"What have you decided?" asked Daphne, not one to beat around the bush.
Her arms were crossed against her chest and she looked like she was resisting the urge to tap her foot against the floor. Tracey's lips twitched at the sight of her petulant friend, but she forced herself to focus on Harry.
The boy took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the ball of his palms.
"I wish I hadn't been tricked into it," he sighed. "I wish we'd taken the time last year to plan things out from the moment we decided to go against Malfoy."
Tracey looked away to hide the shame on her face. For a snake, she had difficulty masking her emotions.
She knew she wasn't a conventional Slytherin. She had asked the Hat to put her there because Daphne belonged in that House. It had originally suggested Hufflepuff. She had watched her year mates in yellow since the beginning of first year. She understood why.
Tracey didn't find herself particularly ambitious or cunning but she took pride in being good at reading people. Daphne wasn't; they compensated for each other's weaknesses. She had failed to read Harry though.
In truth, she had voted to tell him at the time. But she didn't want to mention that when in the end she had judged it harmless to let the others have their way. In hindsight, it was obvious that Harry would have wanted them to talk about it. When they'd met in first year, he was the most honest out of all of them. Later, Tracey heard his muggle family had lied to him about his parents. She guessed that kind of thing left its marks.
Theo and Daphne didn't lie much. Theo because he would rather not speak at all if given the choice and Daphne because she didn't see it as necessary. She was blunt to a fault. Tracey admired that even if she liked her white lies.
Blaise, though. He lied all the time and often for no reason at all. He lied to the professors by purposefully making mistakes to see if he could manipulate his grade average, to his family by inventing anecdotes that had never happened, and to their year mates about everything under the sun. He fluttered around other friend groups when he wasn't with them and lied with every breath while managing not to contradict himself even once. He made a game of it. It was habit to him, borne from his years in Mezzogiorno's court where no one was honest with him if they could help it.
Harry found Blaise's games amusing. He disliked lying but he wasn't inflexible. He knew it was necessary to wixen and to Slytherins especially, and he admired the skill even if he didn't use it much. He never begrudged his habits. But that had probably been because he thought his best friend wouldn't lie to him, especially not about such important things.
Judging by the regret in the Italian prince's eyes, he had realised that too.
"That's too late though," continued Harry. "And I get you wanted to ease me into it, to make it my choice. But I don't want to be manipulated by my friends." His expression tightened for an instant before it cleared. "I hope it won't happen again. Especially if you're going to put a bloody crown on my head."
His smirk had a wry edge to it but they brightened at what was essentially an agreement. Daphne and Blaise exchanged a triumphant smile. They were the ones who wanted it the most, after all.
"It won't," vowed Theo.
The rest of them nodded. If Harry was to be their leader, they should treat him as such. And that meant clear communication.
"And we're sorry," said Tracey. She knew Daphne wouldn't apologise, she was bad at it, and since Blaise and Theo had already done so, she was the only one left.
The Potter heir's shoulders relaxed. "Thank you."
"So you're sure you'll do it?" asked Blaise.
Their leader hummed. "You were right. I set myself up for it. I might as well follow through."
Daphne worked on putting her hair in a tight bun, twirling loose strands with her wand to curl them around her face. Tracey knew she did it to occupy her hands. The previous tension had taken a toll on her, even if she wouldn't admit it. "Good to know you've figured it out," she exclaimed in her worst imitation of Pansy Parkinson's nasally voice. Her brows furrowed. "I can't find a name equivalent to Drakey-poo. What should I call you, esteemed leader?"
Harry shook in exaggerated shudders, his lips quirking up in his mirth as they all laughed.
"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. Now." His smile turned devilish. "We have a sabotage to plan."
"Malfoy."
Draco rose his head from the Transfiguration homework he was doing to see Zabini, Nott and Greengrass watching him outside of the study corner. He put down his quill.
"Zabini. Nott. Greengrass," he acknowledged, carefully studying their expressions.
Greengrass looked frigid as ever, Nott supremely disinterested. Still, they stood behind Zabini. They had set foot in the common room for the first time in two months — outside of the times they'd come with Snape to protect Potter after he'd been summoned to heal some duellists, but considering the fact that they hadn't stayed longer than a handful of minutes at each instance, he wasn't sure it counted — and they were deferring to the Italian prince.
He quite liked this turn of events.
"After our little… discussion the other day, Theo, Daphne and I thought there was something you might like to see."
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"Is that so?"
Zabini inspected his nails, ignoring the way Draco's court leaned forward in interest. The fifth-years were getting closer to, bracketing the trio to hear what they had to offer.
"It's a good time for a stroll, isn't it? And I've heard dragons like to add to their hoards. You might want to join us and see if there is any treasure to be found."
"I know you Zabinis and Malfoys share a common passion for gold but surely you both have enough of it?" asked Greengrass, raising an eyebrow.
Draco commended the performance. The metaphors were a nice touch, and the back-and-forth proved that the three scions of Great Houses stood together. He spared a thought for the commoner who usually trailed behind Greengrass but he soon dismissed it.
They probably thought it wiser to leave the rabble behind.
"Ah, you're right. Malfoy and his court might not be interested in shiny trinkets."
"House Nott hoards secrets," hummed the heir of the aforementioned House, his dark eyes finally resting on Draco's face. He found them as unsettling as when they were kids, playing in their manors' gardens while the adults talked. They gleamed in shades of brown in the sunlight, but in the shadows of the dungeons, they were abysses sucking in the meagre light in the common room. "Maybe that would be more to your liking?"
"Do they have to act so creepy," muttered Morgan Avery, the seventh-year finally joining them.
Draco agreed but he preferred it this way. The three Slytherins had blunted their edges by staying with Potter, the fact that they were showing themselves as the predators they were was a good sign.
And if he was offered an invitation to their den… well.
He would be a fool to refuse it.
"Are you sure about this, Ulrich?"
The man levitated the pitcher of milk to his teacup, his expression pensive.
"I am. I know it's a time commitment but it's not like I'm lacking any of that. I've retired after all, and unlike you, I have no Lordly duty to occupy myself."
Landon chuckled. "Admit it, you've been bored out of your mind since you retired."
"You're right. The most excitement I've had outside of the times Harry is at home was when he owled me about smuggling a squib out of the Carrow estate."
His cousin and Lord shook his head at the reminder.
Ulrich laughed. "I know, I know. And to think this scheme comes from your granddaughter."
"Young folks get such wild ideas, they would make me go grey if that wasn't already a done thing."
"The white hairs on your head were all the work of Edward, Philip and Marian."
Landon's expression turned pained at the mention of his deceased daughter but Ulrich knew his cousin felt sadder when the dear girl's existence wasn't acknowledged. Pretending she hadn't existed was worse than being reminded of what happened to her.
"Gemma gives all three a run for their galleons. But I'm proud of her." He sipped at his tea, appreciating the scent of bergamot. Ulrich preferred spicier blends but Landon had always been traditional. "And you're proud of your little one too. He's the reason why you're doing this after all."
Ulrich turned the little teardrop pendant at his ear, his eyes fond. The pair of earrings were a present from Harry for his birthday. The teardrops contained a little of the boy's magic, like a storm in a bottle. It was a thoughtful gift. "He is. But I think Esmaeel would have convinced me anyway. The standards of Hogwarts have lowered since we were students there, and Albus' fan club doesn't seem inclined to do anything about it."
Landon huffed. "For progressives, they seem weirdly intent on letting our children stagnate. Professor Binns was boring us to death even when he was alive but he at least kept his prejudices to himself." He paused. "You know, I think us old fools have been leaving the new generation to sort themselves out for too long. Maybe it's time to remind everyone that the elders can still advocate for change instead of squabbling about everything under the sun."
Ulrich chuckled.
"And how do you plan to do that? Leaving you and Augusta Longbottom in the same room is an exercise in patience and you two are from the same faction."
"Are we?" challenged his cousin. "Because it doesn't seem like she represents our interests. The woman puts herself at odds with Albus when they meet but always bends to his whims in the Wizengamot, and you know the fool's deepest desire is to see the wixen world as Light as during the Age of Merlin. There is no Avalon to give refuge to Dark wixen anymore. And the Fawleys might be Light but that wasn't by design. My wife is a Grey-Dark Prewett if you remember."
"Albus hasn't mentioned the Enlightened Path since the seventies, Landon," corrected Ulrich.
The Enlightened Path was a doctrine dating from mediaeval times. Its followers believed that wixen society as a whole should strive to shape their cores to be as Light as possible until Dark affinities saw no chance of resurfacing anymore. There were few practitioners and those who believed in it knew to keep quiet. It was in bad taste to claim half of the wixen population should change a fundamental part of themselves. And that was not even considering magical creatures. It also brought back bad memories to the older population. The younger generations might not remember but Ulrich's father had been a veteran of the war against the Light Lady who called herself Lightbringer.
Ulrich didn't think Albus was a devoted follower of that doctrine, though some of his talking points seemed dangerously close to it at several points of his career in the public sphere.
"He's been pretty tame in political circles since then."
Landon huffed.
"Tame is a nice way to say he's acted like a spineless coward, hoarding positions of power without doing anything with them. That he stopped preaching doesn't mean he doesn't believe. He's been determined to avoid the rise of another Dark Liege since Grindelwald's arrest, that's why he took the position of Supreme Mugwump in the ICW. When You-Know-Who announced himself Albus realised his attempts weren't doing anything so he switched to doing damage control."
"I have a theory about that actually. I told you about what Harry wrote me, yes?"
Ulrich had hated hearing about the possible rise of You-Know-Who and the possession of a first-year by a teenage imprint of the Dark Lord, but he commended his boy for his honesty. He only wished Harry had been comfortable enough with him to mention it directly after the events of his first year. Knowing that Neville Longbottom was a target and that Harry had decided to stand at his side was not helping his old nerves.
But he would let the youth make their own choices and support them as much as he could, whether it meant joining the Board of Governors, assisting in the kidnapping of the scion of a Dark House or facing off against You-Know-Who himself.
He continued after Landon's nod. "I think it was finding out that You-Know-Who came from his own school that did it. That's why Dark spells have been steadily disappearing from the curriculum. He wants to cut the problem at what he perceives to be the source."
"He should get new glasses, that's all I have to say about it."
Ulrich chuckled. He pointed at his own eyes with a sigh. "Ah, but Landon, he's not the only one getting near-sighted."
They had only been walking for a few minutes when they were stopped by Patil of all people. She was coming out of professor Snape's office, folded pieces of parchment in hand and a quill tucked behind her ear. She reminded Draco of Granger at that moment, though she wore it better.
Not that it was difficult. She might be Light, but she was a Pureblood witch, leagues away from the irritating mudblood.
"You're hanging out with Malfoy now, Blaise?" asked the Ravenclaw girl with unconcealed disgust.
"Who gave you permission to speak, mongrel?" spat Pansy.
Draco winced. Mother told him racism was a muggle thing, he didn't know how the Ancient and Noble Parkinsons had ended up favouring it. British culture was superior, but it just wasn't done to speak to foreigners like this. This kind of language was reserved for filthy half-breeds and mudbloods.
He couldn't tell her off here, though, or it would make it look like he didn't know how to reign in his subjects.
Patil raised her wand and intoned what could only be a Marathi curse. Draco wondered if he should stop her, but he saw his new allies angling their bodies in her direction.
He hummed.
Better to let it happen. She deserved it, after all.
Pansy shrieked and brought a hand up to mask her mouth. She was too late; they all witnessed her tongue shifting to look like a snake's. The Malfoy heir raised an eyebrow. That was an impressive human transfiguration. A family spell, probably.
The girl whirled around and pointed her wand at Zabini. "We'll talk about this later, Blaise."
"There isn't much to talk about," he said.
Patil's eyes narrowed before she huffed and turned on her heels, though not before sending a filthy look at Zabini. The Italian prince was burning bridges. Draco chanced a glance at him. His expression was not the least bit regretful.
"Goyle, take Pansy to the infirmary." As his vassal passed him by with the girl in tow, he leaned to whisper in her ear, careful not to get too close to her hissing mouth. "You're lucky Zabini decided to let Patil take care of it, or you would have cost us our allies. Think before you speak, Pansy."
She nodded with wide eyes.
"Good girl. Now go."
Marcus snorted as Pansy exited the corridor. "You have that girl on a leash, it's kind of pathetic."
Gerald leered. "You'll appreciate that more in a few years." He yelped as his older sister sent him a stinging hex.
Draco hummed but didn't respond. His mother would skin him alive if he dared speak about witches like this. The Avery boy should know better. "Shall we go?" he asked Zabini.
The prince and his companions were watching his court with a disdain that would have him bristling in other circumstances, but he had to admit it was deserved. Rowle looked disgusted too.
Zabini nodded and wordlessly led them through another corridor. Draco had never been so deep inside the dungeons. He exchanged an unsettled look with the rest of his court. Only Marcus and Morgan had retained their composure. Gerald's eyes were darting in every which way, jumping at shadows, and he was blatantly clinging to his sister's robe.
"I don't like this, Draco," said Sally-Anne, who had been quiet until then.
He scoffed with a bravado he definitely didn't feel. "Don't be a coward Sally. Think of the rewards."
If his voice trembled, no one had anything to say about it.
Though he swore he saw Greengrass snicker, the shrew.
"We're here," announced Nott, stopping in front of a tapestry.
Draco examined it. Unlike the dusted corridors, it was completely clean though not particularly tasteful. It depicted a grotesque-looking wizard kissing the hand of a fae. The creature's gigantic ears fluttered with pleasure and it offered the ugly wizard a grin with too many teeth before dragging him into a dance. The Malfoy heir shuddered.
Zabini tapped his wand on the tapestry three times and the nightmarish embroidery stopped moving. The cloth rolled itself up, revealing a wooden door behind it.
Draco looked at it dubiously.
"You've been sleeping there for two months?" said Marcus, echoing his incredulity.
"You didn't exactly give us a choice, Flint," snapped Greengrass, stomping forward. She opened the door and strode inside.
The Malfoy heir raised an eyebrow. Huh, the ice queen had character. He could use that.
They followed her into the hidden door, wands ready. Draco blinked a few times to get accustomed to the change in lighting.
They were faced with a narrow room with sad-looking beds and trunks stuck next to each other. There were weird metal contraptions on the walls and what looked like dried blood on the floorboards. It looked even sadder than the place his family's house elves slept in. Draco turned askance to the trio, only to realise that they hadn't stepped away from the door, leaving their backs to the wall. They were grinning with more malice than he'd ever seen on a human face. He looked at them in dawning comprehension.
"Have fun," mouthed Zabini before stepping out of the door, which turned back into a wall.
He didn't have time to shout a warning before Crabbe took a step toward one of the beds. The loud clinch of a mechanism screamed into the silent room, and the trap sprung.
"Psst."
Neville startled at the feeling of a finger tapping his shoulder. He whirled around and found no one. He blinked a few times, wondering if he'd somehow attracted the ire of Peeves lately — very likely, considering the times Ron had insulted the poltergeist in his hearing only to have the terror dogging their steps for a week straight — before it dawned on him that he recognised this voice. It belonged to the only person he knew who possessed an invisibility cloak.
He resisted the urge to facepalm at the realisation and put down the potted plant he had been fussing over.
"Was that necessary?" he groaned.
Harry chuckled, lifting the cloak off of him and a smirking Davies. "No, but it was funny."
Neville stood up and gestured at his godbrother's companion.
"Is it time then?"
"Yes," confirmed Davies, bouncing lightly on her feet. "Adrian sent the signal, Malfoy and his goons are otherwise occupied. They'll let them stew for a while before facing them. Then it'll be time for phase three."
"I can't believe it worked," breathed out Neville disbelievingly. "I know Malfoy can be a little dumb when it comes to you Harry, but the whole thing is so obviously a trap."
Davies and Harry snickered.
"I know," exclaimed his godbrother. "But to be fair, he probably didn't expect Blaise to douse himself in Trust-My-Word potions. They're Safaa's invention," he explained at Neville's confusion. He'd never heard of anything like that. "It's kind of similar to what Lockhart had been using but way less concentrated. It makes people more susceptible to what you're saying but it doesn't make them like you automatically. And it works better if the people subjected to it want to believe what you tell them."
"That's pretty cool," sighed Neville. "I wish I was good at potions."
He and Davies exchanged a commiserating look. She also had issues in Snape's class.
They waited for him to finish putting away his herbology tools and closing the greenhouse he spent most of the time he wasn't with Ron and Hermione in before draping the cloak over him.
"Where did they take them again? I'm not sure if you told me that," he whispered, more to get used to talking in a low voice than because anyone was around.
"I forgot. There's a tapestry with a hidden door in the dungeons. It's a creepy place so no one goes there but Terence knew about it because he read Hogwarts, A History."
Harry laughed softly at Neville's horrified look. "I know, you couldn't pay me to read that book. It's the driest thing I've ever seen. But Terence's a history nerd, so…"
"Makes sense."
"The room used to be a discipline room for naughty children," explained Tracey. "From back when corporal punishment was still allowed at Hogwarts. The sixth-years have had to do a lot of renovating to make it look like a place we could have reasonably spent time in, and even then it still looks gloomy."
"The biggest issue was actually avoiding Filch. He goes to that room from time to time apparently. I guess he's daydreaming about actually getting to give us more than detention."
The three of them exchanged a revolted look. It was difficult to feel any sympathy for the school's caretaker. He hated children and no one was really sure why he worked at Hogwarts. Land elves were employed to take care of the castle and grounds, and paid extra to cook and clean for the students. Hogwarts was so old and saturated with magic it was the most sought-after place of employment for those creatures.
The only thing Filch did was chase students out after curfew, and that wasn't even the main part of his job description. He was a strange man.
They reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room in relative silence.
"It would have been more convenient to come at night," mumbled Tracey as Harry murmured the password. It was Devil's Snare this week, which made Neville smile a little.
"It would," agreed Harry. "We could have waited for Malfoy and the others to be asleep; there would have been no need to lure them away from here. But we're not just trying to stop the Argentum court from abusing their power, we want them to leave us alone."
They shuffled through the narrow entrance. Their need to remain covered by the cloak made it a little awkward, but they made it work. Neville glanced around; no one was looking.
The Slytherin students looked restless, most likely because of the Argentum court's absence. Harry led them to the centre of the common room, ignoring the people present. He murmured a clear air charm, pointing his wand at the three of them before smirking and digging into his pockets. He pulled out two packages which Neville recognised immediately.
The Weasley twins had been right terrors since they'd found out about Ginny's health issues. They'd been especially vicious towards Malfoy's clique, but anyone who made the mistake of saying anything bad about their little sister within their hearing ended up regretting it. Worse, Percy didn't take off points despite remonstrating them, which was basically an endorsement on his part.
They'd set off the dungbombs Harry was holding a few times in Snape's class because of ill-advised comments, and anyone who had classes in the dungeons was very familiar with the smell of them. Ron had been impressed and asked his brothers to show them how they looked so Neville could identify them on sight.
Harry offered him a crooked grin as his eyes widened; he threw them in two opposite directions.
Shocked and disgusted exclamations rang out into the room, and the students ran outside.
"Let's go," said Tracey.
Neville followed them to the Argentum throne presiding over the resting area. It was an odd-looking armchair of silver metal engraved with glowing runes and coiled serpents, the seat itself made of deep green velvet. The extravagance of it stood out among the more sedate and plush-looking green and black sofas that made up the rest of the seats, but it looked less terrifying than Neville had imagined.
He definitely didn't like the look of the sculpture of a snake head at the top, though. The animal was way too close to the hypothetical sitting rex's neck for comfort, and the size of the head compared to the other engravings reminded him of the imposing sight of the basilisk. He still had nightmares about the Chamber of Secrets.
He shuddered at the thought.
"You're sure it will let me? I'm a Gryffindor."
"It doesn't matter. You're a Parselmouth first."
"Besides," chimed in Davies. "Snakes' vision is bichromatic. They see blue, green and the colours within their spectrum, but not red. If anything, it will think you're a Hufflepuff."
"Oh, I didn't know that. Thanks, Davies."
"Call me Tracey," she chirped. "It's about time one of us starts to make nice with Harry's godbrother. The chilly tension will only be getting more awkward with the years."
Neville caught Harry's fond glance at his friend and smiled. "Sure. You're free to call me by my name too. Now let's get to it before professor Snape starts running in."
He took a deep breath and approached the throne. "Hello."
"A speaker," exclaimed the smaller serpents running up the length of the throne's feet. "A speaker!"
The snake head hissed before it moved. Its body appeared out of the throne, elongating to greet him. Its eyes were closed when it said, "Hello, speaker."
Neville winced. That was definitely the basilisk, he thought.
The creature scented the air before making a sound of detached curiosity.
"Ah," it said. "A swordmage. I haven't seen one of those since the fifteenth century."
"What? I'm— I'm not a sword— I don't even have a sword!" exclaimed Neville. He winced at the resurfacing of his speech impediment. If his grandmother found out, she would force him to drink speech-correcting potions again. He could still hear her clucking, "we can't have a Boy-Who-Lived who stutters."
The sculpture looked profoundly unimpressed.
"And yet the magic of Godric's sword clings to you."
That was news to him.
"That was— that was one time!"
Ah, this situation was so stressful. But he owed Harry for his support. He straightened his shoulders, his gaze turning serious.
"It doesn't matter, that's not what I'm here for. The throne's commands, can you tell me what they are?"
The list was long and horrifying. The description of what would be done to a muggleborn sitting on the throne wasn't the worst of it, but it definitely rattled him. Learning that new magic was identifiable was worrying, though, he would have to talk about it with Hermione. She might know why that was. He couldn't even begin to guess. He knew that Terence Higgs was the son of a squib and a muggle and that had visibly been enough to spare him. It was baffling.
But for now, he had to get rid of those clauses.
The basilisk hummed like he was reading his thoughts.
"You cannot override them all, swordmage."
Neville sighed. Of course it wouldn't be so easy.
He relayed the information to Harry who was staring at him with undisguised curiosity. The boy tapped his index finger to his bottom lip, his expression pensive.
"How many can we change?"
Neville repeated the question to the basilisk.
"You can erase seven of your choice and replace them with three."
Both magical numbers, he noted. The amounts didn't make sense to him, he remembered his grandmother saying that it was easier to do things with magic than it was to undo them. He wouldn't complain, though. It gave them some leeway.
He consulted with Harry and Tracey again. Once this was done, he turned back to the throne. His breath hitched as he noticed the other engravings had slithered up the throne and were staring at him, coiled around the basilisk's silver body. Their eyes were opened and gleaming with green stones he hadn't noticed until then.
Neville was only relieved that the basilisk's eyes were still shut.
"Let's start by removing the one that slowly kills muggle-borns if they try to sit on there, shall we?"
The creature hissed in agreement, seeming unbothered with the idea. He shouldn't be surprised. Why would a throne care about the blood of those who sat on it?
"And the control the Rex has over the Slytherin quarters, that has to go," he said.
He could see so many ways a rule like that could go wrong.
"Those are two different rules," hissed the sculpture. "One for the common room, one for the dormitory."
"Cheers. Three done, four to go then. How about getting rid of all the rules related to murder and maiming?"
The basilisk looked very unimpressed for a sentient lump of metal who couldn't even open its eyes. "That goes beyond the amount of rules you are allowed to remove."
"The number of rules is a rule in and of itself," mumbled Neville. "Can you remove it?"
"Nice try, swordmage, but I am a Founder's relic reshaped by the will of Mortimer Gaunt. I do not cater to loopholes."
Neville sighed. "Thought so."
"Remove the most harmful then add a no harm clause," reminded Harry. "If we can't erase all the potential damage we might as well minimise it. Contradicting rules probably cancel each other's effects, which is good enough."
"Right."
It took a few more minutes of bargaining before both he and the throne were satisfied. Thankfully, it seemed like Mortimer Gaunt was not a horrible person; the basilisk seemed pretty willing to endorse changes to protect the students. Neville managed to remove the most dictatorial enchantments and add effects that would hopefully stop the House of snakes from being such a violent cesspit of horrors.
"You have one clause left to add," hissed the throne head.
"Make it count," whispered the other engravings.
Neville took a deep breath. This one, Harry had left it at his discretion, arguing that an outsider's point of view of what made a good Argentum rex was valuable.
The Longbottom Lord thought his godbrother meant it as a show of trust, a way to prove that his input was wanted. Neville appreciated it.
After he gave his clause, the basilisk laughed and opened its eyes. Neville stiffened, but nothing came to him. He stared into the sculpture's glowing white eyes, mesmerised by the opalescent gleam.
"You truly are a son of Gawain. Very well, swordmage. I await the crowning of your chosen king." The creature turned towards Harry. Neville held his breath. "I hope you will not disappoint me when the time comes, medicus rex."