he said honestly. "I think I know what to do now."
"What does it mean exactly?"
Harry sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. He straightened his glasses when they came out askew, and Neville blinked, still turning over what the boy had said in his head.
"I don't want to stop being friends with you but I think it's worrying that some of my friends think I should. They say I don't stand up for myself. Tell me honestly. Do you think they're right?"
Neville thought about how easily Harry accepted him after the whole mirror of Erised debacle, how he said nothing about Ron's comments. He turned over the bluebell flame jar Hermione had given him once he'd told her he planned to meet Harry outside. They had both come alone, which was unusual. But in the letter his friend had sent, he'd mentioned he didn't want the influence of outside parties. Neville wasn't sure if it was fair since Ron and Hermione had been involved too, but he understood his godbrother didn't particularly care for his friends' part in the whole thing.
"They are," he said finally. "But it's not on you. You shouldn't have to defend yourself in the first place. I'm sorry."
Harry smiled.
"You already said that, and I forgave you."
Neville shook his head.
"You shouldn't have. I think you're forgiving me because it's not too important, but I hurt you, didn't I? So you shouldn't forgive me until I make up for it."
Harry looked a little shocked for a moment, but he quickly recovered. He nodded then.
"Right. Let's do that. And—" he hesitated, before bracing himself. "Let's make promises to each other, things that we want the other to do or be careful about."
"What do you want me to promise?"
"That you'll think about telling me before going off doing your ridiculous plans."
"Sounds fair. I promise. And, um. I'd like you to promise you'll tell me right away if we do something you're not happy with. Especially me, but also Ron and Hermione. Since you never tell them anything, it's hard to tell if they're upsetting you or not."
"Okay, that sounds… fair. I promise. But I'll also tell my friends they don't have to play nice with them, then. I stopped them from saying anything, and that wasn't fair I think."
Neville contained a sigh. He could already tell meeting the Slytherins would mean twice as much bickering as he'd had to endure with Ron and Hermione.
"I think I liked that we didn't argue like Ron and Hermione do all the time. They're always… It's exhausting sometimes."
Harry conceded the point with a chuckle. He didn't have problems like this with his friends. Neville told himself he wasn't a little jealous.
"Blaise and Tracey bicker," he said as if guessing Neville's thoughts. "Over chess mostly. Daphne fights with Theo a lot because sometimes he just stops listening in the middle of a conversation, or he leaves without telling us where he's going. And they all gang up on me once in a while."
So they were simply more private about it, Neville figured. He thought it might have to do with the House they were Sorted in. Gryffindors were more hot-headed, it would stand to reason they would be louder when having arguments. It was reassuring, to know every group of friends had their disagreements.
"You know," added Harry. "If you don't like that they fight so much, you should tell them. I'm sure they'd tone it down."
"Hm."
He very much wanted to say he didn't think that would do anything, but he thought Harry might tell him he should reevaluate his friendship with them the same way they just did. The truth was that Neville didn't get along with Ron and Hermione as easily as he did with Hannah and Susan. With his two childhood friends, it was simple. They meshed well. They'd played with mud together, and built sandcastles. Their friendship had a strong foundation.
But Ron and Hermione were special to him because they understood what it felt like to be isolated. Ron had felt his parents' unintentional neglect, and Hermione felt the pressure of being smarter than her peers and a muggle-born to boot. They understood what it was like to feel alienated. Neville grew up under the shadow of his parents, being told that his every accomplishment was either due to Frank and Alice Longbottom or to his status as the Boy-Who-Lived. He was put on a pedestal by his peers, and few of them attempted to try to see him as just Neville. So even if he, Ron, and Hermione didn't have much in common, he wanted to keep them the same way he wanted to keep Harry. Because they understood him on deeper levels.
He tried not to think about how chasing after mysteries was somehow the way he had found to share something with them. Then he'd have to remember the words of Harry's cousin, and the embarrassment he'd felt when she had pointed out how easily they could have figured Malfoy out without their ridiculous plan. Ron had been red and spluttering for hours after that, and even he had admitted their idea hadn't been as brilliant as they'd thought it to be.
Harry probably wouldn't want to hear about his thoughts on his two Gryffindor friends right now.
"I think we should meet alone more often," said Neville instead. "It's nice to just be the two of us."
"You're right. Wanna go to the greenhouse?"
Neville smiled brightly.
"Sure!"
Neville spent two hours showing off the new project he was working on with professor Sprout. Then it started getting dark and they resolved to go back to the castle. On their way to the great hall, Neville heard a voice.
"Not again," he murmured as someone talked of ripping and tearing into flesh.
"What's wrong?"
He tugged Harry into another corridor, close to one of the ground floor bathrooms.
"I keep hearing this voice every time there's an attack," said Neville. "Nobody else heard it, so I'm pretty sure it's Parseltongue. I told professor Dumbledore but it didn't seem to have helped."
"Are you saying there's been another attack? We should get someone, not go towards it, Nev'!"
But it was already too late. They heard the sound of a body hitting a hard surface and hurried to see a shimmering shield fading from the prone form of Gemma Fawley, petrified on the floor.
"Gemma!" screamed Harry. His godbrother ran towards his cousin, kneeling in front of her.
The sound shocked Neville into approaching too, and it seemed he wasn't the only one. Terence Higgs burst out of the bathroom, his still-wet hands hastily wiped onto his robe before he hurried to his girlfriend's side. Neville looked around frantically, searching for any trace of the culprit. Meanwhile, Harry was grasping his wand with trembling hands and casting the diagnostic charm, which, judging from his resigned expression, revealed nothing he didn't already know.
Gemma had been attacked by the Heir of Slytherin.
Neville watched helplessly as the realisation sunk into the prefect's loved ones.
"The potion," he said suddenly, remembering it was meant to be finished today. Even better, Neville thought, they had probably administered the first doses to Justin, Colin, Mrs Norris, and Ser Nicholas.
He exhaled in relief as he saw some life back into his godbrother's eyes. Higgs took the reins, levitating his girlfriend's body with a gentleness that made Neville's heart ache. They hurried to the infirmary, climbing up the stairs at a frightening speed. They reached the second floor panting, only to be confronted with the sight of an irate professor Snape whose expression shuttered as he glanced at the petrified student of his House being brought in. Next to him, Madam Pomphrey stared at them in horror.
"The remaining," she swallowed, "the remaining vials of restorative draughts have been sh– sh— shattered by an unknown trespasser," she explained with difficulty.
Neville smelled ozone, and he barely had the time to turn his head towards Harry before his vision whited out.
Severus cursed and threw a shield around the students and Poppy before striding over to Potter. He ignored the bite of the boy's magic on his unprotected hands and face and raised his hands to grasp at the boy's wrists, where he had been holding them by his temples. His eyes were scrunched close, and Severus could see deep cuts around them from where his glasses had broken into shards.
There was a deep ripple and the sound of something shattering before a shockwave tried to blast Severus away from the boy, but he held his ground. He flicked his hand, still holding his student, and levitated a Calming Draught to his face. He grasped it with two fingers and whispered a reinforcement charm to strengthen the outer layer of the vial.
"Potter," he said, "Potter, you need to— Harry!"
The boy heaved but shook his head.
"Harry, you need to drink this," he said urgently, trying to keep his voice soft but loud enough to be heard over the deafening ripples of the boy's magic. His distress was palpable in the air.
Severus embraced him carefully, wincing at the sting spreading from his hands to the rest of his upper body at the contact. "Harry, Miss Fawley will be okay. More mandrakes will be ready by April, she will be fine. I promise, she will be fine."
Harry trembled into his arms, shaking. He lowered his hands, then his whole body folded into himself, only supported by Severus' grip on him. The potion master took a deep breath and presented the vial he was holding to the boy's lips. He risked a look backward; the Longbottom boy was banging on his shield while Higgs held him by the shoulder, his hand curled around the stiff wrist of his fellow prefect. Meanwhile Poppy was repairing the damages to the entrance of the infirmary. Severus could tell she was speaking, but the buzzing was still too loud for him to hear anything. Harry let himself be fed the potion before he shuddered and started sobbing, looking more his age than he ever did before.
Severus hesitantly laid a hand on the boy's curls, patting his head as the boy cried into his robes. After a moment that seemed like an eternity, Harry's magic settled back into himself and he collapsed, exhausted. The potion master lowered his shield and levitated him on the bed next to the one Poppy had prepared for the boy's cousin. He spoke a few words to the mediwitch before excusing himself, striding out of the room.
He had a vandal to catch.
Harry came back into himself slowly. His head felt fuzzy in a way he knew indicated magical exhaustion, and it took him a moment to remember what happened. He sat up abruptly at the memory of his cousin and held his forehead in his hand as the movement made him sway.
"Harry," murmured a blur softly. He blinked a few times and connected the voice to Poppy Pomphrey, his healing master. He bit his lip to stop his tears. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired," he said in a hoarse voice. "Did I— Is Gemma—?"
"I'm afraid your cousin is still petrified. You had a… concerning reaction to it. Do you remember?"
He nodded slowly, feeling ashamed.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be, love," said Poppy.
"But I—"
"You had a perfectly normal reaction to a stressful situation. Don't worry about it, okay?"
He hummed in agreement, knowing better than to say otherwise to the healer.
"Now, you've seen magically exhausted students before so you know what's coming, right?"
"Three days of rest, no magic, and no heavy food? And um, no visitors."
"Exactly."
"Okay," he sighed. "But. Can I see Gemma? And um, my glasses?"
"Your glasses broke when your magic lashed out. Your guardian sent a new pair, it should arrive tomorrow. I would like you to stay in bed today, but you can spend time at her bedside tomorrow, how does that sound?"
"Great," he whispered, his voice breaking a little. "Just great."
The next three days passed slowly. He tried not to think about professor Snape saving him from himself and instead his mind tortured itself with possible reasons why the Heir could have attacked Gemma. It didn't seem to fit his normal targets. But, he thought, Terence had been there. The Argentum Rex was considered a half-blood only by technicality, and most purists didn't acknowledge it. It was very likely that his cousin had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. He tried to resent the boy for it, but he couldn't bring himself to. He knew it wasn't his fault, and that Gemma would hate it if he made her boyfriend upset. Knowing that he wouldn't get to talk to her for another three months before she would be healed —and he hoped the wards around the greenhouse were more resistant than the ones in Snape's office— hurt. Poppy tried to distract him with theoretical lessons, but he couldn't focus.
He spent his time staring at his cousin's frozen expression. Her eyes were downcast, immobilised in a resigned expression, and her mouth was still forming the last syllable of the mirroring charm she had used. Harry hadn't realised how important Gemma had become to him. She had taken him under her wing, worn a crown to protect him and his, and offered him support and love he had never gotten before. Before he had thought that having a sibling would be similar to the way Dudley treated him, but Gemma had proven him wrong. She was his sister in all the ways that mattered.
After three days, he had to leave the infirmary. He did it with reluctance, unwilling to part with his cousin. But Poppy told him it wasn't healthy to stay, and he left just in time for another painful session with the mind healer. Healer Merrythought pried him open, digging out his feelings on the situation in a way that left him both reeling and thankful. He was glad to have someone to help him sort his thoughts out, though he wished it wasn't so mentally taxing.
Blaise welcomed him back in the Slytherin common room with a grim expression and a comforting squeeze of his shoulder. He let Tracey and Daphne hug him, but he couldn't hold back a grimace when his magic writhed behind his skin, eager to be let out again. He wrestled it back under control and sat next to Theo, who just offered him a sympathetic glance before handing him a copy of the lessons and exercises he had missed. He looked it over for the rest of the afternoon, only stopping when one of the first years offered him some well-wishes. Of the Argentum court, only Adrian came to him as a representative of all of them; having lost their Regina was a harsh blow to their rule, and they had spent the last three days fending off attacks and snide comments. The Avery girl had cursed Terence badly enough in their duel that he still had a scar on his cheekbones, though he had retaliated with an uncharacteristic viciousness. Flint hadn't made his move, which was suspicious.
"Malfoy looks happy too," Blaise worriedly when he mentioned it. "He's been crowing all day about how you completely lost it because your muggle-lover cousin was petrified," he added with a careful tone, his eyes riveted on his best friend's expression. Harry's quill snapped in his finger, and Theo took it from him, letting him calm himself down. Blaise only continued after Harry was untensed. "The Avery boy and Flint haven't been seen all day, and some seventh years are missing."
They didn't figure out why until later in the evening when Malfoy abruptly stood with his court at his back. He strode over the common room, stopping at the passageway which had just opened to let in Flint, Avery and—
"Rowle?"
Harry's gaze led him to the Argentum court's seat, where Safaa was also staring at the entrance. He stood, pushing his glasses up his nose, and gestured at his friends to follow. The first years followed him too, as well as some of the ones who had knelt for Gemma and Terence at the beginning of their reign. He stopped behind Gemma's Spinea seat, his court at his side, and waited until the others arranged themselves behind them. While they were doing this, Flint and Malfoy were flanking Rowle as he advanced towards Terence's seat. To his credit, the boy didn't look happy to be there. He was staring at Safaa with an intensely apologetic expression, and it wasn't difficult to realise he was being blackmailed. But that hardly mattered when he pronounced the words of challenge in front of the entirety of Slytherin, breaking his girlfriend's heart in the process.
Terence snorted before settling down the book he had been reading.
"That is how you want to play it, then, Flint? A puppet king to warm the throne until I'm no longer there to challenge you for it?" It was a good strategy, Harry supposed, if a bit pathetic. Terence would probably not be able to hold the court in his seventh year, so if Flint inherited it from Rowle it would make more sense to wait to graduate instead of challenging him for it. Everyone had seen the disaster William Robards had been when he'd decided to hold onto it instead of gifting it to someone else. Terence shook his head, the sixth year's expression turning pitying. "Well, then, let's see what your doll is worth."
Aspen cocked his head, an interested gleam in his eye. The boy had been looking feral since Gemma's petrification according to Daphne, and Harry could see it in the way his wand kept twirling in his hand.
"I think you'll have a proper challenge."
Theo stirred next to Harry. The Potter heir knew his friend enough to know he was worried.
Everyone in Slytherin knew that Rowle had been better at duelling than Langley, but that she'd established her supremacy by taking control of the girls in her dorm. Rowle was unambitious for a Slytherin, and she had profited from it.
But it didn't mean that Terence wasn't just as good. Harry only worried that his nerves wouldn't stand another duel. It had been the third only that day, and while his anger over what happened to Gemma being channeled into violence had helped, Terence was ultimately a Light wizard. His magic listened to him best when he was level-headed.
They all reconvened in the duelling room and observed Terence and Rowle bow to each other. Harry walked up to Safaa and discretely took her hand in support. He had been the only one who knew and her best friend wasn't there, so he had to support her. The girl looked at him, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears before she took a deep breath and her expression blanked.
"Begin," announced Aspen.
And spells flew around the room. They watched in tense silence as Terence traded a disarming curse for a bone-breaker, side-stepped a sick yellow light, and sent back a volley of rocks transfigured into birds before casting a shield. The birds exploded into sharp shards that didn't phase Rowle as he charmed them into needles who zeroed in on his opponent and used a spell Harry didn't recognise.
"The Conjunctivitis curse," hissed Adrian when he looked up in askance.
The force of the curse shattered Terence's shield but didn't reach his head; Harry sighed in relief. His cousin's boyfriend sent a mean grin to Rowle before he murmured a long incantation.
Aspen whistled.
"That's a Shacklebolt spell. They used it on slave traders to replicate the pain the people they'd saved from the trade had to endure."
Harry remembered Safaa mentioning that. The Shacklebolt family was an Ancient Nubian House. A branch of them had changed their name in solidarity with the victims of the transatlantic trade when they had made it their mission to free as many of them as possible. This was back when the Statute of Secrecy wasn't as restrictive since muggle technology hadn't advanced to a point where pictures could be taken of wixen doing magic. The Shacklebolts had kept their name and worn it like a badge of pride, and it seemed that their grimoires were still full of the exploits of their ancestors.
Rowle flinched when the spell hit and hit his knee to the ground, but he rose back up after he took a short breath.
"His pain tolerance must be insane," muttered Adrian.
Safaa's hand tightened in his at that, and Harry could guess where exactly he had gained such an asset. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing. He understood better why Rowle had folded under Flint and Malfoy's pressure.
The duel grew in viciousness beyond what Langley had been capable of as Terence threw curse after curse after his opponent, giving him no time to breathe. But Rowle gave back as good as he got, his riposts increasingly tinged with the desperation of someone who had too much to lose, until he threw a strangling curse at Terence that levitated him off the ground, choking him. Harry took a step forward in alarm, but Safaa kept him from reaching the circle. It would have been useless anyway, he couldn't bypass the wards.
Rowle was panting, clutching at his severed arm with a harsh burn on his neck, but he was vindicated when Terence finally dropped his wand. The sound of it crashing to the ground resonated in the empty room, and it was soon echoed by Malfoy's crow of victory. Rowle annulled his active spells and lowered Terence to the ground.
"Rex Mortuus Est, Vivat Rex," announced Aspen, his expression blank. He was soon followed by the entirety of House Slytherin.
The dueling wards broke and Harry hurried to Terence's side, the diagnostic charm at the tip of his wand. The damage was extensive. Bruises, cuts, a broken leg, and a possibly punctured lung, he noted with increasing panic. This was much worse than the duel with Langley.
Duels in Slytherin were meant to be performed with the acknowledgment that no one outside the House must be aware of what had taken place, and professor Snape could only be called to intervene in extreme circumstances. The man had been on the warpath to find the person who had destroyed the vials of restorative draught since Gemma's petrification and had thus been incredibly moody. Harry couldn't imagine how displeased he would be to be disturbed over something like this. Besides, what if Rowle died from blood loss before the man could even get there, thought the healer frantically.
Harry took a deep breath. He set out to heal what he could while instructing Aspen on the potions they would need when someone tugged harshly at his shoulder.
"Heal your king first," snapped Flint before cursing at his burnt fingertips.
Harry exchanged a look with Terence, but the older boy was nodding in assent, enjoining him to do as Flint said. The Potter heir cast a stasis charm on his ribcage before standing up toward Rowle.
"I don't know how to reattach severed limbs," he said flatly.
"Do what you can," growled Avery. "We'll call Snape if we have to, but that will be on you."
Harry distantly heard Malfoy complain about letting the pauper lord touch their Argentum Rex, but he could tell he wouldn't be listened to. Outside from a seventh-year Ravenclaw and fifth-year Hufflepuff, he was currently the only apprentice healer at Hogwarts at the moment. Slytherin would have to make do. He cast a small sleeping spell at Rowle and disinfected their surroundings. He methodically cleaned Rowle's wounds and closed the ones he could, asked for bruise and burn paste, and blood-replenisher. Those were always stocked in preparation for student duels. He then set out to preserve the nerves on his new Rex's arm, calling forth memories of Ser Peregrine's teaching. Poppy would kill him for this if she knew, he thought. He gulped when Flint handed him Rowle's arm and resolved not to look at the boy's face as he started reattaching it, regrowing muscle and skin while conjuring an improvised set for the bone.
"We'll need some Skele-gro and some better nerve reconstructing potion or he won't be able to use this arm," he murmured before immobilising the arm completely and summoning a cast. "That's the best I can do for now."
He bandaged the other wounds before breathing out a shaky sigh. That was horrible.
Draco watched, dumbfounded, as Potter reattached Rowle's entire arm back into its socket and rattled off the number of potions needed to make his temporary healing hold. The boy kept glancing at the cast with a frown like he had done a shoddy job, but the Malfoy heir was surprised their new rex was even actually alive. Twice, the Avery girl —Josephine, was it? — had to be convinced not to fetch Snape, who would have surely gutted the entire court system if he'd learnt how badly Rowle and Higgs had been damaged.
In truth, they had resigned themselves to the very likely possibility of punishment. They had only told Potter to heal him so they could shun him for his failure, but he had done it. And now there he was, staring at Flint defiantly and demanding to the new lieutenant to let him finish healing Higgs.
"He's our age," murmured Sally-Anne next to him. "How did he even do that?"
Draco opened his mouth to respond, then closed it immediately. He had no idea what to respond.
"It doesn't matter," barked Marcus. "We won. Who will do the honours?"
Right, they had to announce the first edict. Rowle should be the one to do it normally, but he was in no state to do so. Macmillan was already running around everywhere to find the necessary potions without having to ask professor Snape. They probably would have to anyway, but if they could minimise the damage beforehand Snape wouldn't have to invoke the Rex Ex Machina rule — the king from the machine, giving the Head of Slytherin the reins of the Argentum court if the students were deemed incapable to self-govern until he chose an appropriate successor at the end of the year. It had only happened thrice, and Draco wouldn't be able to stand the humiliation if it happened a fourth time while he was a student at Hogwarts.
"I'll do it," he decided.
He stood next to Rowle's unconscious form and cleared his throat. Most of Slytherin was still there, either staring at Potter or waiting for something to happen. Good, he'd have their attention then.
"As the Argentum Rex' left hand," he said with the appropriate gravitas, "I proclaim Spencer Rowle a Rex Bellator."
The warrior king proclamation was essentially a delegation rule, stating that the Argentum Rex would fight and his lieutenants would rule. This had been the entire point of choosing Rowle. With Draco as his left hand and Marcus as his right; the man would have to do nothing but wait as his final year ended while the two of them presided over his court. Draco thought he had been very lucky to decide to get down to the corridor leading to the common room and wait for Potter to come back that night in December. Finding out the scion of House Rowle pined after a Light witch had been a boon, and Marcus had seen the sense in using that to secure the throne as Rowle's successor instead of challenging Higgs. Considering how their duel had gone, Draco didn't think Marcus would have won.
The Malfoy heir glanced at Potter who was still trying to do something about Higgs' damaged lung. His rival was floundering, having evidently not come across something like this in his lessons. Draco would have liked to announce a second edict about the little upstart, but Marcus caught his gaze and shook his head.
"Not now."
Right. Draco could wait.
Ginny had been so relieved to hear the mandrake restorative draughts were ready. Seeing Colin back on his feet had saved her sanity, especially as she had been feeling so guilty over what happened to one of her best friends. She wasn't stupid; she'd been able to tell the time she was missing from her memories corresponded with the moments a petrification had occurred. She had tried to tell someone, but her tongue always choked up once she tried. She was terrified. But Diggory had started his campaign and she'd thought that was it. Tom would stop now that he knew his plan had been thwarted, surely?
She had underestimated him. She didn't know how he had been strong enough to destroy the wards placed around the potions in Snape's office —whose stock was closed to the student outside of classes— but he had managed it and now someone had been attacked again. She'd heard Neville say that it was Harry's cousin too and that the boy had freaked out so bad upon finding out that there weren't any draughts left that he had lost control of his magic. Ginny felt horrible. She tried again to tell Percy, or walk to Professor Dumbledore's office to denounce herself but Tom always stopped her before she could. Ginny was going crazy, and she was so, so scared. She didn't know how long she could last under his influence before he killed someone.
She needed to get rid of the diary, and fast.