Harry looked up, seeing the faces around the room had all turned varying shades of bewildered. Neville was the only one who looked amused, sitting between Parvati and Sullivan. "Right, yeah." Harry stood, turning to the two Slytherin girls, and bowed with palms open. "Well met, Heir Parkinson, Heir Bulstrode," he greeted. "Might I introduce you to… honestly, most of the named heirs of the current Wizengamot seat-holders. We're only missing a handful."
"You're taking the Potter seat?" Bulstrode blurted, her pureblood manners disappearing in the face of such a shock. "We thought you wanted nothing to do with it."
"I didn't know it existed until summer before third year," Harry told her. "Raised by muggles, kept ignorant by Dumbledore." "Harry, be careful how much you tell them," Susan warned. Harry waved her off, sitting back down.
"Draco trusts them," he reminded her. "That's enough for me. Besides, if we have any hope of convincing them to trust us, they need to know we're not in league with him."
"Harsh words from the Gryffindor Golden Boy," Parkinson teased, leaning forward in her chair in a way that showed off her cleavage where her shirt was undone by several buttons. Harry didn't look for even a second.
"I haven't been quite so golden in a while," he replied evenly. "No one in this room serves Albus Dumbledore. And I know you don't want to serve Voldemort, either." Parkinson flinched.
"The Dark Lord is dead."
"Is he?" Harry met her eyes with a knowing gaze. Parkinson faltered. "You know as well as the rest of us it's just a matter of time. Draco tells me neither of you ladies want to follow your parents. No one here will make you. Cassius is here for the same reason. But we aren't going to tell you to go to Dumbledore for help, either."
"So what are our options, Bulstrode cut in sharply. "You?"
then?"
"If you like," Harry agreed. "For various reasons, I'm not going to be able to sit this war out. But even if I could, I don't think I'd want to. Neither side has a particularly fantastic political manifesto, and we in this room plan to offer… let's call it a third side." He hadn't been quite so bold in stating it before, but the others had to know it was where he was headed. "We are the future of the government, as long as we manage to get Dumbledore's claws out of the Wizengamot and Voldemort's lunacy removed from society entirely. If you'd like to join us, we would gladly appreciate the extra numbers. If you'd like to turn around and keep your mouth shut and wait for Voldemort to come back, that's fine. The offer of help stands regardless of what you do from this point on; if you and those you care about ever need a place to avoid either side of the war, you have my word that the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter will be ready to assist." Both girls' eyes went a fraction wider at the magic that accompanied his vow. "You're really serious about this," Bulstrode murmured. Harry nodded.
"I have to be."
"We aren't going to let the wizarding world languish like it has been for the last century," Susan said, unflinching as she eyed the Slytherins. "And we're certainly not going to let it stay in Dumbledore's hands. We know that we can be better. But we will do so with all magical people as equals. Purebloods, half-bloods, muggleborns, even those with creature blood; all of them have just as much right to be here as anyone else. If you have a problem with that, you can leave now." "I don't want muggleborns dead," Parkinson sniffed, "I just want them to stop bringing their filthy habits and customs into our world. If we're not careful, the Statute will be broken, and it'll be the Witch Trials all over again."
"If they have magic in their blood, they have the right to use it," Draco agreed. "But we also have the right to teach them to be like us, rather than being expected to become like them."
"That's fair," Anthony murmured, relaxing a little. Clearly a few of the heirs had been expecting a rant about blood purity. Harry smiled to himself, wishing he could take Draco's hand under the table. One meeting wouldn't change the years of animosity built up in the group, but… it was a start.
"We'll have plenty of time to talk politics in future," Harry said, reaching into his school bag. "But I really need to get this essay done." He set his Potions textbook on the table, digging around for a quill and the half-written essay. "If Hermione tries to help me with it one more time I am going to scream."
"Well, we couldn't have that," Draco drawled lightly. "Let's see what you've got so far." He stole Harry's quill off him, setting in to read the unfinished essay with a faint frown on his lips. Harry wished they were alone, so he could kiss it off the blond's face.
"No
wonder
your
grade
has
been improving this year," Parkinson mused, and Harry chuckled.
"It's not entirely his doing," he insisted. "I've been paying better attention. But not having this git throwing things into my cauldron helps." Draco elbowed him in the side without looking up from the essay. "Oi! Now who's the barbarian?"
"It's still you," Draco assured. "You're a terrible influence, too."
Harry grinned cheekily. "Someone has to keep you humble."
They were being stared at, but he refused to quit goading Draco, wanting everyone to see that they weren't going to start hexing each other. That Draco could be trusted.
It would be slow going, but he'd get there.
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