Harry Potter is turning out even more interesting than Gemma had imagined, and she's pleased with herself. She had known that approaching him on the train was a good idea, or at the least that it wouldn't hurt, but she had never expected how much he would accomplish in so little time. By the end of September, he's secured a place on the Quidditch team—after performing very well in the tryouts—and, on the first of October, Draco Malfoy's hair turns pumpkin orange in the middle of a second-year Charms class and he fails to reverse it for a full two days. No one had seen Harry draw a wand, and when Zabini openly questions him about how he'd done it at dinner, he just smiles, shrugs, and says, "Who says I did it?"
Gemma is fairly sure he hadn't. Colour-changing charms of that power and longevity are third-year level, and Harry has never shown any strong aptitude for Charms. From what she was able to gather about him from her observations last year and her quiet investigation this year, he's very strong in Defence, skilled in Transfiguration (though fairly average in his grasp of theory), deft but not talented in Potions and Herbology, and decent but nothing to write home about in the other subjects. His talents seem to lie in practical, will-based magics, and while he certainly has the mind to excel at theory as well, he hadn't applied himself especially closely last year, only enough to achieve decent grades. This year he seems to have been studying harder, for which Gemma doesn't blame him at all—if her guardian were at school with her, especially if he was as intimidating as Lord Black, she'd study too.
Not that she doesn't. Indeed, she's been making a bit more effort in Defence herself. Something about Lord Black is very compelling, for all that she's not inclined to swoon over him like many of the other sixth-year girls (and some boys) are. He himself is half the reason she's so sure she'd made a good decision in allying with Harry; he'd pulled her aside after class a few weeks into term and expressed his appreciation, and she knows exactly how valuable that is. She's no fool.
Harry is well on his way to overthrowing Draco Malfoy as the up-and-coming Prince of Slytherin, and she wants it to be well clear to everyone, especially Harry, that she'd been behind him the entire time. Because she has been, since the very first day that a tiny, scruffy first-year with mussed hair and wary eyes behind round glasses had taken his seat at the Slytherin table. She doesn't know as much as she might like to know about Harry's history—he's as close-mouthed as a bloody clam about his home life, even his life with Lord Black—but she knows that there's something lurking there, had seen it right from the start, and she's always wanted to help him. Maybe that makes her soft, but better soft than the alternative. It's exciting to have the chance to finally step up and support him openly.
It's not even hard to do. She and her group of friends—Ayesha, Terrence, and Cassius—make a point to spend some time in the common room with Harry and his friends—Zabini and Nott, of course, but also increasingly Bulstrode, which is interesting. They help them out with homework, and Cassius starts teaching Harry how to play wizards' chess. Terrence makes social introductions for Harry with the rest of the Quidditch team as publicly as possible, and Harry starts spending time with them as well. Gemma and Ayesha stop restraining the urge to roll their eyes when Malfoy mouths off in their hearing, and while Gemma and Terrence both have duties as prefects, they finally allow themselves to ignore Malfoy's pettier tattling and complaints, which previously it had been politic at least to entertain. Tides within Slytherin House shift slowly, subtly, but it begins to happen even within the first two weeks of October, not least because Malfoy continues to be the subject of small-scale practical jokes. Each time, Harry is implicated, but from what Gemma can tell he's not actually responsible for any of it, and certainly not responsible in a way that allows any of the teachers to punish him. She thinks Professor Snape is probably keeping an eye on the situation, he always does, but he doesn't step in. Content to watch Malfoy get humiliated, maybe? On Harry's side? Waiting for him to make a mistake so that he can swoop in and deliver a brutal rebuke? Or just playing neutral? She can't quite tell. She never really can, with Professor Snape, for all that she's usually good with reading people.
At the end of the second week of October, things escalate. Malfoy is obviously on-edge, having spent the last two weeks with his hair or robes stained strange colours, or with all of his ties mysteriously missing, or off to the infirmary for treatment for the itching powder in his clothes. Once he spends a day where he's entirely normal, but everything he touches turns a bright colour, including other people's skin; everyone treats him like a leper until he's able to prove that it's not happening any more. He loses a number of points for uniform infractions, though the professors are obviously going easy on him, since it's clearly not his fault. It not being his fault doesn't make him any more popular within Slytherin for losing the points at all, though. And then, on the third Saturday of the month, Malfoy storms out of his dorm into the common room and shouts "Potter!"
Harry, who is playing chess with Cassius—where he has been all morning, while Malfoy had headed out a while ago to send letters at the Owlery, as he does every Saturday—looks up. "What, Malfoy?" he asks.
"What did you do to my dorm!"
Harry blinks, tilts his head. Gemma is sitting in an armchair by the fire and can see this all happening quite clearly, and she smirks.
"I didn't do anything," Harry says. "What's happened? Is something wrong?"
"Of course something's wrong! You've moved everything, or made the house elves do it!"
"House elves?" Harry asks, sounding genuinely bewildered. "Malfoy, what are you on about?"
"The Hogwarts house elves," Cassius cuts in, interrupting Malfoy, who is clearly building up a head of steam. "They do our laundry and such—they keep out of sight, usually."
Harry frowns, but he nods. "Well, I've never spoken to one, and I wasn't in your dorm, Malfoy."
"You can't prove that!" Malfoy shouts. He's attracting attention; everyone in the common room is now watching, Gemma confirms with a sweep of her eyes, though some more subtly than others. And a few people have trickled down out of the dorms, curious about the commotion. It's not especially busy in Slytherin today, but there are plenty of eyes and ears about.
"I can't prove I've never spoken to a house elf," Harry admits. "But I've been here in the common room all day; ask Warrington. Or Gemma, over there, she's been reading all morning."
"It's true," Gemma offers. "He came down to the common room around the time I did, did his homework, and has since been playing chess with Cassius. And honestly, Malfoy, the Hogwarts elves wouldn't help a student with some sort of prank even if you could summon them—which you can't."
Malfoy makes a noise that would perhaps be an intimidating growl on an older man, but on him it's fairly embarrassing. "Well, everything in my dorm is—is wrong, and someone did it! It has to have been him!"
"You've no grounds for that accusation," Harry says calmly. "So if you don't mind, I'll be going back to my game."
"But you—"
"Goodbye, Malfoy," Harry says. The blithe dismissal drags snorts of laughter from several of the spectators, including Gemma, and Malfoy's face goes even whiter than usual. He looks around, as if only just realizing how much of a scene he's made, then storms off again.
Gemma carefully sets her bookmark into the crease of her book, sets it aside, and gets up to drift over to the table where Harry and Cassius are going back to their game of chess as if nothing'd happened.
"Did you do something?" she asks, trying to make her tone stern, at least for form. She is a prefect, after all.
Harry glances up and her and shakes his head. "I didn't actually know Hogwarts had house elves," he says. "And anyway, why would I ask them to do something to Malfoy? I've never done anything to Malfoy in my life."
He looks so perfectly innocent. Gemma smirks; so does Cassius. "Of course," she says. "I see. Well, hopefully Terrence is sorting Malfoy out right now."
"Definitely," Harry agrees. "He sure did sound like he needed help. Lots of it."
Gemma snorts before she can stop herself, and then waves him away. "You've got some attitude, Harry."
"Only as much as I've earned," he replies, and then turns back to the chessboard. Gemma goes back to her book, but she spends a while dwelling on what he'd said. Something about his tone, the emphasis he'd placed on earned… she gives up after a while, unable to put a finger on what bothers her about it, but it's certainly something. There are shadows lurking behind Harry Potter's eyes, and Gemma knows it'll take more than cunning to find out where they come from. But maybe one day.
For now, she just keeps an eye on him, curious as to what he'll do after this latest outburst from Malfoy. He finishes his game with Cassius, and after thanking him he stands and stretches and heads out of the common room. Gemma waits a moment, and then she follows, catching Cassius's eye and receiving a wink as she goes.
Harry doesn't seem to be headed anywhere in particular. He has his satchel with him, as usual, but he doesn't go toward the library. Instead he takes a somewhat meandering path through the dungeons, then cuts up a little-used staircase and heads for the second floor. Gemma isn't sure if he can tell she's following him—he's never been easily surprised, but he also hasn't looked over his shoulder even once.
Eventually, he arrives at what is apparently his destination, because he slips into an empty classroom off the second floor corridor. While he's inside, Gemma parks up against the wall next to the door, waiting to catch him as he comes out. But he isn't the first to emerge—instead, she finds herself met with the smirking visage of one of the Weasley twins. The redhead shoots her a wink, and then swaggers off down the hallway, whistling as he goes. Gemma narrows her eyes, and decides she's done waiting; she steps into the room he'd just left.
Harry is there, carefully tucking something away into his satchel. She can't quite catch a glimpse of it, but he looks up as she steps into the room and smiles at her.
"Hullo, Gemma," he says. "How're you?"
She gives him a narrow look. "I'm well, Harry. It's funny, I could have sworn I saw one of the Weasley twins come out of this room a moment ago. Did you see him?"
Harry shrugs, still smiling. "I might've. Why, is something wrong?"
"Well, you see," she says, "someone's been playing pranks on Draco Malfoy recently, and I wondered if the twin might've said something to suggest it was them."
"No, he didn't say anything like that," Harry says, and then he pats his bag. "He was just returning a book I'd lent him. Sirius has some interesting things in his collection, after all, and those Weasley twins have surprisingly wide interests."
"I see," Gemma says. "As a prefect, I'm always happy to encourage other students in their academic curiosities—even if they're extracurricular."
"Of course," Harry says, and bows his head in a little nod. "Well, perhaps you'd like to walk back to the common room with me, Gemma?"
"Certainly," she says. They walk back together in silence, and Harry's hand rests on his satchel the entire time. Just before they arrive, Harry opens the bag and pulls out a slim volume without any text on its cover, and glances up at Gemma out of the corner of his eye. She nods, and when they enter the common room together she says, at a volume clearly meant to be conversational between the two of them but loud enough for some of the others in the room to overhear, "There, safe and sound, Harry."
"Thanks for coming with me, Gemma," he says, smiling. "Malfoy's really been getting the brunt of it lately—I honestly didn't want to get anywhere near the Weasley twins without some company even if they did have my book."
"For your sake I'm just glad they didn't jinx it," she says, and ruffles his hair, which draws a scowl. He ducks out from under her hand and darts away, leaving her laughing at him. He's a shrewd little bugger, honestly.
Cassius is still sitting at the chess table, and she goes over to join him. He tilts his head and gestures at the board, but she waves him off.
"Successful escort?" he asks.
"He probably could have taken care of it himself," she says, smiling. "But it's nice to know the young ones trust us prefects to keep them safe. And that they know when to be cautious."
"Those twins really are menaces," Cassius sighs. Then he reaches out to reset the board, and says, "If you're not going to play, fetch me someone who will, won't you?"
"Fetch someone yourself," Gemma says, rolls her eyes, and takes her leave. Back in the dorm, to her pleasure, Ayesha is sitting cross-legged on her own bed playing solitaire, and no one else is around. She looks up when Gemma comes in and then offers her one of her usual small smiles, and turns her face up to receive the kiss Gemma presses to her cheek.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey yourself," Gemma says, and then kisses her lips for good measure. "Harry Potter is a snake, have I mentioned?"
Ayesha rolls her eyes. "Only a thousand times in the past two weeks. What's that brat done now?"
Gemma flops down onto the bed next to Ayesha, sending her cards flying everywhere, and laughs when Ayesha swats at her for it. "Oh, he's almost certainly colluding with the Weasley twins to make Malfoy look like a fool. I can't wait to see what they do next."
"I thought I heard shouting coming from outside earlier—Malfoy starting to crack?"
Gemma hums an affirmative, and then rolls over onto her side so that her belly is pressed against Ayesha's folded knees. It means she has to crane her neck a bit to look up into her girlfriend's face and meet her warm brown eyes, but it's worth it. "Yeah. I doubt he'll make it past Halloween."
"Of course not," Ayesha says. "He's got no patience." Then she shifts, kneeling up and throwing one leg over Gemma's belly. Gemma rolls onto her back, content to be trapped, and smiles up at Ayesha.
"Speaking of no patience," she says, teasing.
"Shush. The others have gone out to the library and won't be back for an hour, and I'm going to kiss you while I've got the chance." Then, before Gemma can reply, she does just that.
As the end of October draws nearer and nearer, the prank war being waged against Malfoy intensifies further. Gemma manages to remain unscathed, but she's one of the few—the pranks cease to be single target after the weekend where, according to Terrence, someone had snuck into Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's dorm and moved everything about five centimetres to the left. It became twice as hard to believe that Harry was the one pulling the pranks when he was getting caught in the blast zone of thorough dung-bombings and when the entire second year Astronomy class found the umbrella charm keeping the rain off their heads failing abruptly in the middle of class. All of them got drenched, of course; the Slytherins had trooped back into the dorm looking like drowned rats, because Sinistra had no pity and had made them finish out the hour despite her inability to restore the charm. And then, in the last week, the pranking spread to the whole House—one day at dinner, for example, the Slytherin table had received not their normal desert, but nothing but cream pies… which had promptly risen from the table and slapped every single student in the face, or at least those too slow to dodge. Gemma had managed to duck, realizing the moment she saw the pies that something was happening, but Cassius hadn't been so lucky. On another day, every single Slytherin had found the crest on their robes transfigured as they left the dungeons, so that the snake had googly eyes and an overly long tongue that drooped ridiculously. The snake on the banner in the Great Hall had been transformed similarly, and the whole House spent the day a laughingstock; Snape had looked thunderous.
Gemma can feel the tension in the House rising, the muttering in the common room increasing until it's actually noticeable. Malfoy is receiving a lot of dark looks. Gemma keeps an eye on it, of course. He is being targeted, but it isn't his fault, and she isn't going to let anyone within the House come after him just because of this particular bit of annoyance. Brat or no, he's still a second year and under her protection.
But no one tries anything. It's generally agreed in the sixth year girls' dorm that Malfoy has it coming, and that there's probably worse coming down the pipe for him. The other girls in Gemma's year, Aloysia and Marianna, are both fairly convinced that Harry is responsible, even if he is getting caught in the pranks now as well—it isn't like the animosity between him and Malfoy is any sort of secret. Gemma doesn't say much to disabuse the notion, knowing that Harry probably has plans. His being a suspect would have been impossible to avoid. She just keeps her head down a little more than she has been, knowing that now is not quite the moment to fully come out about her support for him. Of course she knows she hadn't been subtle, and most of the upperclassmen are well aware by now of where she stands, but some of the lower years are surely still ignorant. She's watching Malfoy, she can see the growing temper in his face with each day that passes and each prank that gets pulled. She can also see the fear building there, no matter how much he tries to hide it—he's still only twelve, and having the ire of House of the Serpent directed toward him is no small matter; he's intimidated, and he's sure to act soon, if only to try to shift the attention off of himself.
Gemma remembers last year, when Harry had lost all those points in the spring—he'd borne up much better under the pressure than Malfoy is now. She remembers, even, hearing Flint talk about tripping Harry down a set of stairs, and the way that Harry had just taken it. Harry had taken everything the House had dished out, every bit of ostracism and cruelty and spite, and he hadn't flinched. He's not going to flinch now—but Malfoy will. Malfoy is, because he's a coward.
The last week of October speeds past. Gemma is busy, of course; she's in sixth year now and no longer stressed about preparation for her OWLs, but she's found that now that all of her classes are technically elective, and based on her demonstrated ability to acquire decent grades in the subject, the professors really take no prisoners. She'd taken Professor Snape's advice at the end of last year, fortunately, to drop several of her subjects, even though she'd attained Es or better on all of her OWL exams. Even with the classes she does have, the workload is considerable, and between that and Prefect duties… well. She has time to pay attention to what's going on with Malfoy, and to be irritated about those pranks that do manage to snag her, but otherwise she studies with Ayesha and their friend group, she does her patrols and makes sure that the Quidditch team make it back from practice on time, and she keeps an eye out for anyone else trying to pull any pranks or crueler tricks on the Slytherins, especially the first years. The Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match is the first Saturday of November, and inter-House tensions always ramp up around the time of the games, so she has plenty to be on guard for.
Which is why, despite her having anticipated it, she's a bit surprised by the fact that Malfoy snaps on Halloween morning. She's not even there, at first; she arrives to breakfast a few minutes late, having been hung up with a first year who'd lost a shoe somewhere in the common room, of all bloody things. She arrives in the Great Hall in time to see Malfoy surge forward, right up into Harry's face—Malfoy's pasty mug is bright red and twisted with fury; Harry looks impassive.
"—know it's you," Malfoy is snarling, as she gets closer. There are other Slytherins all around, of course, though giving the argument a strangely wide radius, and though she thinks that Malfoy and Harry are out of earshot, members of the other Houses are watching. So are the staff. Professor Snape has risen halfway from his seat, but when she glances up and meets his eyes, he sits again. Gemma files that away to be proud about later; for now, she may well have a duel to diffuse. Or a fistfight.
"You don't know anything," Harry says calmly. "I don't understand why you're accusing me of this, Malfoy."
"Because you're trying to make a fool of me, Potter, but I won't allow it! You won't get away with it!" Malfoy's voice is steadily rising in volume, and he's clearly not aware of it, or he would've chosen to make this scene somewhere else.
Finally, Gemma is close enough to discover what must have been the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. Something—presumably Malfoy himself—stinks. He doesn't seem bothered by it, but this close Gemma can see that Harry's nose is wrinkled, and all of the rest of the House seem to have chosen seats well away from where she can see Malfoy's bookbag set down on the bench. He might have woken up like that, or been Charmed coming into the Hall—she isn't sure. It doesn't matter. It's an effective prank, one that really sums up the treatment Malfoy has been increasingly getting: everyone is avoiding him, and will continue to do so until he puts an end to this.
"I don't know what you did to me, but—" Malfoy continues, heedless of those observing.
Harry cuts in. "You can't smell that?"
"Smell what?"
Gemma has to stifle a laugh. Even better: he smells like a sewer but can't tell; he just thinks he's a pariah for no reason.
"You smell like… you smell terrible, Malfoy," Harry says, and doesn't bother to stifle his own snicker. "If you wanted to take a few steps back, I'd appreciate it."
"No," Malfoy says. "No! I smell fine!" As if to demonstrate, he sniffs himself; a few of the Slytherins around him cringe, and one or two laugh, which only makes him flinch. "I showered this morning!"
"Sure," Harry says agreeably. "But you smell like you showered in toilet water. Too bad, Malfoy."
"Too—no, you don't get to be blithe, Potter, you did this!"
"I didn't, actually," Harry says. "And it's really quite insulting that you keep insisting that I did. Why on earth would I have done any of this?"
"Because you hate me!" Malfoy shouts. Across the Hall, heads are turning their way; there's nothing subtle about this now. Professor Snape begins to rise again.
"I don't hate you," Harry says, calmly, but in a clear voice that carries well enough to match Malfoy's shout. "I don't like you much, because you insist on insulting me and my mum and people like her, and because you're a spoiled prat who thinks he can buy anything he wants and doesn't have to earn it. Money isn't everything, Malfoy. Money isn't power."
"You don't know the first thing about money," Malfoy spits back. "Because you haven't got any!"
Harry bursts out laughing. Malfoy looks taken aback for a moment, and then resumes his scowl. "What?" he demands.
"Malfoy," Harry says, through his laughter. He gestures up at the staff table, where all of the professors are watching. Professor Snape is standing. Lord Black is leaning back in his chair, looking like the cat that got the canary. "I'm Heir Black. I've plenty of money. I just know that I'm better for who I am as myself than any amount of money could buy. And I know people who have twice your quality and less than half the gold. And anyway, what I said wasn't really about haves and have-nots; it was about things you've earned. And I reckon you've earned this."
"Which is why you did it to me!"
Harry shakes his head. "I didn't want to have this out in public, you know. But no, Malfoy. I didn't do this. I came to breakfast after you, and even if I'd been in a position to set up a Charm like this, I wouldn't know how to. Nor could I have set up any of the other pranks—and honestly, why would I want to? All it's done is make the whole of Slytherin House into a laughingstock as this whole mess went down. I'm trying not to get my arse kicked by the upper years for making them look like idiots."
"Which is exactly why you did this," Malfoy insists. "If you make me look like a fool and the cause of all this, you'll have the whole House under your thumb!"
"And who says I want that?"
"You!"
Harry shakes his head. "I've got friends in Gryffindor, Malfoy. I'm never going to be Slytherin's darling. I just want to have the friends and allies I have, and to be left alone by everyone else. Doing this to you isn't a good way to go about it—this has gotten me more attention than I want as it is, and I really haven't been the one doing it."
"Liar!" Malfoy shouts. "You are doing this! I can prove it!"
Harry smiles. Smug. Malfoy doesn't seem to notice. "Can you?" Harry says.
"Of course!" And then Malfoy… flounders. Because, for all his surety, he doesn't have any actual evidence and he knows it.
Harry just continues smiling. He lets Malfoy hang for a few long moments, and then softly, he says, "You can't, actually, prove anything. Even if you thought you could, you can't, because I haven't been responsible for any of this. I did not pull a single one of these pranks—most I couldn't have, even if I wanted to, for plain lack of ability or opportunity. If I'd been doing any of this, if there were any proof, the professors would have had me on at least one of these by now, and you know it. You tried to confront me because you're used to bluster getting you everything you want, Malfoy, but really all you've done is prove that you're impatient and you can't control your temper—you've made yourself look foolish not just in front of the House, but in front of the whole school. So why don't you sit down? I'd like to eat my breakfast."
There's a ringing silence. Anyone who was laughing before isn't, any more, though Gemma can still see cruel amusement on the faces of several of the older Slytherins around her. Malfoy won't be allowed to forget any of this, she doesn't think. But for now, it's well enough. So she steps in.
"Malfoy, Harry," she says, coming to stand at Harry's shoulder. She peers down her nose at Malfoy, who suddenly seems excruciatingly aware of all of the eyes on him in that moment. "What's going on?"
"Just a small disagreement," Harry says. "I think Malfoy was just about to go back to his seat, and I was going to sit down with Blaise, Theo, and Millicent here," he gestures at the table beside him, where his friends are all sitting, watching, "and have some food."
Gemma smiles. "Excellent." She waits a moment, just long enough for Malfoy to turn away, and then adds, "Oh, and Malfoy? You might want to see Pomfrey if you need stronger deodorant—whatever you're using clearly isn't working."
That's enough. A wave of laughter breaks at the Slytherin table, spreading over to Ravenclaw where some students were close enough to hear what she said. The other students, those out of earshot, seem to realize that the confrontation is over. Most would have missed the details, but Gemma is sure the story will be all over the school even before the feast tonight; it's a Saturday, and no one has class—all the better for gossip. Malfoy's reputation is in shreds by now; as Harry had surely guessed, he'd made a fool of himself. The clear ostracism is only a bonus; no one is sitting within three seats of Malfoy.
Gemma goes to sit with her own friends, but they're not far from Harry and his group, and she can see the sly satisfaction on Harry's face as he talks quietly with them over breakfast. There's a Quidditch practice for the Slytherin team this afternoon, and Gemma is sure that Harry will take that opportunity to shore up the impact he'd just made. Everything seems to be going well for him, truly; he might not want to be king in Slytherin, and he doesn't have to be, not now—no one could deny his potential even if they wanted to, and potential is enough in the House of the Ambitious.