Silence. It was an awkward one as well, growing more and more torturous as it stretched from seconds towards minutes. Draco hovered, caught within a haze of indecision, because the new knowledge he had about Potter kept circling in his head. Ever since his mother and aunt disappeared to take their argument elsewhere, he was left stewing in the aftermath of what his mother revealed.
He couldn't tear his gaze away from Potter who had half-turned since the Dark Lord left him. His arms were tucked around himself in the same posture he'd shown when Draco left him in the guest room for that night. It was a vulnerable pose, one where Potter was clearly trying to shield himself in the only way he could. His face was turned away as well, hiding his expression.
The silence was too much for Draco to handle. Sighing impatiently, he approached Potter who visibly flinched as he moved.
"If he's left you here with me, it means he wants me to take you back up to your rooms," Draco said awkwardly as he stopped at Potter's side. He grimaced and looked over at the open secret door. "I assume that she isn't resurfacing?"
"She's dead," Potter said in a worrying deadpan. Before Draco could help himself, he scoffed.
"Finally," he remarked. Potter's face then twitched and his gaze lifted. Green eyes met Draco's. There was something very off about Potter.
Did the Dark Lord tell him ? Draco wondered.
Potter then fully turned towards him, his arms moving down to his sides. He didn't look away, his damned striking green eyes holding Draco's attention. Then he raised his right hand up. For a moment, Draco thought he was going for another handshake. Instead, he held up the back of his right hand, indicating that there was something there for him to see. Confused, Draco looked at the back of his hand just as Potter clenched it into a fist. As he did, silvery letters showed up stark on his hand. Letters that were scarred into his skin.
I must not tell lies, they read.
"She did that to me," Potter said, his voice still emotionless. "After that first lesson when I argued with her. I spent hours and hours in her office, cutting into this hand with a cursed quill." Potter then smirked darkly, dropping his hand down. "I hated the bitch. Good riddance."
Draco stared at him. Nothing that Potter just said made sense. It couldn't. How on Earth did Umbridge get away with maiming the Boy Who Lived with a Blood Quill? Hell, if he told Dumbledore, the man surely would have hexed Umbridge into a stinking puddle of goo.
He shook himself. Such thoughts were for a different time. They both needed to get away from the room and needed sleep.
Potter proved to be just as silent and odd all the way to the guest wing. He followed Draco without a word, arms at his sides as he made no effort to run or resist. One of the remaining house elves had lit the candles in Potter's suite. Fresh pyjamas were laid out for him on the bed along with slippers. Draco stopped when he reached the bed, realising suddenly that he hadn't shut the door. Alarm pulsed through him as he turned sharply, only to discover that Potter was right behind him. Astonished that Potter didn't use his oversight as an opportunity to attempt escape, Draco quickly drew his wand and willed the door to close.
Giving him a knowing look, Potter then paced around him.
"I'm not going to do a thing that will risk you or your mum," he said as he strode towards the window. It was clearly his favourite spot in the room. He paused as he reached the table, looking back at where Draco was frozen in place. "I mean it, really. Some mad attempt at a runner at this point will be stupid. I won't get very far without a wand and he'll catch me so…"
Potter then looked down at the chairs set at the table, trailing off. A strange expression settled on his face for a moment, then he sighed.
"Can… can you join me?" Potter asked, his voice having turned uncharacteristically subdued. "I expect you're tired, but… right now he's occupied elsewhere and… well… it's nice when we aren't fighting."
Warmth rushed through Draco at Potter's words quite unexpectedly. He didn't think, moving unconsciously as he drew around Potter's bed to make it to the table and chairs before the window. Errant thoughts flickered through his mind. An observation on Potter's lips, the way the colour of his eyes shone, the unguarded and vulnerable air he possessed. Once he reached Potter, he noticed the glimmer of moisture rimming his eyes.
"Maybe mother would be best…" Draco tried to say. Potter shook his head.
"No, don't worry, I'm not going to burst into tears or anything. I learned young to not cry in front of people if I can help it."
Draco's brows went up at the personal remark. Potter's jaw tensed, but then he turned and went towards his seat. He flicked a hand up towards the companion chair. Draco then pulled his brows down into a scowl. Even so, he went over towards the chair, dragging it over so he would be at Potter's side rather than facing him as if they were playing chess.
"I was taught the same thing," Draco supplied as he sat down. Potter looked at him, his dark brows furrowing. "Father told me that tears were a sign of weakness."
"Bit rich, him trying to teach anything about weakness," Potter said darkly, then his gaze softened, "I haven't had the chance to say, but what happened with the poison… I don't hold any of that against you and your mother. I know you weren't involved… and you saved my life. I suppose I owe you a life debt now."
Draco regarded him in surprise. His actions had prevented Potter's death. In calling the Dark Lord, he thwarted his father's assassination attempt. Yet surely Potter knew that he had been just following orders. If he owed anyone a life debt, it was the Dark Lord… and possibly his mother.
"Mother and I would be dead alongside you had we failed to save you, Potter."
"I know," Potter said quietly, "and I think since it seems like we're stuck in this together for the long run, it's about time you call me 'Harry'. If Voldemort can use my first name, I reckon you can manage as well."
For some very odd reason, even though Potter's request wasn't unreasonable, it just felt wrong to call him by anything else. Draco tilted his head to the side as he regarded Potter, trying to mentally call him 'Harry'. Of course, he'd noticed both the Dark Lord and his mother using his preferred name. If they can do it, surely he can show the same courtesy? It just felt as if he couldn't form the sounds in his mouth or ever imagine that they would fit there.
"Does that mean you are going to call me by my first name?" Draco asked, bemused. Potter gave him a quizzical look.
"That is the general idea, yes. I am able to use your name, Draco ," Potter demonstrated with a roll of his eyes.
A thrill shot through Draco when Potter used his name. He couldn't label the sensation he caused, whether it was unease or the very opposite. His reaction felt very involuntary as he smiled.
"I suppose I could survive calling you 'Harry'," Draco mused, testing the name on his tongue. To his surprise, it wasn't as strange as he expected. He noticed a smile appearing on Potter's face, a soft warmth shining out his striking eyes.
"Things already feel a bit more bearable now," Potter remarked, then he looked sheepish. "I don't really know what just happened. Maybe we're both going crazy, bonding over how shit our lives are."
"Considering that you're currently the Dark Lord's favourite person, I could do worse than forming an alliance with you, Po- Harry."
Potter grimaced, sighing as he set down the handkerchief. He reached forwards for his glasses.
"Right, yeah. Funnily enough, Voldemort told me the same thing about you. He wants us to, I dunno, form some cabal. You're probably more familiar with it, seeing that it's all that pureblood politics. Making alliances, settling feuds… all that stuff."
Draco gave an aggrieved sigh after he flinched at Potter's continual use of that name.
"Do you have to keep calling him that?" He asked, moving to rub his left arm. "I keep worrying that he's going to show up each time you say it."
"Are you even allowed to call him by his name?" Potter asked, genuinely curious. "What happens if you use it?"
"I'm not stupid enough to find out."
"What's he going to do? He's not here," Potter pointed out, "and you've heard me say it plenty of times. Hell, I even heard your mother use it. Live a little… go on. Say it."
Draco scowled at Potter's egging on. "No. Are you trying to get me killed?"
"Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort," Potter then repeated infuriatingly, smirking as he did in a way that Draco knew was at his expense. He then gasped dramatically, looking around the room. "Oh, look, he isn't here."
"I'm still not going to say it."
Potter then shrugged, painted a bored look upon his face as he looked away towards the window. He stuck his elbow on the arm of the chair, resting his head on his hand as he stared away. Draco tried to feign his own indifference at the teasing, settling back against the chair in an effort to lounge and feel at ease since the tension had faded. He couldn't help but notice how the golden lights of the candles were captured in the reflections in Harry's eyes.
"Does it bother you?" Potter then asked, breaking the silence thoughtfully. His arresting gaze settled back on Draco, sending another thrill through him. "Having to bow to him, call him 'my lord', follow him around like sheep?"
"Do you really think I can answer that, Pot- ugh Harry? You might be fortunate enough to get away with your disrespect, but the same isn't the case with me."
"Hmm…" Potter leaned his face further into his hand, giving Draco a long, lingering look, making him feel very much a subject of study. "I don't get away with it, by the way. You were right there when he bloody strangled me to teach me a lesson."
He had a point.
"Why do you do it then?" Draco asked, feeling actually puzzled. Harry then chuckled, surprising him, his warm, genuine smile making a grand return.
"How many years have we been in the same classes? Throwing insults at each other… sometimes curses…" Potter asked, his eyes gleaming with something new and bold. Draco felt a little breathless, even light-headed.
"Six years," he answered, humouring Harry as he was drawn into his smile and the curve of his cocky grin.
"Have you not realised in that time that I simply am incapable of keeping my mouth shut?"
A rough laugh rose up and out of Draco's mouth. The release sent a wave of euphoric glee as a response and he couldn't stop laughing. Harry then laughed as well, lifting his head from his hand. His eyes then widened as he watched Draco, who was trying in vain to stifle the strange sound that was coming out of him. He hadn't laughed like it for… well… he didn't know. The force of the relief left him almost drunk on mirth.
"Blimey, are you giggling?" Harry asked in disbelief.
"Yes…" Draco said breathlessly, nearly hiccuping as he managed to still his laughs.
"Well, I'm glad someone finds it amusing. Voldemort… very much less so," Potter said, sobering, "he… said that the Weasleys are in custody. Sounds like he hasn't wasted time getting enough people to use as leverage to keep me in line."
"Your… friends escaped," Draco said haltingly, also sobering as their conversation took an abrupt turn.
"That doesn't mean that they are safe," Potter said quietly, "if they don't hand themselves in, they're dead if they are caught."
"Well… if they are stupid enough to get caught…"
"No, don't say that," Potter cut in harshly, frowning. Draco raised a hand placatingly.
"I'm not saying it to be cold. I just mean that it's on them. It's their choice if they want to turn down an offer to have their lives spared and throw their lives away instead. Refuse the Dark Lord and you die. It's that simple."
Potter still frowned at him, his gaze flicking minutely where he was glancing between Draco's eyes. He then let out a long breath through his nostrils.
"If I had that choice, I know what I'd pick."
"Yes, you would martyr yourself because that's what you think everyone expects you to do, but what do you want, Potter?"
"Harry."
"Fine, Harry. Can you really make the claim that you would rather die than live like this?" Draco gestured around them, indicating the room. "In comfort, protected-."
"In captivity."
"So?" Draco threw back at Potter exasperatedly. "Before you were captured and brought here, were you really free to live the life you wanted? Did you ever have a choice other than to be Harry Potter, the Chosen One?"
An ugly flush rose up on Potter's face. "Don't you dare-."
"Don't I dare what? Face it, Potter. You never had control over your life."
He opened his mouth to argue, his eyes narrowed with anger, but the words didn't come out. Draco witnessed how the unpleasant truth instantly sapped away his fierce temper. His face went slack as he just stared across. Draco shook his head, unable to hide his look of pity. Harry saw it at once and he turned his head sharply away, shame causing him to tense his jaw.
"Harry," he whispered, "I told you to call me 'Harry'." He then sighed, his head drooping down, chin resting on his chest. "The thing is… if I could, I'd try to convince my friends to save themselves, but if I'm truly honest with myself, I know that they'd never believe that I would surrender to Voldemort. They'd believe I'd rather die and… well, they would be right. Only they don't know that he won't let that happen. They don't know that… he values my life. If they knew the truth, if they knew what he told me earlier…"
His voice broke, a dry sob cutting into his sentence before he could finish. Draco swallowed tightly, hearing the proof for himself. He then steadied himself, back in control. Slowly, he raised his head, eyes meeting Draco's.
"I'm keeping him alive. As long as I live, he, Voldemort, can't be killed. That's why he… he saved my life."
Draco held his gaze. Slowly, he leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his thighs. Potter didn't draw back, staring at him, his eyes dry yet wide, waiting for his reaction.
"The term you're looking for is 'horcrux', but I think you already know that," Draco said steadily. Potter blinked and let out a wry laugh.
"Of course, you know what a bloody horcrux is. Yes, I know… and, well, my friends know as well. I suppose there is no harm in telling you that I was instructed to find the others and destroy them."
"There are more?" Draco asked, now surprised himself. Harry's expression slackened for a moment, but then he nodded.
"Dumbledore theorised that there were seven. Your father was entrusted to keep one safe."
"The diary," Draco said at once. "I know about it. The Dark Lord was… beyond furious when he discovered what father did with it."
"I bet," Potter said dryly, "Dumbledore destroyed another. There are others… er, four more, I think, off the top of my head. I know about two for certain, maybe three, but the fourth… no clue."
"And Dumbledore just expected you to find them and destroy them?" Draco asked, stunned.
Potter sighed, flashing a resigned glance over towards the window.
"It was a doomed mission from the start. I never stood a hope in Hell to get it done, just expected to try and likely die in the attempt. At least if I die, it's one horcrux down, right?"
The bitterness in his voice was like cold venom. Draco could almost hear the subtle hiss of a parselmouth, the latent darkness within coming to the surface. Potter's nose twitched, a familiar glare entering his gaze as he stared off. He was angry, no… he was livid. Draco had a very strong suspicion who he was angry at and they weren't in the building.
Sighing, Draco found he had exhausted all his capability to handle whatever this was. He barely could handle his own situation, much less the utter disaster that was Harry Potter's life. He rose to his feet, bone tired and drained. Potter didn't look up, but his chin twitched, showing that he acknowledged that he was moving to leave. He didn't protest, sullenly staring down at the table in front of him.
"We're both tired," Draco said after a moment, his eyelids growing heavy almost as if on command. "Who knows what madness tomorrow will bring?"
Potter looked up then, a tired smile pulling up at the corner of his mouth.
"Yes, sleep is probably wise," he said, "and thanks for the company. See you tomorrow, Draco."
Again the sound of his name on Potter's lips sent a wild rush through him. Draco's lips parted staring down at Potter's lips, fascinated at how thrilling it was to hear him say it. It was oddly… exciting. Before leaving, he made sure to do the same in turn.
"Good night, Harry."
Draco didn't know if it was his imagination, but he could have sworn that Potter's eyes had travelled to his mouth when he spoke his name. And he was so very certain that his eyes had softened with clear and visible joy.
If only for a second.
Upon entering the Malfoy family library, Harry could not help the frazzle of jealousy as he was shown into the cylindrical room. Draco Malfoy had grown up with access to centuries worth of magical knowledge in his own blasted home. The level of wealth and privilege on display came close to overwhelming. Twelve-year-old Harry had been blown away by The Burrow when he first arrived in the wizarding family homestead. Seventeen-year-old Harry with years of experience with magic was utterly spellbound after his tour of the Eastern Wing.
The library took up the east tower, the curved walls crammed with bookshelves. Ladders hovered around, moving about as the odd book decided to travel to a different shelf and enjoy the company of different tomes. Sunlight streamed through long, narrow windows. The library had two floors. At the ground floor, there were desks and display cabinets for the odd curio that the Malfoy family had on display. Harry's expectations of finding the similar sort of Dark artefacts that had been presented in Grimmauld Place were dashed. Instead, there were ancient scrolls of papyrus preserved under the glass, mysterious runed tablets and old amulets still powerful enough to warrant serious caution.
The first floor was a circular mezzanine that spanned around the wall. Through the middle, there was a skeleton of a small dragon suspended in fine golden chains. The ivory bones gleamed in the sunlight. Harry stood under the skeleton, his mouth hanging slightly open. He knew how the dragon felt after spending just a few days suspended in chains.
Turning on the spot, Harry's neck prickled as he felt the stare on his back. A pair of now increasingly familiar grey-blue eyes surveyed him with cool interest from his desk. The scratches of his eagle owl quill ceased as he considered Harry quietly. Harry cleared his throat, since growing more and more self-conscious in Draco Malfoy's company. The suggestion that Narcissa made before her husband attempted to kill Harry had become a reality. Draco had appeared at his suite not long after breakfast, announcing that he had permission to escort Harry about the manor. He had his family duties to attend to… and Harry had absolutely nothing to preoccupy himself with other than searching his gilded cage, sleeping and bathing.
As a result, he'd finished his solitary exploration of the library, peering into the displays. He paced around the shelves, studying the names of the tomes. Rather than find himself confronted with grisly book titles for Dark compendiums of magic, they were mostly books on magical theory, foreign history, construction and architecture and law. He expected Hermione would have been openly salivating at the collection, but Harry found himself borderline disappointed. He did then remind himself that the Malfoy family hadn't openly expressed their interests in the Dark Arts.
"You could… you know… read a book?" Draco suggested as he paused from his account taking. Harry felt a slight flush rise up on his face. He'd been released from his boredom, only to not take advantage of the knowledge around him at his disposal.
"I don't know where to begin," Harry admitted, looking upwards to where he spotted a book fluttering to a new location across the room.
"What interests you?" Draco asked simply, then sighed. "And don't say Quidditch."
"Are there any, I don't know, novels? Stories?" Harry asked, feeling a bit embarrassed as he posed the question. Narcissa had suggested that they study together, not read stories.
"You're in a library. What do you think?" Draco lifted a brow at him. "Just… pick something. You're distracting me just… standing there."
"I'm not doing anything."
"You're there. It's enough."
"Fine," Harry huffed, marching himself over to a bookcase at random. He immediately missed the warmth of the sun that bathed the centre of the room. At his back, Draco's quill resumed its scratching. Harry bit back his sigh as he read over some more of the books.
His scar stabbed with sudden pain. He threw his hand up to his face, accompanying the action with a gasp. Alarmed, he turned on his heel, staring over at the door. Draco's quill stopped again. He appeared about to snap at Harry before he froze, stiffening in his wing-backed chair. The door creaked open. Harry backed instinctively, the case rattling in warning as he bumped against it.
Draco had pushed himself up from his seat in his haste, managing to perform a perfect bow just in time as footsteps entered. Harry's back remained straight, but he found himself lowering his gaze reluctantly as Voldemort strode towards him, his black robes pooling around him like ink. His hands were clasped together at his front.
"Starting to feel more at home, are we?" Voldemort said smoothly, taking in Draco's bow first with an incline of his head. He passed him, taking long, methodical steps towards Harry.
What sort of question is that ? Harry thought wildly. On edge, he risked a glance over to Draco, but the other wizard had mastered his blank polite mask.
"Um, I guess so," Harry said awkwardly.
"You will be permitted to study and read at your own leisure. I have already instructed Severus to coordinate your study plan for the upcoming year."
Harry gaped at him, unable to help himself. "Y-you are managing my schooling?"
"I am satisfied with your choice of NEWT subjects, however there are areas of your education that need work. I anticipate for you to adapt to your position and you will need knowledge to do so."
Bewildered and a little dizzy, Harry steadied himself against the books at his back.
"Are you serious about letting me go to Hogwarts?" Harry asked him disbelievingly.
"You will be under guard at all times and I will be placing restrictions on your movements, but I do not wish for your development to suffer. For your rehabilitation to forge you into a productive member of my society, you will need to be well educated."
Sickened, Harry paced away just as Voldemort made to close him in. He stepped over towards one of the display cases, feeling very much like he was trapped in a glass box as well. He could tell that Draco was paying close attention.
"Come here, Harry," Voldemort then said, his voice dangerously soft. "I have something for you to read."
He then extracted a scroll from his robes, turning sharply to one of the desks. Curious, Harry approached of his own accord, warily looking over to Draco who settled himself back down at his own desk. Voldemort waited expectantly. Harry hovered at Voldemort's side, tense and alert. Voldemort unravelled the scroll, settling it down with his long fingers.
Harry's attention was fixed upon the Ministry emblem embossed on the official looking parchment. His mouth went dry when he read the next words.
"Wh-what's this?" Harry asked thinly, his face pulsing as blood rushed to his cheeks.
"A pardon, of sorts," Voldemort said as he straightened, pushing the document for Harry to read himself. "You may read it."
Confirmation of Rehabilitation Order for POTTER, HARRY JAMES
The purpose of this document is to provide Mr Potter with the terms of his sentencing as determined at the Magical Court of Law on August 4th 1997. Mr Potter was in absentia and so therefore we present his sentence through this memorandum.
Mr Potter was charged with conspiracy to commit treason. Following a hearing before a private jury and representatives of the Wizengamot, it has been determined that the Ministry of Magic will clear Mr Potter of all charges. After Mr Potter's defense presented the argument that the defendant was coerced and manipulated into unofficial military service, it was agreed to present Mr Potter with a Rehabilitation Order. In recognition of Mr Potter's cooperation with his officers, the Wizengamot are happy to agree that Mr Potter be given the chance to see the error of his ways.
We wish Mr Potter fortune in his endeavours as he turns a new leaf in his life.
Yours in Truth,
Pius Thicknesse
Minister For Magic
Shaking violently with his anger and disgust, Harry pushed the offending item away. The frightening political manoeuvring done on his behalf, making his incarceration official, and then giving him a lenient sentence? What did a Rehabilitation Order even mean? And the fact that he had a trial? That he didn't attend? Who the Hell had stood as his defense?
"As you may have realised, no such trial took place," Voldemort then said once he noticed that he had stopped reading. "Mr Thicknesse is under the Imperius Curse. I merely told him to write this and make it official. None will question it. You, Harry, are in Ministry custody officially and will remain until your Order is repealed."
"What does that mean?" Harry whispered, horrified.
"It means that you have no choice but to serve."
"I'm a slave, that's what you're saying," Harry said shakily, "you've… you've taken my freedom away completely!"
"Calm yourself," Voldemort then snapped sharply, slapping his hand on the table, causing Harry to jump. "You are not a slave. More… an apprentice. You will return to Hogwarts and complete your schooling as determined by me. Then I will further your education myself. Under my instruction and guidance, I will ensure your potential does not go to waste."
"B-but why?" Harry asked aghast, feeling whatever control he had over his own life slipping forever through his fingers. Voldemort suddenly snarled, losing control of his own patience. He turned sharply, suddenly seizing Harry by the shoulders and he pulled him roughly around to face him.
"Because you are mine!" He shouted, his breath blasting against Harry's face. "Because this is the way I make all know who you belong to and that there will be dire consequences if anyone dares to take you from me."
His hands released him as suddenly as he had grabbed him. Harry took a step backwards, pulling his shirt straight. His face was burning, hot with anger. Hatred weighed like a stone in his stomach. He then levelled his most intense glare up at Voldemort, meeting his blood red eyes. His jaw tensed, but he held his tongue. For the sake of the Weasleys and everyone else under Voldemort's control, Harry had to learn to keep silent and not talk back. He wasn't at the Dursleys or in a classroom. There were real and terrible consequences if he acted out. From the strange fluttering sensation he felt coming through his scar, Voldemort had noticed that he was disciplining himself.
"It has been announced that those who hand themselves in will be treated with clemency," Voldemort said softly, his composure restored, mood calmed. "I expect there will be some who are determined to resist despite my merciful offer. If they are caught, then they will pay the price of their treason."
Harry glanced briefly past Voldemort to where Draco sat. He noticed that he wasn't writing.
"I… I have been thinking about your, um, offer," Harry dared to say, lowering his gaze to be as deferental as he could handle. "I think I could convince my friends to surrender if I got the chance to speak to them. If you have it printed in the paper that I've surrendered, they won't believe it. Not unless it comes from me."
"How would you deliver such a message when you don't know where they are?" Voldemort asked, his voice slightly coloured with amusement.
"You told me that you wanted me to stand as an example… to show that there's a place for everyone, even me," Harry said carefully, "hiding me away here… all people have is your word that I'm even alive."
"You are suggesting a public appearance?" Voldemort asked. Harry could tell that he had his interest.
"Isn't that what you want? A display that I… am your prisoner?"
"You would truly agree to this willingly?" Voldemort sounded sceptical and Harry didn't blame him. It was madness for him to even consider becoming a mouthpiece for his captor. Yet, if he could save lives…
"You told me that you would only believe my surrender if you saw it for yourself," Harry said composedly, lifting his gaze to meet the dilated black pools set in red. "What better way is there than for me to do it in front of an audience? I've already lost and my pride doesn't mean more to me than the lives I could save doing this."
Voldemort turned his face away from Harry, looking over instead to where Draco sat, unabashedly listening in. A perplexing shift caused the corners of Voldemort's too large eyes to tense.
"Draco, join us will you. Your duties to the House can wait."
Harry's heart began to race when he heard Draco's chair scrape on the floor as he got up at his lord's insistence. Their conversation last night had circled endlessly in Harry's mind all morning. He had taken Draco's words to heart.
Face it, Potter. You never had control over your life.
It had been a cruel way to deliver the cold, hard truth, but it got through to him. Since being taken captive, what had he lost really? Whatever illusion of freedom he believed he had was a lie. The freedom to fight and die in a war? What sort of life was that?
Draco smoothly paced over, his tan leather loafers patting out neat footsteps on the floor. Of course, he was dressed as impeccably as always, favouring another white dress shirt with black pleated trousers. His wand hung from a holster off his belt, all black leather with a buckle crafted in a design of a coiled serpent. He stood primly at the end of the desk, bowing his head to Voldemort while he pointedly didn't look at Harry.
Harry, however, couldn't stop staring at Draco.
"You know Harry's conspirators better than I do. Were he to make a public announcement of his surrender, would they believe its authenticity?"
Draco lifted his gaze at Voldemort's question. He glanced very quickly at Harry for a moment before looking steadily at his Lord.
"I… cannot say, my lord. I do believe it would convince many to forsake thoughts of rebellion if Potter were to announce his surrender, however."
"Indeed, indeed," Voldemort mused, looking back at Harry, his eyes gleaming, "you continue to surprise me, Harry. This level of cooperation is, I admit, unexpected."
"Really?" Harry raised one of his brows. "You know I have a weakness for saving people. You've used it against me before."
"Why of course, but I can sense a change in you. You appear to be more resolved. Perhaps that woman's death satisfied something within you."
Harry frowned at the mention of Umbridge's grisly fate, "I don't think she can take credit. I just… see that there's nothing to go back to. All I can do is stop the fighting and try to save lives that would be thrown away."
Voldemort laughed, genuinely pleased as he even clapped his hands together. "My, my, congratulations, Harry. It does appear you have independent thought outside of Dumbledore's malicious influence."
"And of your influence," Harry said pointedly, "I won't deny that the things you said about Dumbledore make sense, because they do. I won't agree with the world you want to create. Any muggleborn or half-blood should be able to tell you what a huge mistake it is to declare war on the muggles."
Draco flashed a warning glance over to Harry but he ignored it. Voldemort flicked his hands back, his sleeves snapping back. He appeared to flinch for his wand, but controlled his reaction, clasping his hands together again.
"Very well, I will entertain your thoughts on the matter, Harry. Pray tell me what possible threat muggles pose."
Harry stared at him then. Did he really not know? If Voldemort had attended Hogwarts during the blitz, he would have seen the devastation that smashed through London. After that, however, when he could turn his back on his muggle roots for good, did he expect technology to stay the same? Was his idea of the muggle world still frozen in 1945? He surrounded himself with purebloods who knew nothing about the world beyond their own.
"Modern technology," Harry said simply. Voldemort then frowned, the expression thoughtful rather than annoyed. He gestured for Harry to explain, so he did.
"We were born with magic, but muggles created their own version using science. In many ways, they are much more advanced than we are and that's the truth. We are still using owls to send letters while muggles have ways to send a message which arrives to the other person in seconds. Maybe we can apparate, but how can we communicate across a distance? Muggles have fixed that with telephones and radio. They can also broadcast video live on television. Can we do anything like that? We're only just accepting wizarding wirelesses."
Voldemort still just frowned, but he didn't interrupt. A faint stirring of something that could possibly resemble hope encouraged Harry to continue.
"And then there's their military power. The British military alone outnumbers our entire population. They might not have wands, but they have weapons. They have nuclear weapons. Just how superior is magic when they could drop a bomb on us and kill us all? They wouldn't do it as they'd risk killing innocent lives, but they have the power to do it."
As he brought up the actual cost of war, his scar blazed with pain but he kept going. He knew that Voldemort didn't expect him to deliver a decent answer. Draco, meanwhile, had his mouth hanging open. He likely didn't understand a word Harry said.
"Has a wizard ever gone to space?" Harry continued. "Muggles have been sending rockets to explore for decades. There are satelittes in orbit around the planet and they even put people on the moon. What have wizards done to explore beyond this planet? Nothing. We wear robes, write with quills, and say that our ways are the best, yet half of you don't even know that there are better alternatives. You just won't accept that muggles have it better."
"Enough," Voldemort delivered the word calmly, but Harry could feel his rage. He knew he was in a lot of trouble. Voldemort's slit-like nostrils were flared, his teeth bared. Then, he chuckled darkly. His laughter rang out as his eyes gleamed with anger and dark amusement. Smile sharp, he then pierced Draco with a look.
"Draco, prepare Harry ahead of tonight's meeting. He shall be attending."