Forever Entwined : Chapter 3
There was no doubt it was the Room of Requirement, although the doorway was in plain sight without the need to wish it into existence. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about staying in it, though he imagined it would look nothing like the rooms he'd used before.
On its only door hung a elegant black frame, but there was nothing in it at the moment. Whoever occupied it must have been out visiting like the Fat Lady used to do. They looked to each other after a while when no one appeared.
McGonagall went to stand next to the painting, her crossed arms and tapping foot a sure sign she was growing impatient. Whoever it was, they were certainly in for a tongue lashing at the hands of the Scottish witch when they returned to their post.
"Who do you think it is?" Seamus asked Dean.
"Maybe Sir Cadogan?" Dean offered. It was as good a guess as any since the knight had filled in for the Fat Lady when she was being repaired in third year.
The Slytherins did not offer any opinions, and remained separated from the group now that they had fallen out of their line formation.
"Where's his pony, though?" Ron joined in. Harry could recall the boisterous knight and his questionable steed.
"Right, and the background was a grassy hill!"
Dean did not get a chance to provide any more theories, for just as soon as Seamus was agreeing with Ron a man came back into the portrait.
"Where were you, Severus?" All the students looked at him with wide eyes, and it was almost funny how the Slytherins’ backs went ramrod straight, even Goyle’s, who'd been slumping against the opposite wall.
Snape was dressed in his customary black robes, although they could only see him from the chest up. His hook nose, stringy hair and pale face were all the same. Harry felt like those black eyes pierced him, but he maintained eye contact with the man. The last time he'd seen him, he'd been bleeding out from Nagini's attack and asking him to look into his eyes one last time, one last look to imagine the very same eyes in a different face. When Harry suggested his portrait be hung in Hogwarts in his honour, he never expected him to be his portrait guardian. Then again, the new living arrangements had caught him by surprise like a rogue Bludger in a fast-paced game of Quidditch.
He didn't know what Snape's portrait read on his face, but he did nothing more than narrow his eyes before looking toward the headmistress when he replied, "Am I now bound to this location?" He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Snape had been the first person Harry knew who could express a full range of emotion through the slant and arch of his eyebrows.
"You know you must be here once the term has started." The manner in which McGonagall explained it was with loving exasperation; as loving as the stern woman could seem, anyway.
"So, for now I have been relegated to watching over this sad experiment." The sarcasm he was known for was in full force.
Was that what they were? An experiment? Did that mean they were going to integrate the dorms in the other houses depending on whether or not they all remained in one piece at the end of the year? Harry dared another look at the Slytherins and wondered what was taking Malfoy so long. Could they be talking about that night in the Astronomy Tower?
"Now, Severus, you understand why this is so important. Why the castle itself agrees, not to mention a certain portrait in my office." She reminded Harry of a mother telling her child to eat his vegetables because he would grow up big and strong, no matter how distasteful they were.
"So I must endure for the greater good." Harry snapped his eyes toward him; it seemed the man was still tied to Dumbledore's wishes even in death. He wasn't sure if he should feel sorrier for Snape or him and his friends. It was obvious they were all following the former headmaster’s wishes with this arrangement, and, like Snape, he was going to conform to them.
"Thank you, Severus." McGonagall turned away from him to face the group.
"As you can see, Professor Snape will be guarding the entrance to your rooms. For the time being, you are not allowed to bring anyone in here from another house. The professor will be ensuring that. I will be lifting that restriction in three weeks or so. Also, keep in mind this considered your common room, and you are not allowed to frequent the common rooms of your original houses."
"Excuse me, I told Daphne I would watch out for her sister. How am I supposed to do that now?" Pansy complained.
"I'm sure you will be able to provide assistance to Miss Greengrass even with this restriction. We are allowing visitors for just such a reason."
"Any other questions?" McGonagall turned to the rest of them.
Ron muttered, "Can Snape take off points?"
Harry was surprised to see Snape smile without malice. Maybe he was amused he still inspired that much fear in his students. "Yes, Professor Snape can remove points."
The groans were low and unanimous from the Gryffindors.
"I won't as long as they are capable of following the rules." His expression and tone did little to reassure them he believed they were capable of such a task, especially with the meaningful glances he directed toward Harry, Hermione and Ron.
Harry imagined Snape would need a way to keep himself occupied with this temporary profession, and torturing and taking points from them might just be the entertainment he chose. Oddly, he couldn't muster too much concern at the possibility of lost points. There was too much he'd seen of the inner workings of the man to desire picking up where their animosity left off. Besides, this year was not about intrepid adventuring, but embracing the mundane day-to-day that was normal for the other students.
"With your special circumstances, should you need guidance from a head of house, both Professor Slughorn and Professor Miller will be able to assist any one of you. I hope not to see you for disciplinary action, but my office is otherwise open to you."
"What's the password?" Neville asked before she could leave.
"The password is 'I am a dunderhead.'" Her lips thinned and she sent one last look at the Potions Master, who remained impassive.
Once she said the password, the door swung open to reveal what was to be their new home.
~~~~~~~
His first impression was his former common room had been ransacked, along with Slytherins’, to provide the odd collaboration of furniture that inhabited the space. The only difference was that the palette of the furniture was a range of warm earth tones with no red or green to be found. There were two brown leather couches, framed by fluffy crème armchairs. There were desks for homework, and open space to carry out games and such. Over all the setup was the same, if only smaller than their respective common rooms.
The Hogwarts crest hung above their fireplace, framed by banners that were the only things representing their houses in the room. They seemed to be serious about this integration, or whatever it was, even going as far as sharing their heads of house with each other.
It was that thought which reminded Harry he was uncertain over something McGonagall had said. While the others dispersed into the room, touching decorations and comparing the differences, he pulled Hermione aside.
"Who’s Professor Miller?"
"Abigail Miller. She is the new Muggle Studies teacher and head of the Gryffindor House,” she answered confidently.
"Right, McGonagall can't stay on as head of house." It dawned on Harry he had not given the details of her change in administration position much thought.
"No, she can't, but Professor Miller seems nice," Hermione offered, reading the uncertainty in his face.
"What happened to Burbage, though?" he asked, referring to the prior Muggle Studies instructor.
"She resigned through the post at the beginning of the last school year. No one has heard from or seen her since last summer, and Alecto Carrow was quick to appoint himself her replacement. The Aurors suspect foul play, but they haven't found a body, so there's not much to go on."
They shared a commiserating look; they knew very well what going missing during the war meant. The chances they would ever find her alive and unharmed somewhere enjoying early retirement were very slim.
"We're not itching to bed down with you either!" Both turned back to the group at Zabini’s exclamation.
There was a scowl on his face and he stood toe to toe with Ron.
Hermione let out a sigh. It seemed it had only taken those few unsupervised minutes for Ron to get into an altercation.
"Exactly. We can just split up. Gryffindors in one dormitory and Slytherins in the other," Ron declared
"The staircases are sure to be charmed. Boys and girls won't be able to room together." Hermione reminded him, gently pulling him back from the other boy.
"I'm shocked little miss no it all didn't figure out a way to disarm the charm by now," Pansy jeered, looking down at Hermione.
"We weren't trying to creep into each other’s beds at night to have free for alls!" Ron defended his girlfriend.
"Did you really do that in Slytherin? Host scandalous orgies?” Dean rolled his eyes at Seamus's enthusiasm.
Pansy looked at him in disgust. "No! Were you buggering each other in dog piles in your common room?" she shot back.
"We're lions, not dogs," Ron corrected. Parvati covered her face at his poorly thought out response.
"Oh, so the rest is accurate enough?" She gave them a satisfied smirk.
"What! No! No piles or orgies." Ron shook his head.
The door opened and Malfoy quietly stepped through the entrance. When everyone's heads spun in his direction, he hesitated in the doorway. For a moment, Harry thought he would turn around and step back out.
"Draco, darling, wait until you hear what the Gryffindorks get up to in their house. And to think we'll have to room with them. It puts me off my lunch." Pansy curled her lip in distaste, making her unattractive nose even more prominent.
"Hey, if anyone should be disgusted it's us for being stuck with you lot," Ron shot back venomously.
"Why's that, Weasley?" Zabini asked, deceptively calm.
"Because you're all cowards, every one of you, who listened to whatever your mum and dads told you and chose to follow a nutter." Ron may have been looking at Zabini when he said it, but the words were obviously meant for Malfoy.
Harry watched Neville begin to draw closer to Ron, and yet Malfoy remained still, looking on at the group with his hands to his sides, making no move to grab his wand or reply.
"We're cowards because we don't run to our deaths? I knew it would be like this. That we would be blamed for the war," Zabini declared shaking his head.
"How could you not?" Ron asked disbelievingly. "It was all because of the Slytherins, the people who tortured and murdered and brought this war on. They were all Slytherins. Do you understand? Your sneakiness and ambition are good for nothing but evil." Neville motioned to Hermione to let Ron go so he could hold his arm in a firmer grip.
"Ron," Neville tried to calm him, but the redhead was not paying attention.
Harry watched, seeing the anger shift through the Slytherins behind Zabini. Parkinson's eyes were hard, and Goyle was clenching his fists.
"You think you're so much better than us?" Zabini asked, moving closer again.
Ron gently removed Hermione's hand from his arm. "You prove it all on your own that we're better than people like you and Malfoy." It seemed like the appearance of Malfoy had served to spur Ron’s aggression so much so that the situation had turned from almost harmless ribbing to this volatile argument in such a few moments. Harry knew the anger from Bill's attack and Hermione's torture at the manor was still fresh, and those grievances were thrown on top the countless skirmishes that fed Ron’s anger.
Malfoy, for his part, had still not moved from the doorway, even with Parkinson's insistent motions that he go to her side. He made no sign he heard Ron's taunt or would do anything about it. His face was expressionless, and when he did move it was only to tuck away some loose blond strands behind his ear.
Zabini did not hold back though. "You love acting all holier than thou, don't you, Weasel? Just because you're the sidekick of the golden boy, you want to lord it over us and act like you’re better."
Harry watched a blotchy pattern form and spread from Ron's face to his neck. He knew he should interfere, but even as he was having the thought it seemed his body had moved close enough so that he was placing a reassuring hand on Ron's shoulder and standing in front of him.
He knew everyone's eyes were fixed on him, could feel their stares growing heavy on his shoulders. His still war-sensitive reflexes went haywire when he noticed Zabini's hand slip into his pocket, but he did not reach for his own.
He never had a problem with Zabini--he barely knew him--but here he was sprouting such utter nonsense. Here they all were, talking nonsense. He understood Ron's anger, but he could not ignore Hermione's visible anxiety or the uncertainty and confusion on the Gryffindors’ faces even as they stood behind Ron to back him up.
What good would this do?
"We don't think we're better than you," he said quietly. Zabini didn't look as if he believed him.
"Actually, we had to fight and die just to prove we were equal." His tone was flat, and he did not look away as he spoke to him.
"Maybe we fucked things up by automatically treating you like the enemy. We acted just like the simple minded fools we were fighting. They'd have you believe you’re worth nothing more than the blood running through your veins." Harry's laughter was dark and ringing with ice. "But trust me, we all bleed red. We can all burn, and when we get brought down, we all cry out just the same."
From the corner of his eye, he could see Goyle flinch at the mention of burning.
"That man out there is proof he could use his traits for good, and he had more courage than anyone I've ever met, and that includes Gryffindors." He motioned back toward the door without turning.
"Maybe you've just been guilty of mindlessly going along with your families. Now you can choose to be different or not." Harry shrugged carelessly. He wasn't looking to reform everyone; some of the pureblood enthusiasts from Slytherin had proved they were just as willing to kill over their ideals. "I'm not here to police you, but I won't keep playing at war with people who can't understand what it really means."
He moved back from Zabini, and turned slightly left. His eyes met with Malfoy’s, and there was more emotion in those silver eyes from his words than Ron's insults. He could not identify what sentiment it was, though.
"Harry's right. We don't think we’re better." Neville's voice broke their shared gaze, and Harry turned to look at his friend, who'd moved to stand beside him in support.
"We all came back for this last year, and we're in this situation together. We don't have to be friends, but I'm sure none of us came to continue fighting. Can we agree on that?" Neville's words were quiet but strong.
One by one everyone in the room nodded. Zabini slowly went back to his group, and Malfoy finally moved closer until he was standing within reaching distance of Parkinson and the rest.
Looking at Neville now, one could hardly imagine he was the same boy who'd stumbled around nervously, always searching for his missing toad. This was the Neville who had led a rebellion, represented hope for those caught up in the horror of a Hogwarts under siege, and Harry could not have felt prouder.
"Is this some of the stuff that's been on your mind?" Hermione asked gently.
"Maybe." Truthfully, it may have been simmering in his mind somewhere, kindled by thoughts of Snape or seeing Malfoy with Teddy this past summer, but it hadn't been his intention to reveal any of it. Hearing Ron's words, though, and watching both groups growing tenser and on the edge of a fight had finally pulled the words right out of him.
Now he felt a little foolish, as if he'd been a beauty queen going on about changing the world and doing away with prejudice.
He looked at Ron uncertainly. Harry remembered his words before their Sorting eight years ago. 'Everyone that's gone bad comes from Slytherin.' Suddenly, it felt like he was almost going against his friend.
Harry tried to think of an explanation and opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione nudged Ron and he managed to speak first.
"I'm sorry, mate. We've done enough fighting. I'll play nice if they do, but I still don't trust them." Ron made sure to emphasise that fact.
Harry nodded. That was all right; he didn't either. How could you trust someone you didn't know? Or only knew by the hateful things they'd spouted at each other?
"We should go to bed," Parvati suggested quietly from where she'd been speaking with Seamus and Dean.
"Yeah, might as well choose our beds and get some rest," Seamus agreed, pulling Dean with him toward the set of stairs on the right.
Harry and Ron bid the Gryffindor girls goodnight and followed up after Neville, leaving the Slytherins to say their own goodbyes.
The boys’ dormitory was familiar with exception to its size. To handle twice the amount of usual occupancy, the room was larger and shaped in a half circle, like Gryffindor Tower.
They stopped short. There didn't seem to be any need to hurry to get their choice of beds. Much like it had been in first year, their trunks were already set in front of the different four posters. The Slytherins trickled in, Malfoy at the end of the procession.
Each boy made his way to his trunk and the corresponding bed, muttering various complaints as he went.
"That's different," Harry thought he heard Malfoy whisper, looking out one of the windows. He took a look out himself, but didn't see anything out of place. He was used to a view overlooking the grounds, but he imagined it was very different than what Malfoy usually saw from beneath the lake.
Harry's bed was in one corner, followed by Draco, Ron, Blaise, Neville, Gregory, Dean, ending with Seamus in the other corner. It was amusing to watch Ron make a show of warding his trunk once he’d gathered his pyjamas to change for bed.
Harry, at such an angle, had a clear view of Malfoy disrobing by his bed between his own and Ron’s. Ron was busy watching Malfoy intently, like he expected him to do something heinous the moment he turned his eyes away.
Malfoy seemed to be ignoring him. When he changed out of his uniform shirt, he contortioned his body, keeping his left arm at an odd angle, almost as if he was trying to keep it concealed. The purpose of the strange movement was clear to Harry: he was trying to hide the Dark Mark.
Harry couldn’t explain it, but he suddenly wanted to see the confirmation of what he’d suspected in sixth year, wanted to close the small distance separating them and take hold of that pale, thin arm, turn the limb in his hands to see the Mark, the claim that proved Malfoy belonged to a man who had sought to kill Harry and everyone he loved. It was also the arm that had held Teddy and rocked him to sleep, carefully attending to the small boy who'd lost so much to the madmen who'd worn the very same Mark with pride. He feels conflicted between the two rationales--the certainty of Malfoy's darkness, and the surprise of the reserved kindness he'd seen glimpses of that summer.
Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to scrape it off with his fingers until the evidence of his misguided allegiance had completely disappeared, reduced to nothing but skin and ink trapped under Harry's stubby fingernails. He blinked at the strange direction his thoughts were taking. Why was it affecting him so?
He realised Draco had stopped dressing and was looking directly at him, arms tucked into the long sleeves and the fabric bunching against his chest. Harry could clearly see the flat plane of his lean torso.
It dawned on him the strange look the blond sent his way was because he'd been caught staring, and he cleared his throat quickly, nervously moistening his lower lip with his tongue before uttering a quiet "goodnight." It felt a little strange. They'd exchanged a few words during the summer afternoons their visits coincided, but Harry couldn’t think of anything to say. He certainly wasn’t going to mention his thoughts on the Dark Mark and his apparently preferred method of removal.
"Goodnight," Draco answered softly, lifting his arms and pushing his head through the neck of his top and pulling the shirt straight. He didn’t look at Harry again, but tucked himself into his bed. Harry noticed he didn’t leave his wand on the table, but slipped it beneath his pillow.
Harry climbed into bed, reluctantly grabbing the warm cup of milk that appeared on his nightstand. He sat up, slowly sipping the drink. He answered the calls of goodnight from his fellow Gryffindors, and smiled at Neville's additional goodnight that hung in the air for anyone who chose to receive it.
There were new sounds to account for in this new dormitory: Restless shuffling of comforters, and snoring that was louder and deeper than he was used to, but he knew he could learn to live with the additions. Everyone drew the curtains around their beds, and his last glimpse of Malfoy showed him curled on his side, back to Harry, facing Ron's bed.
Chapter 4
On its only door hung a elegant black frame, but there was nothing in it at the moment. Whoever occupied it must have been out visiting like the Fat Lady used to do. They looked to each other after a while when no one appeared.
McGonagall went to stand next to the painting, her crossed arms and tapping foot a sure sign she was growing impatient. Whoever it was, they were certainly in for a tongue lashing at the hands of the Scottish witch when they returned to their post.
"Who do you think it is?" Seamus asked Dean.
"Maybe Sir Cadogan?" Dean offered. It was as good a guess as any since the knight had filled in for the Fat Lady when she was being repaired in third year.
The Slytherins did not offer any opinions, and remained separated from the group now that they had fallen out of their line formation.
"Where's his pony, though?" Ron joined in. Harry could recall the boisterous knight and his questionable steed.
"Right, and the background was a grassy hill!"
Dean did not get a chance to provide any more theories, for just as soon as Seamus was agreeing with Ron a man came back into the portrait.
"Where were you, Severus?" All the students looked at him with wide eyes, and it was almost funny how the Slytherins’ backs went ramrod straight, even Goyle’s, who'd been slumping against the opposite wall.
Snape was dressed in his customary black robes, although they could only see him from the chest up. His hook nose, stringy hair and pale face were all the same. Harry felt like those black eyes pierced him, but he maintained eye contact with the man. The last time he'd seen him, he'd been bleeding out from Nagini's attack and asking him to look into his eyes one last time, one last look to imagine the very same eyes in a different face. When Harry suggested his portrait be hung in Hogwarts in his honour, he never expected him to be his portrait guardian. Then again, the new living arrangements had caught him by surprise like a rogue Bludger in a fast-paced game of Quidditch.
He didn't know what Snape's portrait read on his face, but he did nothing more than narrow his eyes before looking toward the headmistress when he replied, "Am I now bound to this location?" He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Snape had been the first person Harry knew who could express a full range of emotion through the slant and arch of his eyebrows.
"You know you must be here once the term has started." The manner in which McGonagall explained it was with loving exasperation; as loving as the stern woman could seem, anyway.
"So, for now I have been relegated to watching over this sad experiment." The sarcasm he was known for was in full force.
Was that what they were? An experiment? Did that mean they were going to integrate the dorms in the other houses depending on whether or not they all remained in one piece at the end of the year? Harry dared another look at the Slytherins and wondered what was taking Malfoy so long. Could they be talking about that night in the Astronomy Tower?
"Now, Severus, you understand why this is so important. Why the castle itself agrees, not to mention a certain portrait in my office." She reminded Harry of a mother telling her child to eat his vegetables because he would grow up big and strong, no matter how distasteful they were.
"So I must endure for the greater good." Harry snapped his eyes toward him; it seemed the man was still tied to Dumbledore's wishes even in death. He wasn't sure if he should feel sorrier for Snape or him and his friends. It was obvious they were all following the former headmaster’s wishes with this arrangement, and, like Snape, he was going to conform to them.
"Thank you, Severus." McGonagall turned away from him to face the group.
"As you can see, Professor Snape will be guarding the entrance to your rooms. For the time being, you are not allowed to bring anyone in here from another house. The professor will be ensuring that. I will be lifting that restriction in three weeks or so. Also, keep in mind this considered your common room, and you are not allowed to frequent the common rooms of your original houses."
"Excuse me, I told Daphne I would watch out for her sister. How am I supposed to do that now?" Pansy complained.
"I'm sure you will be able to provide assistance to Miss Greengrass even with this restriction. We are allowing visitors for just such a reason."
"Any other questions?" McGonagall turned to the rest of them.
Ron muttered, "Can Snape take off points?"
Harry was surprised to see Snape smile without malice. Maybe he was amused he still inspired that much fear in his students. "Yes, Professor Snape can remove points."
The groans were low and unanimous from the Gryffindors.
"I won't as long as they are capable of following the rules." His expression and tone did little to reassure them he believed they were capable of such a task, especially with the meaningful glances he directed toward Harry, Hermione and Ron.
Harry imagined Snape would need a way to keep himself occupied with this temporary profession, and torturing and taking points from them might just be the entertainment he chose. Oddly, he couldn't muster too much concern at the possibility of lost points. There was too much he'd seen of the inner workings of the man to desire picking up where their animosity left off. Besides, this year was not about intrepid adventuring, but embracing the mundane day-to-day that was normal for the other students.
"With your special circumstances, should you need guidance from a head of house, both Professor Slughorn and Professor Miller will be able to assist any one of you. I hope not to see you for disciplinary action, but my office is otherwise open to you."
"What's the password?" Neville asked before she could leave.
"The password is 'I am a dunderhead.'" Her lips thinned and she sent one last look at the Potions Master, who remained impassive.
Once she said the password, the door swung open to reveal what was to be their new home.
~~~~~~~
His first impression was his former common room had been ransacked, along with Slytherins’, to provide the odd collaboration of furniture that inhabited the space. The only difference was that the palette of the furniture was a range of warm earth tones with no red or green to be found. There were two brown leather couches, framed by fluffy crème armchairs. There were desks for homework, and open space to carry out games and such. Over all the setup was the same, if only smaller than their respective common rooms.
The Hogwarts crest hung above their fireplace, framed by banners that were the only things representing their houses in the room. They seemed to be serious about this integration, or whatever it was, even going as far as sharing their heads of house with each other.
It was that thought which reminded Harry he was uncertain over something McGonagall had said. While the others dispersed into the room, touching decorations and comparing the differences, he pulled Hermione aside.
"Who’s Professor Miller?"
"Abigail Miller. She is the new Muggle Studies teacher and head of the Gryffindor House,” she answered confidently.
"Right, McGonagall can't stay on as head of house." It dawned on Harry he had not given the details of her change in administration position much thought.
"No, she can't, but Professor Miller seems nice," Hermione offered, reading the uncertainty in his face.
"What happened to Burbage, though?" he asked, referring to the prior Muggle Studies instructor.
"She resigned through the post at the beginning of the last school year. No one has heard from or seen her since last summer, and Alecto Carrow was quick to appoint himself her replacement. The Aurors suspect foul play, but they haven't found a body, so there's not much to go on."
They shared a commiserating look; they knew very well what going missing during the war meant. The chances they would ever find her alive and unharmed somewhere enjoying early retirement were very slim.
"We're not itching to bed down with you either!" Both turned back to the group at Zabini’s exclamation.
There was a scowl on his face and he stood toe to toe with Ron.
Hermione let out a sigh. It seemed it had only taken those few unsupervised minutes for Ron to get into an altercation.
"Exactly. We can just split up. Gryffindors in one dormitory and Slytherins in the other," Ron declared
"The staircases are sure to be charmed. Boys and girls won't be able to room together." Hermione reminded him, gently pulling him back from the other boy.
"I'm shocked little miss no it all didn't figure out a way to disarm the charm by now," Pansy jeered, looking down at Hermione.
"We weren't trying to creep into each other’s beds at night to have free for alls!" Ron defended his girlfriend.
"Did you really do that in Slytherin? Host scandalous orgies?” Dean rolled his eyes at Seamus's enthusiasm.
Pansy looked at him in disgust. "No! Were you buggering each other in dog piles in your common room?" she shot back.
"We're lions, not dogs," Ron corrected. Parvati covered her face at his poorly thought out response.
"Oh, so the rest is accurate enough?" She gave them a satisfied smirk.
"What! No! No piles or orgies." Ron shook his head.
The door opened and Malfoy quietly stepped through the entrance. When everyone's heads spun in his direction, he hesitated in the doorway. For a moment, Harry thought he would turn around and step back out.
"Draco, darling, wait until you hear what the Gryffindorks get up to in their house. And to think we'll have to room with them. It puts me off my lunch." Pansy curled her lip in distaste, making her unattractive nose even more prominent.
"Hey, if anyone should be disgusted it's us for being stuck with you lot," Ron shot back venomously.
"Why's that, Weasley?" Zabini asked, deceptively calm.
"Because you're all cowards, every one of you, who listened to whatever your mum and dads told you and chose to follow a nutter." Ron may have been looking at Zabini when he said it, but the words were obviously meant for Malfoy.
Harry watched Neville begin to draw closer to Ron, and yet Malfoy remained still, looking on at the group with his hands to his sides, making no move to grab his wand or reply.
"We're cowards because we don't run to our deaths? I knew it would be like this. That we would be blamed for the war," Zabini declared shaking his head.
"How could you not?" Ron asked disbelievingly. "It was all because of the Slytherins, the people who tortured and murdered and brought this war on. They were all Slytherins. Do you understand? Your sneakiness and ambition are good for nothing but evil." Neville motioned to Hermione to let Ron go so he could hold his arm in a firmer grip.
"Ron," Neville tried to calm him, but the redhead was not paying attention.
Harry watched, seeing the anger shift through the Slytherins behind Zabini. Parkinson's eyes were hard, and Goyle was clenching his fists.
"You think you're so much better than us?" Zabini asked, moving closer again.
Ron gently removed Hermione's hand from his arm. "You prove it all on your own that we're better than people like you and Malfoy." It seemed like the appearance of Malfoy had served to spur Ron’s aggression so much so that the situation had turned from almost harmless ribbing to this volatile argument in such a few moments. Harry knew the anger from Bill's attack and Hermione's torture at the manor was still fresh, and those grievances were thrown on top the countless skirmishes that fed Ron’s anger.
Malfoy, for his part, had still not moved from the doorway, even with Parkinson's insistent motions that he go to her side. He made no sign he heard Ron's taunt or would do anything about it. His face was expressionless, and when he did move it was only to tuck away some loose blond strands behind his ear.
Zabini did not hold back though. "You love acting all holier than thou, don't you, Weasel? Just because you're the sidekick of the golden boy, you want to lord it over us and act like you’re better."
Harry watched a blotchy pattern form and spread from Ron's face to his neck. He knew he should interfere, but even as he was having the thought it seemed his body had moved close enough so that he was placing a reassuring hand on Ron's shoulder and standing in front of him.
He knew everyone's eyes were fixed on him, could feel their stares growing heavy on his shoulders. His still war-sensitive reflexes went haywire when he noticed Zabini's hand slip into his pocket, but he did not reach for his own.
He never had a problem with Zabini--he barely knew him--but here he was sprouting such utter nonsense. Here they all were, talking nonsense. He understood Ron's anger, but he could not ignore Hermione's visible anxiety or the uncertainty and confusion on the Gryffindors’ faces even as they stood behind Ron to back him up.
What good would this do?
"We don't think we're better than you," he said quietly. Zabini didn't look as if he believed him.
"Actually, we had to fight and die just to prove we were equal." His tone was flat, and he did not look away as he spoke to him.
"Maybe we fucked things up by automatically treating you like the enemy. We acted just like the simple minded fools we were fighting. They'd have you believe you’re worth nothing more than the blood running through your veins." Harry's laughter was dark and ringing with ice. "But trust me, we all bleed red. We can all burn, and when we get brought down, we all cry out just the same."
From the corner of his eye, he could see Goyle flinch at the mention of burning.
"That man out there is proof he could use his traits for good, and he had more courage than anyone I've ever met, and that includes Gryffindors." He motioned back toward the door without turning.
"Maybe you've just been guilty of mindlessly going along with your families. Now you can choose to be different or not." Harry shrugged carelessly. He wasn't looking to reform everyone; some of the pureblood enthusiasts from Slytherin had proved they were just as willing to kill over their ideals. "I'm not here to police you, but I won't keep playing at war with people who can't understand what it really means."
He moved back from Zabini, and turned slightly left. His eyes met with Malfoy’s, and there was more emotion in those silver eyes from his words than Ron's insults. He could not identify what sentiment it was, though.
"Harry's right. We don't think we’re better." Neville's voice broke their shared gaze, and Harry turned to look at his friend, who'd moved to stand beside him in support.
"We all came back for this last year, and we're in this situation together. We don't have to be friends, but I'm sure none of us came to continue fighting. Can we agree on that?" Neville's words were quiet but strong.
One by one everyone in the room nodded. Zabini slowly went back to his group, and Malfoy finally moved closer until he was standing within reaching distance of Parkinson and the rest.
Looking at Neville now, one could hardly imagine he was the same boy who'd stumbled around nervously, always searching for his missing toad. This was the Neville who had led a rebellion, represented hope for those caught up in the horror of a Hogwarts under siege, and Harry could not have felt prouder.
"Is this some of the stuff that's been on your mind?" Hermione asked gently.
"Maybe." Truthfully, it may have been simmering in his mind somewhere, kindled by thoughts of Snape or seeing Malfoy with Teddy this past summer, but it hadn't been his intention to reveal any of it. Hearing Ron's words, though, and watching both groups growing tenser and on the edge of a fight had finally pulled the words right out of him.
Now he felt a little foolish, as if he'd been a beauty queen going on about changing the world and doing away with prejudice.
He looked at Ron uncertainly. Harry remembered his words before their Sorting eight years ago. 'Everyone that's gone bad comes from Slytherin.' Suddenly, it felt like he was almost going against his friend.
Harry tried to think of an explanation and opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione nudged Ron and he managed to speak first.
"I'm sorry, mate. We've done enough fighting. I'll play nice if they do, but I still don't trust them." Ron made sure to emphasise that fact.
Harry nodded. That was all right; he didn't either. How could you trust someone you didn't know? Or only knew by the hateful things they'd spouted at each other?
"We should go to bed," Parvati suggested quietly from where she'd been speaking with Seamus and Dean.
"Yeah, might as well choose our beds and get some rest," Seamus agreed, pulling Dean with him toward the set of stairs on the right.
Harry and Ron bid the Gryffindor girls goodnight and followed up after Neville, leaving the Slytherins to say their own goodbyes.
The boys’ dormitory was familiar with exception to its size. To handle twice the amount of usual occupancy, the room was larger and shaped in a half circle, like Gryffindor Tower.
They stopped short. There didn't seem to be any need to hurry to get their choice of beds. Much like it had been in first year, their trunks were already set in front of the different four posters. The Slytherins trickled in, Malfoy at the end of the procession.
Each boy made his way to his trunk and the corresponding bed, muttering various complaints as he went.
"That's different," Harry thought he heard Malfoy whisper, looking out one of the windows. He took a look out himself, but didn't see anything out of place. He was used to a view overlooking the grounds, but he imagined it was very different than what Malfoy usually saw from beneath the lake.
Harry's bed was in one corner, followed by Draco, Ron, Blaise, Neville, Gregory, Dean, ending with Seamus in the other corner. It was amusing to watch Ron make a show of warding his trunk once he’d gathered his pyjamas to change for bed.
Harry, at such an angle, had a clear view of Malfoy disrobing by his bed between his own and Ron’s. Ron was busy watching Malfoy intently, like he expected him to do something heinous the moment he turned his eyes away.
Malfoy seemed to be ignoring him. When he changed out of his uniform shirt, he contortioned his body, keeping his left arm at an odd angle, almost as if he was trying to keep it concealed. The purpose of the strange movement was clear to Harry: he was trying to hide the Dark Mark.
Harry couldn’t explain it, but he suddenly wanted to see the confirmation of what he’d suspected in sixth year, wanted to close the small distance separating them and take hold of that pale, thin arm, turn the limb in his hands to see the Mark, the claim that proved Malfoy belonged to a man who had sought to kill Harry and everyone he loved. It was also the arm that had held Teddy and rocked him to sleep, carefully attending to the small boy who'd lost so much to the madmen who'd worn the very same Mark with pride. He feels conflicted between the two rationales--the certainty of Malfoy's darkness, and the surprise of the reserved kindness he'd seen glimpses of that summer.
Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to scrape it off with his fingers until the evidence of his misguided allegiance had completely disappeared, reduced to nothing but skin and ink trapped under Harry's stubby fingernails. He blinked at the strange direction his thoughts were taking. Why was it affecting him so?
He realised Draco had stopped dressing and was looking directly at him, arms tucked into the long sleeves and the fabric bunching against his chest. Harry could clearly see the flat plane of his lean torso.
It dawned on him the strange look the blond sent his way was because he'd been caught staring, and he cleared his throat quickly, nervously moistening his lower lip with his tongue before uttering a quiet "goodnight." It felt a little strange. They'd exchanged a few words during the summer afternoons their visits coincided, but Harry couldn’t think of anything to say. He certainly wasn’t going to mention his thoughts on the Dark Mark and his apparently preferred method of removal.
"Goodnight," Draco answered softly, lifting his arms and pushing his head through the neck of his top and pulling the shirt straight. He didn’t look at Harry again, but tucked himself into his bed. Harry noticed he didn’t leave his wand on the table, but slipped it beneath his pillow.
Harry climbed into bed, reluctantly grabbing the warm cup of milk that appeared on his nightstand. He sat up, slowly sipping the drink. He answered the calls of goodnight from his fellow Gryffindors, and smiled at Neville's additional goodnight that hung in the air for anyone who chose to receive it.
There were new sounds to account for in this new dormitory: Restless shuffling of comforters, and snoring that was louder and deeper than he was used to, but he knew he could learn to live with the additions. Everyone drew the curtains around their beds, and his last glimpse of Malfoy showed him curled on his side, back to Harry, facing Ron's bed.
Chapter 4