It was a bright, lovely Saturday morning in Autumn, just over a week from when he'd almost been squashed by a troll on a dark, Halloween night.
Harry had gotten a clean bill of health from Madam Pomfrey just earlier that morning which really only continued to surprise him as everyone else around who was raised in magical families seemed totally unperturbed by how fast magical medicine worked. That meant today he was allowed to participate in some mild exercise to get back into shape before his quidditch match next weekend, and if his chosen activity was football, all the better to let his still sore shoulder rest up a bit more.
And because he was brilliant at what he did, he'd managed to track down and convince Fred and George to join their budding football club. He tried to apologize to them, but they'd cut him off and hadn't even let him finish speaking before going off about something else, so he still didn't know what their opinion on the matter was. Since it was pretty hard to track them down and keep them still, getting them to join their club seemed like a good idea at the time.
But the thing was… the twins were very, very good at quidditch, mainly because their positions were all but designed for them. Beaters were a team within a team, and when you could practically read someone's mind then that team was a very, very good one.
And Harry was slightly in despair to realize this talent of their very easily translated down a couple hundred meters into the grass of the quidditch pitch they'd been cleared to use for their football club, as he watched Fred and George kick a ball back and forth to each other with a positively terrifying speed and accuracy. Never done this before his butt— there was no way they didn't have practice at this under their belts.
And he said as much, loudly.
One of the twins threw his head back, laughing heartily when he heard that complaint.
"Dad works for the Ministry for the prevention of magical artifacts getting into muggles' hands."
"He loves muggle stuff and we've known about this game for a while-"
"Dad confiscated many an enchanted football and returned it back to normal-"
"Kept it in our shed though and it got way boring at home once our older brothers went to Hogwarts-"
"And the littler ones were too young to play with us."
"We've kicked this thing around before," They chorused as they kept kicking it back and forth to each other a break-neck speed that left even Dean looking uneasy. It was as if their lightning-fast hits back and forth with beater bats had translated directly into a football skidding across the ground and now Harry knew he was not actually good at football, just better than people his own age. The twins though, were looking to be verygood at football.
Harry turned to Lu beside him with a deadpan. "What were you saying about it being unfair I was good at both quidditch and football?"
"Well." Lu huffed, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "Who expects the Weasley twins, honestly?"
Harry snorted automatically and Seamus outright laughed behind them.
"Um… I've never really played this game before. Is that what we're supposed to do?" One of their other new additions chimed in from a little ways away.
Felix and Marissa were third year Ravenclaws who'd seen the sign and were interested, but both were pureblood who didn't know the rules. Alexander was a second year Hufflepuff who'd heard Susan and Hannah going on about this club and being a muggleborn himself with no interest in quidditch thought it worth looking into, but even though he knew the game he looked a little green at trying to get between the twins and their psychic rhythm here.
In addition to those three there were two Gryffindor second years and three Hufflepuff first years, a mix of muggleborn and half-bloods who were interested in a sport other than quidditch that was open to everyone, and curious purebloods who had no idea what was going on but had heard of this little get together and wanted to know more. Not a single Slytherin so far though, not that Harry was shocked. He could wait them out though.
"Those two are ridiculous. Ignore them." Harry assured Felix's nervous question quickly.
"Hey!" The twins in question cried indignantly.
"This is never going to work." Lu huffed, crossing his arms pointedly. "We're all at such different skill levels and knowledge of the game that it won't be fair to those learning to have to put up with those more skilled and those who already know the game and want to play won't be content to doing basic passes and kicks every week." He laid out the problem like a true Ravenclaw, his housemates instantly looking thoughtful on how to solve it but not quite sure how. Mainly because most of them didn't really know what the game entailed in the first place.
"Well it's not like Hogwarts doesn't have enough land to spread out. Maybe we should split up into skill groups—first years or really those who don't know what the heck is going on in one group, other more experienced in another. We should also draw straws because if the twins are always on the same team I don't think anyone but them is going to have a good time."
"Now that is just plain rude, Apples." One of them—Harry was just going to randomly label that one George— stuck his tongue out, not even breaking stride from playing ball with his brother.
"True, but rude!" Fred agreed unhelpfully, earning himself a particularly hard kick from his brother that sent the ball directly into his chest and downed him dramatically, much to everyone's amusement.
"Okay, let's start like this: who doesn't know a thing about football? And it's fine to raise your hand, I know there are at least three of you."
Felix, Marissa, both the Gryffindor second years, and one of the Hufflepuff first years all raised their hands. With Neville, Hannah, and Susan that meant there'd be eight in the 'beginners' group. Harry probably should've been in the beginner's group but after showing off the last weeks he wasn't sure Dean or Lu (who'd somehow become co-leaders of this thing, he wasn't sure how that happened but had a suspicion there was some intense shop talk happening between the two new bros when he wasn't around) would agree with that opinion. While he could run laps around Neville who'd literally never heard of football until a month ago, he was absolutely trash compared to the speed Fred and George had been going at. Was there an intermediate level?
"That splits us pretty even actually, if Neville, Susan, and Hannah you'd want to stay to learn more." Dean offered, and the three of them glanced at each other but just shrugged, knowing they didn't really have grounds to claim they were all that good. They knew the rules at least, compared to the rest of the beginners. Or sort of did, as Harry wasn't sure Susan had ever admitted defeat to Lu about what she maintained as 'legal'.
"That means its eight and eight—I can stay over here and talk rules and basics, while everyone else who wants to play a pick-up game."
"Let's do it width-ways on the pitch so we can be within shouting distance—we're not big enough for full teams anyway." Lu suggested and no one had an issue so they parted ways and each took an end of the pitch, the upper years transfiguring sticks into make-shift goal posts at Dean's direction for each game and lots were drawn to decide teams. The twins were not allowed to pick draws and had been put on different teams, which caused them to pout playfully but they didn't argue.
"We've got five siblings, two of which are younger and one who is a priss who never liked to fight dirty. We can cool it for now until we're all a bit better," One of them had said when Harry warned them not to blow over the many first and second years they were playing against. The only other third years on the field were in the beginner's course, after all. They seemed genuinely okay with taking it easy and not going all out too, but then again Harry hadn't met anyone quite as playful and laid back as the twins, so he didn't worry too much about it (they ended up spending most of the time trying to sabotage each other anyway, which was hilarious for all involved).
All in all, he worked up a good sweat by the end of their little club session, and he got a real sense of pride to realize this thing was growing. The month had started out pretty terrible to be fair, but things were definitely looking up.
000
"Why won't you let me apologize?"
The twin he was kicking the ball to paused just enough to roll his eyes, then kick it over to his brother almost without even looking. That twin caught it just as effortlessly.
"Let's be real, avoiding a troll is not the most dangerous thing we've done in the name of a prank,"
"And you even had more noble reasons for sending us off than we'd ever had." The other twin chimed in, equally as unimpressed with Harry's attempt to make amends.
"Besides, the house elves knew before anyone the troll was out,"
"They didn't let us leave the kitchens until it was clear." They explained.
"House elves?" That was the second time he'd heard about them, but he still wasn't sure what they were. But more importantly: "Also, you know where the kitchens are?"
"Yeah we do!"
"That's a handy trick for a late-night snack. We'll show you sometime."
"Well that'd be awesome," Harry perked up, because that was brilliant knowledge to have, for sure. And he reluctantly let the matter drop for now as he could see where the twins were coming from. What was with these Gryffindor's and their surprising sense of morals?
Maybe he hadn't been sorted into the right house after all. He was starting to realize maybe he wasn't exactly nice enough to be a proper Gryffindor… he was really going to have to watch that, moving forward.
The club had called it quits around lunch time as they usually did, but the twins were happy to stick around and continue goofing off with each other so Harry had jumped at the chance to get them alone. Now that he knew they knew where the kitchens were, skipping an official meal time probably meant little to them. Harry was hungry though so he'd probably get that information from them sooner rather than later.
"Hey Apples," One of the twins called after a couple minutes of quiet (a thing Harry should've picked up on much faster with the twins, he realized) passing the ball around lazily.
"Hm?"
"Would you mind if we asked about the colors?"
"Colors?"
"I mean we know you were raised by muggles but we know muggles some too, from our dad."
"You don't dress like muggles—or anybody really." They chimed in between themselves, and Harry was surprised about the sudden change in topic. Especially from the twins, who were the first to totally and entirely accept his weird quirks without so much as an eyebrow or second glance other than appropriately appreciative. Not that they just didn't comment or notice, they routinely complimented him if he had a new hair pin or band t-shirt they liked on, but other than that never really acknowledged his style choice. And everyone else either just thought he was weird and ignored it or were pureblood and assumed that was how muggles dressed.
He looked down at his outfit of the day, which he was proud of but still, people had long since stopped bringing up what he wore. Teal shorts that went to mid-thigh with a bright white stripe down the side, his white sneakers and a fitted bright pink t-shirt with a faded yellow skull on the front. He thought it was a band shirt but wasn't sure what the band was to be honest, he just liked the colors. And since he knew he'd be running a lot today, he had his hair in a high pony tail and one of Dell's bracelets looped around the crown for flare, but had otherwise left all his normal baubles off since he was running around and getting sweaty today.
When he started at Hogwarts, he had no intention of explaining himself to people. They could either leave him be or get lost, and he'd intended to maintain that during his time at this school.
However… the twins had been very kind to him, and despite being a couple years older and slightly removed life-experience-wise, they were genuinely happy, cheerful people who were asking now out of harmless interest. No judgement from either of them, just an earnest curiosity about him and Harry felt less defensive than he normally would be at a question like that. And he still felt bad about unknowingly putting them in danger, so he took a breath and explained.
"… the muggles I grew up with were the worst sort, really. I don't call them family—they're relatives, nothing more." He began and they didn't really have a reaction to that as they continued to slowly kick the ball around, so he continued. "They were obsessed about being normal. They never told me about magic, and I think they tried to stamp it out of me although I didn't realize that's what they were doing. My aunt hated my mother and her freakishness more than anything—except maybe my Dad and me."
They looked pretty confused at that, and Harry knew they would be. People who grew up with magic learning there were people who hated it was probably a new concept, and he smiled wryly at them. "I guess growing up being told that anything even slightly abnormal was freakish and wrong was counter-productive: when I decided to be free of their opinions and of them in general I decided to be who I was no matter what. If that meant wearing a shirt I liked the color of, then so be it." He gave a soft chuckle at the understatement in amusement. "It snowballed into being a bit more than wearing odd colored shirts just to be defiant in my aunt's eyes. I decided I liked color and shiny things and the color of my hair so… here I am." He opened his arms as if gesturing to himself with a small, earnest smile. "No apologies."
"…"
"…"
Twins gave each other a look, and then one of them smiled but with something a bit sad in his face.
"We always thought about that too. The no apologies part." He paused his words to kick the ball harshly towards his brother who caught it, shrugging a bit. "We grew up being told Gryffindor means brave of heart, and that every Weasley for centuries has been a Gryffindor. A long time ago we decided that meant something different to us than it does to everyone else—that we should be brave enough to love and hate and feel whatever we wanted with our hearts no matter anyone else's opinions or how right or wrong it was. To be brave enough to be pure of heart—or pure to what our hearts feel." He grinned widely with a light laugh of his own. "We kind of figured that's what you were going to say, which is why we asked. We could tell pretty quickly you were our kind of person and thought you might agree with our perspective."
Harry blinked, surprised by that. And suddenly, he was reevaluating what the Sorting Hat had said about Gryffindor.
Huh.
And then, a little belatedly, he realized only one twin had said that—and made a mini-speech of it too, without his twin interrupting for the first time since Harry had met them. The other just hit the ball back and forth with them like he was listening, but not truly engaging in the conversation for once—his face blank and eyes focused on the ball.
Odd.
He glanced between the two of them, but they were identical. Right down to their freckles, somehow. That had to be magic, right? But… clearly they were different, as they were showing their difference now, for the first time, and Harry sensed this was just as important a confession for them as his own was.
"I think I do. Agree, that is." He acknowledged carefully. "It's a great way to look at it… and honestly it makes more sense about why I'm in Gryffindor, not Slytherin."
The first twin snickered, the other still not looking up. Harry was a little concerned, to be honest.
"Do you agree?" He asked mainly to the silent twin, who looked up in surprise… smiling a bit belatedly as if realizing he'd been acting off. And still, his smile didn't match his brother's, as it was wry instead of sad.
"I do. Fred and I agreed on this years ago—we were like seven really." He admitted, revealing himself to be George… which was interesting. But even as Harry watched, his eyes dimmed slightly. "It's just not always so easy, is it? Not that we ever thought it'd be."
He kicked the ball a bit harsher than before which sent it spiraling off into the nearby field and Fred pointedly did not comment or look at his twin, but chased after it as if to avoid whatever it was his brother was talking about.
Harry wondered— he couldn't not be curious— especially when they were dropping heavy hints like this and suddenly being so very different it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut and not immediately start asking questions about why they never actually acted different before. But it was clear they weren't willing to talk about it today, as they'd already confessed more than just a little, so he kept his questions to himself.
Some things weren't easy to say, and he knew that. But he was happy the twins were willing to share just this much for today.
000
"Draco, I know you're cracked, but why must we walk with him today of all days." Blaise complained, but Draco was an expert at tuning his roommate out by now.
"I'm being supportive because I will not be cheering for Gryffindor and hope you lose, so I'm being nice now." He explained, looking more at Harry as he spoke, who promptly rolled his eyes.
With his clean bill of health, and a week of hard prep to make up for his time injured, it meant today Harry was ready to compete in his first quidditch game—against the Slytherins, unfortunately, so while Draco was nice enough to walk with him to the Great Hall in support of his first game, he would still be cheering for the Slytherin team and hoping Gryffindor lost brutally.
Draco was a lunatic when it came to quidditch after all; it had less to do with house rivalries although it certainly didn't help. Harry knew since the moment he'd told Draco he was on the team and the blond had pouted for a week about a first year who wasn't him being allowed to play, that their friendship didn't stand a chance against Draco's passion for quidditch.
He didn't take offense. McGonagall was his favorite teacher after all and she damn near lost her mind over the game too (she gave him a freaking NIMBUS 2000 like a teacher giving a student a present wasn't the weirdest thing ever but it was the loveliest broom ever so he couldn't actually find it within himself to complain earnestly about it), so he knew it was just a sickness certain people had, and wouldn't hold it against them.
That didn't mean he wasn't competitive and very much aiming to win today, he just wasn't going to be mad at Draco later when he pouted over his house team losing.
Not that Harry was cocky or anything, he smirked to himself.
"Cheer all you want, Slytherin won't win so easily."
"We are undefeated for the past several years though." Draco shot back smugly.
"Yeah, since Charlie Weasley graduated as the last good seeker we had and in those days Gryffindor was the undefeated ones. Fred and George have trained against both of us and tell me I may just have him matched." He was not ashamed to say he was flaunting, but Draco started it and the playful glare he got made his bragging worth it.
Besides, bragging felt better than thinking about the butterflies currently eating away at his stomach in nerves.
"Youngest seeker in a century—McGonagall wouldn't have let it happen if he weren't good enough to make the blatant rule-breaking worth it." Blaise pointed out neutrally—mostly to get a rise out of Draco and it definitely worked.
"That's still totally lame. She can get away with it because she's Dumbledore's favorite, but if Professor Snape tried the whole school would be calling for someone's head." The blond complained.
"Tell us something we don't know," Harry scoffed. "I'll be more understanding to your plight another day, when my grade has recovered from Snape failing me for getting crushed by a troll."
"He must really hate you. That's outlandish, even for him." Blaise allowed, Draco pouting and not willing to get into the conversation about his godfather once again. He played the balance of being both a good godson and a good friend—and neither of those things were compatible on a good day, so for now he just brushed by the topic.
"Okay, fairness aside it doesn't impact the fact that one new player isn't going to change the dynamic of a record-breaking winning streak of a well-established team."
"Well established team my butt, Wood only goes on and on about the holes in your defense."
"But our offense is best in the school, and a new seeker isn't going to change that!"
"No, but you yourself have gone on for ages about the seeker being the focal point that can turn the tide of a game easily depending on the play."
"Only with solid chasers to back them up, and Gryffindor's got nothing on-"
"Don't you even dare, our girls are just as cutthroat as any snake and I've got bruises to prove it!"
Blaise rolled his eyes behind them. Harry liked to pretend he wasn't as interested in quidditch, just to highlight what a maniac Draco was about it, but the both of them were very deeply into the game. Harry had only learned about it a couple months ago after all, and this being his first game he was going to ever see much less play in, Blaise expected this hobby of theirs to only get worse with time.
Oh joy. If Draco actually makes the team next year this'll be all I hear about. Only good thing is he might've messed up with Flint by being too pushy when we first started so maybe he won't make the cut. Although if I have to hear about that I might just move in with Crabbe and Goyle if Nott doesn't beat me to it.
He grimaced at his own bad joke. Yeah… it wasn't as funny as he thought it'd be.
Wait… where isNott? He blinked, glancing around and realized they were one person short of their normal group. Nott was silent as wallpaper when Harry was around, but they typically didn't just lose him like that unless—
"Well, this isn't a shock, but it sure is nauseating first thing in the morning." A voice cut Harry and Draco's mild-mannered bickering off mere meters from the entrance to the Great Hall, and Blaise felt a tick form in his temple.
You can't be serious right now.
They turned, and the not-as-pretty red head of their own house, Graham Montague, greeted them with a sneer on his face. Well… he wasn't polite enough to greet Blaise, nor was he as their senior really obligated to greet a lowly first year even if he was a Zabini, so he let it go.
No… he was really addressing Draco, and Blaise kept his mouth shut to keep clear.
"Must you consort with a mudbood, Malfoy? And here I thought you had better breeding than that. Seems the rumors of being inbred might have some merit." The third year drawled, and Draco's hackles went up immediately.
Harry's did too, for that matter, but other than narrowing of lime green eyes, he didn't speak over Draco as the blond straightened his posture to face his upper year head on.
"Montague." The Malfoy managed to greet; jaw clenched in clear sign of what he thought of the guy.
"And of course our favorite celebrity… Potter." He turned his scathing greeting to the red head beside his target, and Harry didn't miss a beat.
"It's Monroe, Mr. Montague." And damn, if only Nott would talk to the Gryffindor, because they could both pull off damn cold like no one's business.
"Of course." The third year rolled his eyes in blatant disregard for the request. "You're a flagrant little fly, aren't you? You do know what mudblood means, right?"
"I'm aware." He got out through his own clenched teeth this time.
Draco took a neat step forward and slightly forward to block Harry from view slightly. "Enough, Montague." He growled lowly at him, and the upper year sneered openly.
"Oh, so you've gone full-on traitor then?" He scoffed. "Let's get one thing straight Malfoy, you're a sell-out of the highest order and you being a first year will only save you temporarily. Keep making shit decisions like that and you better watch your back." Saying that while looking directly at Harry, green eyes on fire back at him. "And you should watch your back on the pitch today, Potter. It'd be a real shame to see you back in the hospital wing so quickly… then again, maybe the troll was onto something."
"A relative, perhaps?" Draco shot back in mock politeness, and the eyes above him darkened dangerously.
"Watch yourself, traitor. It's poor form to knock out a first year but I'm sure people will forgive me with a mouth like that on you."
"I don't think anyone would be shocked by a show of poor form from you of all people, Montague." Draco snarled back with equal venom, if slightly more restrained. "You're not exactly cream of the crop by anyone's standards, no matter how many rumors you spread or how many people you have telling you things you want to hear." He jerked his chin up, every bit of his pompous better than you air he had perfected since before Hogwarts making it's full, glorious appearance. "Come after me, that's fine—but it won't improve your family's status nor will it give you mine."
The stinging implication to that insult being that Montague was jealous of the Malfoy wealth and power.
And Blaise had to admit, that was one of the cleverest things his roommate had ever said. Draco had a bad habit of outright leaning on his father's position like it was his own—but this was an improvement by far, even if it wasn't the greatest comeback in the world.
The third year's face turned such an alarming color, Blaise wondered if he'd popped a blood vessel. "Watch yourself, brat. Let's not forget you're on a sinking boat because you sold out your own kind, and that's not on me."
"Of course not, but you're probably better suited to converse with your cousin the mountain troll than get into it with someone like me, you backwater lump," Malfoy snapped, temper flaring— probably unsafely, as he didn't have near as much grace as Harry managed while under the influence of blinding rage. "I am not making any mistakes. You may be my senior so it would be poor form to outright threaten you, but let's not forget that threats against one's person can only be returned in kind."
"You little piece of-"
"Is something the matter here?" They were thankfully interrupted by Sprout coming up behind them, and all of them immediately snapped into more relaxed posture and expression than they'd had on before. Slytherins were nothing if not good actors, and luckily Harry caught on quick and wiped his expression blank.
"No professor." Blaise spared the two fighting boys their moment to collect themselves and smiled at her guiltlessly. "Just a little pre-quidditch jitters, I think. Let's get breakfast everyone," He put on a but of a show of friendship for the head of Hufflepuff house, who seemed to buy it as he ushered Draco and Montague off towards their table like they hadn't just been able to hex each other.
"Lead the way," Harry chimed in with a subdued tone, Sprout flashing him a reassuring grin which he accepted with his own show of warmth that at this point, Blaise had no idea if he could believe or not.
"Good luck then, Mr. Potter, Mr. Montague! Let's have a good game today!" She called after them as they made their way into the Great Hall.
Montague fled first, making beeline for the Slytherin table and not reacting to the mild scuffle outside.
As he should, the idiot. Making a scene in front of Gryffindor and where anyone could've seen that! Blaise was not amused to hiss silently after his retreating back while keeping his expression clear.
The remaining three kept tense and silent as they entered, and Blaise thinking they'd just go their own way to let what had happened settle their nerves some—but Harry had one last surprise for him as he broke the silence with a rather dry tone.
"Draco… not that I'm not supportive and all, but I do have to play a violent game on brooms against him in about two hours."
The blond gave a small spasm of exasperation that reminded Blaise oddly of a hen as his roommate broke his composed posture to pinch the bridge of his nose tightly.
"Harry, please."
000
"You disappeared rather quickly."
"Not all of us are untouchable." Nott countered, cool as ice and then resuming ignoring him as he always did. The taller boy beside him rolled his eyes and gave up trying to get a rise out of him—you couldn't only try something so many times without success until you broached the very definition of insanity.
Blaise leaned on the railing in front of him on the quidditch pitch, chin on his hand as he looked out over the as-of-yet empty fields below, waiting for the stands to fill in and the game to begin. They still had some time left, and Nott was present beside him, reading and as ever the stimulating conversationalist as he always was, so Blaise had some time to himself to consider this morning's events.
Blaise was disappointed, but also a bit unwillingly impressed—which seemed to be his ever-constant state when it came to the infamous Harry Potter. He did so love to see the red head lose his temper, because truly it was a sight to behold, but this morning proved he could read the room well enough to know when to shut his mouth.
Montague was a great oaf for airing Slytherin's dirty laundry right outside the Great Hall where anyone could've heard him, much less with Harry himself standing right there, but Blaise could almost see what Montague had been after. If Harry had attacked him in a fit of rage, he might've been banned from the game today which would put Gryffindor's not so secret weapon out for at least this one game against Slytherin. Additionally, if Harry got involved on Draco's behalf about internal Slytherin politics, it might've made it seem like the Malfoy heir couldn't stand up for himself in his own house.
And well… maybe he couldn't, maybe he could, but that was up to Draco to determine. Slytherin was all about sink-or-swim, and the pompous blond may have been growing on him over the past couple months (when his mother found out who he was rooming with she made it abundantly clear that the Malfoy wealth was quite desirable and to keep that in mind for when they both hit puberty so it had been very hard NOT to let the blond a bit closer in planning for that—even if he had less faith than his mother did about his skills in stealing Draco away from the red head currently plague his thoughts), but they still weren't solid enough allies for Blaise to consider defending or helping him. The Zabinis were untouchable, so he could consort with Potter all he wanted—Draco was the loon or the fool who jumped into that legitimate house-fire of a friendship (not an alliance, not a means to an end, but an honest to gods friendship) without thinking it through.
Blaise had never really done the whole friendship thing other than what he'd been trained to understand of it—meaning how to recognize it, fake it, and manipulate it in those around him as he saw fit. So he knew Draco and Harry were actual friends that had nothing to do with ambitions or goals; in fact most of their planning seemed to be centered around how to be able to be friends without getting crucified for it.
Which, was odd, but Blaise could get into it. If only because it was just so entertaining to watch Draco struggle, and Harry never got boring.
Like this morning. He was always so adamant about doing things his own way and being free… and Blaise was admittedly very impressed he could practice what he preached and let Draco fight his own battles without getting involved like the traditional Gryffindor might've, in service of a friend. Seems he had just enough exposure to how Slytherin worked by now to realize that getting involved was the last thing Draco needed right now—in the long term, at least.
And everything they did, was for the long term. They were patient little snakes, after all.
Blaise blinked out of his thoughts as the stands around them picked up in volume, and only a couple seconds later the announcer for the day was booming his voice across the pitch, announcing the teams. Ah, it was starting.
Nott sighed and closed his book, slipping it away reluctantly.
"Who are we playing again?"
"Nott, there is no way you don't know that."
"Ugh."
Blaise rolled his eyes, but joined him in observing the pitch and waving the stupid banner he'd picked up like an obedient housemate he was. It was literally impossible not to be fully aware of this game with Draco as their roommate, but neither he nor Nott were interested in the sport at all. They had obligations though—Blaise was aware that it was an incredibly popular sport and someday he might need to bewitch someone who would be more than willing to be worn down by hours of discussion on their favorite sport, and so paid attention and knew the rules and kept up to date with the games because that was easiest way to assimilate it all. And then he could easily not-lie to his future theoretical target when talking about all the games he'd attended in his past.
Similarly, quidditch was a flashpoint of animosity between them and Gryffindor, and so no Slytherin worth their mettle would sit it out and be the last to know about what kind of dirty plays or vengeance-prompting events might trigger sudden fights between the two houses. Nott was here for mostly that reason, and also because there was strangely a largely disproportionate group of people labeled dark in nature who enjoyed quidditch. The boy remained otherwise out of politics the best he could, but he was still from a dark family and maintaining awareness and connections to those darker members of their house was important—quidditch was the easiest way to do it, even if not that effective. It would only hurt him to openly not be interested in the game, and further isolate himself from his potential future allies, later down his path at Hogwarts.
Nott was lucky the other two dark members of the boys dorm were Crabbe and Goyle—no one faulted him for rooming with the two grey members instead of the two of his own allegiance, because it was kind of understandable to want to avoid living with those two, even if it made alliances a bit tricky. Alliances were important, but mental sanity and the ability to actually study and succeed in school was generally seen as more important to one's goals, in the long term, so Nott was generally just considered wise for his choice instead of condemned for it.
Malfoy got no such leniency though.
He did however get a little bit of a break on game days though, as there was certainly a group of Slytherins (a large group, to be fair) that put aside everything to cheer on their team like the sports freaks they were. Which was why Draco had not graced them with his presence during today's game, insulted on principle by how little they cared about his favorite sport and instead choosing to sit in the neighboring stand where the die-hards went to scream themselves hoarse over this farce.
Blaise just waved his banner and made a show of cheering out of obligation, more interested in scanning the crowds of people watching while just keeping tabs on the game for knowledge's sake.
Damn, he doesn't look half bad. He found himself thinking as the game began, tuning in enough to spot Potter amongst the flying bees of red and green in the air above them. Not that it was hard—Gryffindor was wearing red and gold robes and still his brilliant very-much-magically red hair seemed to be the only red that mattered in the wide terrain of the air as bodies and brooms and balls went whipping around in every direction.
Blaise did not actually care about this sport, but he knew enough to be dangerous for obvious reasons. And he knew there was a reason Potter had been allowed on the quidditch team a year early, but it really sunk in watching him go now. He was actually very, very talented— even to this Zabini's untrained, uncaring eye.
But he still booed when the Gryffindor made a good move, and cheered when a bludger came within centimeters from lopping his pretty red head right off. Luckily for his acting skills, the Weasley twins were also terrifying as beaters and managed to tame those loose cannon balls pretty easily. He really shouldn't be surprised by that, in hindsight.
He was likewise not surprised when he saw Flint grab one of the beaters bats and lunge a bludger at one of the Gryffindors who definitely had not expected that. Blaise had heard that was one of the fifth year's tactics. While not illegal he believed, it was still kind of filthy—but then again, the Slytherin team were all from outright dark families and if they had Flint as their leading voice there wasn't really much to do about it.
That was one of the things he really hoped Potter figured out quickly; one of the reasons Draco was struggling so much and why no one of their house would dare lift a finger to help him, first year or not.
Rule number one: house unity was everything.
Slytherin could play politics, backstab each other into oblivion, use, betray, manipulate, and connive all they wanted in house. But the second they had eyes on them, the front of house unity held all control. No matter what happened in house, in front of the school they represented one Slytherin, because they knew they would not last long as individual snakes among an unchecked playground of aggressive lions, sharp eagles, and armored badgers. Any one of them was brutal enough to take on one single snake straying too far from the rest.
One snake could be dealt with. A nest of snakes was infinitely more complicated and poisonous, and that was the way this house worked.
But it left annoying openings in their defenses like troll-blooded oafs like Marcus Flint and Graham Montague amongst others who opened their mouths out of some stupid belief they had the power or right to say things without consent of the whole. If one snake picked a fight with a passing lion, every snake in the area was obligated to back them up—whether they wanted a fight or even liked the Slytherin they were siding with. If they let Gryffindor (or any house, for that matter, but the lions especially) realize they could take down one snake if they separated it from the rest of the nest, it would be open season on all of them in no time. If Gryffindor ever realized the exact amount of dissent amongst Slytherin house, they would strike at those points until they were scattered, and then eventually destroyed. Maybe they wouldn't consciously know it, but they were fiery in their outright animosity and house rivalry nonsense to not let those opportunities go if Slytherin made it too easy for them.
And that may be a little dramatic, but it wasn't wrong either.
It was annoying that the loud-mouths of the snake house got to say what they wanted and everyone had to fall in line, at least in front of the rest of the school, for their own necks were on the chopping block if they broke ranks. And Montague was in an annoying position of being a third year, a pure-blood in good status, hadn't mucked up his is political ambitions since starting at Hogwarts, and on the quidditch team which were thick as thieves and all of strong dark families—which, when combined and given how strong and open their alliance was, no one wanted to mess with. People didn't like following his lead, but there was really no choice when he opened his mouth in front of Gryffindors and they otherwise had no reason to call him out on it in-house. If they did, it was easier for him to turn them into lion-sympathizers, which no one wanted.
Well, Draco was willing to accept that role, for Harry specifically. And given how much he struggled with their house in light of it, it was all the more reason not to cross Montague if they could help it.
A sharp inhale from beside him caused him to actually pay attention to his surroundings suddenly, and one quick glance at Nott's wide blue eyes staring directly above him, and Blaise instantly figured out what was going on.
Oh no… Draco's going to have a heart attack.
000
Let's not forget that threats against one's person can only be returned in kind.
Draco's words from that morning rang though Harry's ears as he quietly mulled that over. An eye for an eye seemed like a very Slytherin thing, and that statement in particular had sounded like some kind of saying of theirs that he just wasn't aware of. He kind of liked it though, and shelved it for more thought later.
"Are you listening to me!?" Draco hissed beside him, and Harry made a show of nodding too innocently to be believed.
"Of course I am!"
"Then what was that look for!? What are you thinking!?"
"Ah… pretty sure you don't want to know." He admitted, and Draco inflamed farther.
"You almost died. How come you're not more freaked out about this!?"
It spoke to the young Malfoy's level of distress that he was saying this at the Slytherin table during dinner, loudly, with not a care in the world who heard him. Given that the whole school had just watched Harry almost fall to his death, they weren't giving him a hard time about sitting here tonight. In fact in the name of house unity they were ignoring him all together because they'd lost the game today, which meant Gryffindors were not to be considered worth looking at for the time being while the sting to their pride settled down.
Harry was anticipating a very loud night back at Gryffindor tower to celebrate their win, and so took this opportunity of being ignored to have a quieter dinner at the Slytherin table.
Some would say it was almost like gloating, sitting with the house he'd just beaten as if shoving it in their faces. The Slytherin table was willing to give him this one though, because they certainly didn't want to have to deal with Malfoy's loud fretting and were content to let the interloper deal with it for now. That way they could ignore both of them with no political ramifications—win-win.
"To be fair, I was more scared of the troll than it turns out I am of heights." He took a bite of his tart and continued quickly before Draco could jump down his throat again. "And the twins were circling beneath me! If I really fell they'd definitely have caught me—it'd just mean we'd lose which is why I held on so hard."
"That's not the point," he huffed, legitimately upset and Harry felt bad he wasn't taking this more seriously. He made a mental note to catch up with Neville about this later too—because the quiet Gryffindor and Draco had more in common when it came to their friendship with him than either cared to admit, so if Draco was this openly worried then Neville was definitely just as distressed… and would probably just internalize it rather than bring it up.
"So someone jinxed my broom. There were dozens of teachers in the stands, Dumbledore too, and all of Gryffindor would lose the game willingly then let me fall to my death. I trust the twins with my life especially, so while yes someone did something, I was not going to get hurt from it, Draco."
The blond met his gaze with wide, distressed grey eyes, before reluctantly seeming to accept that to a point.
"You were holding on by your bad shoulder." He huffed petulantly instead.
"Now you're grasping at straws. You know magical medicine fixed that arm a week ago, better than anyone. You only drilled Pomfrey for the details and I know she spent an hour explaining the charm she used."
He sensed more than saw Blaise' amusement from across the table, and so did Draco going by the slight pink tint to his ears.
"That was not about your injury that was about charms. I like charms, okay?" He defended himself valiantly, but no one bought it. Well, Harry suspected Draco actually did like charms quite a bit, but still.
"The only real danger was losing the game." Harry patted him on the arm gently, trying to reassure him.
"Well, and the fact someone was trying to kill you." Blaise chimed in unhelpfully, and Harry shot him a look that he only smiled blankly back at.
"And that is my point!" Draco exploded again, instantly riled. "Someone tried to kill you and you don't even care!"
"I do care, it's just…" He couldn't really find the words to describe it. It wasn't like he didn't care, but he was hyped from his win and in the adrenaline of it all it really had only been one exciting moment in a whole match filled with blood-pumping, adrenaline-filled exciting moments all their own. Almost getting killed like sixteen different times by a bludger, riding a broom like a surfboard, nearly swallowing the snitch…
Forgive him if a jerky broom had only stopped his heart for a moment—the bludgers had nearly given him a heart attack ten times in the first ten minutes of the match alone, so it'd been hard to concentrate.
"Maybe I'll care more when the adrenaline wears off?" he offered helplessly instead, and Draco slumped into the table in front of him with an equal amount of helplessness that didn't quite match Harry's. And it also called attention to the lack of plate in front of him. "And you should really eat something, you know. If you're going to fret like a hen then at least do it on a full stomach."
"Are you not curious at all about who could've done this!?" He demanded, head snapping up again.
"Weeeeell." Blaise hummed lightly, not continuing in a way that had them all looking at him expectantly. The attention whore he was soaked it up for a second with a smirk before continuing. "I did see Professor Snape performing some kind of wandless magic during that whole event. Muttering something, not breaking eye contact with Harry the entire time, the whole nine yards. Pure coincidence, I'm sure." He shrugged, Draco staring at his roommate like he'd grown another head.
Harry tilted his head back though, considering that.
Of all the people who didn't like him (of which he was sure there were too many to count) Snape surprisingly didn't jump to the top of his list. I mean, if he really wanted him dead the potions professor wouldn't have been the one beside McGonagall pulling him from that troll's fist not two weeks ago—there were many other teachers present and his loud distaste of him in particular would've been a good excuse to just let someone else help the crushed student and stand back to watch the scene unfold. Also, if nothing else Snape would be bored in his first-year classes without his resident celebrity to pick on.
"I mean it's possible, but in a stadium full of people? He's a potions master, if he wanted me dead I'm sure there are a million cleverer ways the head of Slytherin house could figure to off me. And aside from the thousands of potential potions out there, there's enough incidents in potions class alone that he could make it look like an accident and blame it on Neville if he really wanted to. He could probably convince Neville it was his fault and have him confess even." He pointed out, Blaise shrugging like it didn't matter to him either way.
"Oh my god, my godfather did not try to kill you." Draco horrified by this turn in the conversation, shooting Blaise a glare before turning to Harry with a betrayed look. "How could you say that?"
"Well he doesn't like me, clearly. And before you say he wouldn't kill me because he cares about his godson's opinion on the matter, to me he only vaguely seems to tolerate children in general really, so frankly I'm only going by your word alone that he actually likes you."
Blaise snorted a bit ungracefully into his pumpkin juice… and more interestingly, Nott put his book up in front of his face in a motion so quick it was already up by the time Harry's eyes went to the sudden movement out of the corner of his eye.
Ha, got him.
"Severus isn't trying to kill you!" Draco insisted more emphatically this time, and Harry rolled his eyes.
"I know that, as I said, but not because of your take on the matter." And really, since when was the Gryffindor the one with the logical argument while the Slytherin went with his emotions? He shook that odd train of thought off quickly. "Anyway, the broom did settle a bit after the first bout of it acting up, so maybe he was saying a counter-spell or something."
"Eh," Blaise was suddenly uninterested now that they weren't gossiping about Snape, picking at his meal lazily.
"Then who do you think did it?" Draco fretted.
"At this moment, no clue. I mean maybe they didn't really want me dead, maybe it was just a really, really bad prank. The only people I'd eliminate as possibilities is anyone third year or under as messing with a professional broom is probably not easy, and anyone who was on the pitch at the time, as someone would've seen them with their wand out or something. I mean my main suspect would've been Montague, but he's probably not smart enough to wandlessly cast while also riding a broom top speed."
He pretended not to notice the third years sitting a distance away from them choke on their dinner quietly.
"I'd cross out anyone under sixth year, actually. The Nimbus is top tier in terms of precision and state of the art in safety features, so if the teachers don't find anything when they inspect it, it means someone was very skilled to interfere with it's charms and leave no trace." Draco recited automatically, his quidditch knowledge never failing.
"So an upper year or an adult. So far as students go my top suspects would have to be Slytherin house for obvious reasons, but then again in a stadium full of people is just so damn dramatic and unsubtle I'm honestly starting to consider Gryffindor."
Blaise grinned wickedly while Draco looked rather ill he was so distraught.
"Can you take this seriously please? Someone tried to kill you."
"Yes Draco, I'm aware. Not exactly anything I can do about it though, now can I? Also, not even the first near-death experience this school year much less this month. There's gotta be a limit on how much I can care about before I start going grey."
"And we can't have that, now can we." Blaise smirked, flickering his gaze to the very distinctive locks atop his head that Harry made no effort to pretend he wasn't very proud of. Vain, even.
"You're just jealous," He waved him off with a knife-edged smile.
"That I can't be seen from the other side of the school? Oh yes, of course I am." He rolled his eyes lightly. "Maybe your attacker picked you at random, as the easiest target to hit of them all."
He tilted his head, not really having a comeback for that point.
"You're not considering that." Draco looked like he was about to start going grey for all three of them, and Harry patted him on the arm half-heartedly.
"It's not a worse theory than Snape being the culprit." He shrugged, and Blaise laughed outright while Draco fumed visibly at this conversation. "In all honesty, just going by house stereotypes, I'm not willing to suspect it might be a Slytherin or a Ravenclaw. Of all the ways someone could off me, in a stadium of people is really not that clever or intelligent. Unless they were sure they could get away with it… and that's the kind of foolhardy or too-wishful thinking you'd get from a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff."
"I guess." Draco frowned deeply. "But in case you didn't notice, they did get away with it."
"But I'm not dead?" he tilted his head in earnest confusion, and Draco's temple twitched in annoyance.
"No, but no one was caught."
"Maybe it was just a trial run. Maybe there'll be something even worse planned for my next quidditch match!"
"Harry dear, take pity on the boy." Blaise put his chin in his hand, looking far too amused as Draco buried his own face out of sight in defeat.
Sorry Draco, Harry thought unrepentantly as he patted his friend on the back perhaps a bit too harshly to try and cheer him up. But I've got enough on my plate, and murder attempts should really be up to adults to deal with. You may think we have to do this ourselves… but I fairly certain we don't want to know what McGonagall is going to do to them when she finally tracks the bastard down.
000
It was later, when dinner was ending and people were all filing out, Gryffindor's raucous triumphant chaos migrating back to their tower to celebrate and Harry following a little more slowly given how stiff he was from all the activity that day, that the idea he'd been missing so far hit him like a brick wall.
Blaise and Draco had already left the table, Draco unable to bear the lions' gloating anymore (nor Harry's refusal to be more concerned about the attempt on his life) and Blaise hot on his heels to rub salt in his roommate's wounds gleefully, so the only person left to hear his rather dramatic gasp was Nott, who had stopped only long enough to slip his books back into his bag. And the quiet Slytherin was immediately regretting not being faster as the sudden noise caused him to jump a bit in shock.
"I've got it!" Harry gasped loudly, no one left in the vicinity to hear him but Nott who blinked at him in shock and realizing he was a lone audience of one to whatever the heck his classmate was on about.
"…I know you won't talk to me, but I just had a brilliant idea, Mr. Nott." Harry started to get a grin on his face, and maybe it was the adrenaline making him crazy, but he couldn't stop grinning. "This is it… this is how I save Draco from associating with me!"
"…?"
"I'm going to destroy Graham Montague."
Nott's eyebrows shot up, and he seemed to immediately realize what he was doing by being captive audience to this. He inched away and quickly followed the remnants of his house filing out of the hall, leaving the crazy Gryffindor he refused to speak to behind him in a very quick retreat.
Harry just sat there, grinning like a madman who'd finally figured out how to take over the world.