Snakes and Lions

Sympathies and Politics

Harry did not sleep well, that night. He went down to breakfast early on Friday, with Hermione and a number of other Gryffindors. Lavender informed them that only Darren Johnson, a Hufflepuff, had lost family in the attack, but three of the students had lost childhood friends or close neighbors. Johnson's mother and his younger brother and sister had been killed. His father was fine, and his older sister injured.

They were all seated and poking uncomfortably at breakfast items, when the first Slytherin contingent arrived. Draco was first, impeccable, as always, with a vivid green shirt flashing out at the collar of his robes. With him were Crabbe and Goyle, in their old positions on either side of him. Draco was saying something that made the others laugh. Victoria Nott, a fourth year, was receiving an unusual amount of attention from some of the older students, including Pansy Parkinson. Their chatter, throughout the meal, was broken by occasional bursts of laughter.

A second group arrived later and sat very quietly at the other end of the long table. The Slytherins who trickled in thereafter sat in between, as neutrally as possible, and spoke to each other infrequently and quietly.

Harry timed leaving breakfast to encounter Draco near the door.

"Draco?" he tried.

Harry had wanted to say something cutting, or demanding, but all he managed was to sound hurt. It was embarrassing. The anger he had felt watching the Slytherins laugh revived again at the snickers that came from Parkinson, Zabini, and Vere.

"You had something to say, Potter?" Draco asked mockingly.

Harry felt like he'd been thrown back into last fall -- possibly the day after Halloween weekend.

"I think you could be more respectful," he forced himself to say. "Forty-seven people died."

"No, Harry," Draco said, almost gently. "No people died. Only Muggles."

"Muggles are people!" Harry shouted angrily. "What is wrong with you?! You know better, Dragon!"

Draco sneered. "How can anything that cannot do magic be considered a person?" he asked haughtily. "We are not people without language, and we are not people without wizardry."

Draco's coldness gave Harry some control over his anger. He glared. "Do you know how they are portraying this in the Muggle press?" he asked.

"Last night's little soiree? I could not care less."

"Last night's attack was in a largely black neighborhood. The one last week hit an Asian area especially hard. They are saying it was white supremacists."

"White what?"

"People who think that people with skin like Dean's, or even Padma's, are not real people like you and I are."

"Ridiculous."

"That's purity of blood. That's what it means to me, and to any Muggle-born. I think it an apt translation, myself."

Draco flushed, but began to look genuinely involved in the conversation.

"I am not talking about someone's appearance, Harry. I am talking about their abilities. The ability to do magic is what differentiates us from lesser creatures."

"Hermione can do magic. You still treat her like crap."

"Her children may not be able to."

"Squibs can show up in any family."

Draco smiled tightly. "Yes," he said, "but a Mudblood is twelve times as likely to have one as a pureblood." He looked oddly reasonable as he added: "This weakens the entire Wizarding population."

Harry goggled at him. "You mean you'd be all right with Hermione if she didn't have any kids?" he asked. He was aware Hermione was waiting by the staircase, possibly close enough to hear him.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Really, Harry, what good is a woman who doesn't breed? It's like an owl that won't carry letters!"

Harry turned on his heel and left.

"Harry!" Draco called angrily after him. "Harry Potter, you come back here! Now!"

Harry, desperately, walked over to Darren Johnson.

"Johnson," he tried, "I'm sorry to hear about your --"

He was grabbed at the shoulder and swung round.

"Mind your manners, Harry," Draco Malfoy snarled. "You know the rules. This shouldn't surprise you."

"At the moment, I don't care bugger all for your rules," Harry snarled back. He found himself hoping Draco would punch him, or at least hex him. He was in the mood for a fight.

Instead, Draco went cold. "Very well, Potter," he said. "Console the talking monkey, then." He pivoted neatly, like Snape at the end of a lecture. He managed to take only a step before Harry grabbed him.

"Call anyone that again, Malfoy, and I'll kick your pureblood arse from here to Hogsmeade!"

Draco stepped back. In a second, his wand was out. "Not if I've got my wand, you won't!" His voice lowered. "I can hex you to ash, Harry, remember that."

"No fighting in the halls!" bellowed a familiar voice. Harry and Draco both turned to see McGonagall bearing down on them. She stopped a few steps away. "Mr. Malfoy, put away your wand."

"Potter was threatening me, professor!"

"Now, Mr. Malfoy."

Reluctantly, Draco put away his wand. McGonagall turned her attention to Harry.

"Well," she said. "Good to see that someone has come to his senses." She cleared her throat. "Nonetheless, Harry, you may not threaten or harm another student while at Hogwarts. Is that clear?"

Harry glowered. He managed to find his voice, and to say, "Yes, professor."

"Now, since we have thirty minutes until classes, I suggest both of you return to your houses, which are, fortunately, in opposite directions." For a minute, Harry just stared at her, as did Draco. Finally, she made a shooing motion at them. "Up, Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy, down."

Draco turned on his heel and strode to the stairs. Harry watched him descend. His stomach lurched.

"Gryffindor, Mr. Potter. Hermione? Please escort him."

At lunch, Harry found himself watching Draco. Malfoy was not cheerful now, but disdainfully aloof. When the blond left, Harry sighed.

"He's still Malfoy, Harry," Ron said. "You get it, now?"

"I just don't believe him," Hermione added furiously. "He doesn't need to gloat about it."

"Actually, he probably does," Harry contributed spontaneously. His words caught him by surprise as much as they did his friends.

"No he doesn't," Hermione countered automatically.

"Of course he does," Harry said. "He'd be in trouble with his father if he looked less than pleased, right?"

Harry spent much of the afternoon thinking on his own words. The more he thought about it, the more he thought that Draco had little choice but to appear pleased, and that "you know the rules" and perhaps even the initial use of his last name, had been intended to remind him of this fact. By the end of classes, he regretted his belligerence, but saw little chance to make amends, at least before Potions on Monday. It would not be advisable to try to speak to Draco at dinner, with most of the school watching.

Harry lay back on his bed. "I can hardly see him," he explained to Susara. "It doesn't make the least bit of practical difference that I fought with him. I don't know why it makes me miserable. Part of it is that I thought he was improving, but that may still be true. I just can't tell anything from how Draco acts in public, which is why it's so horrible to see him only in public."

"Can he tell anything from how you act in public?"

"Everything." Harry sighed. The loose exhalation felt odd after he had been speaking in Parseltongue. "He could think I was just playing my part, as well, but I am afraid he knows me too well for that. I was just being a stupid Gryffindor. Maybe that will be enough excuse."

"You are clever, Master,"

Susara protested.

"About some things, but not this. He will know I took it all seriously."

"You are afraid he is angry at you?" Susara asked.

"Or hurt. Or just insulted."

Harry walked down to dinner in the company of Hermione and Ron, that night. The attack had affected Ron more than he would admit. He had scarcely let Hermione out of his sight since he woke.

While they were descending the stairs into the Entrance Hall, a group from Slytherin was coming up from the dungeons. Harry saw Draco with them. When the blond noticed Harry, a flash of pained anger broke his cool disdain. Impulsively, Harry broke away from the others and crossed the brief gap to the Slytherin group.

"Harry!" Hermione scolded, trailing after him. "No fighting."

Harry stopped in front of Draco, and Draco glared at him.

"What now, Potter?" he asked coldly. Harry watched him clenching and unclenching his fists. This wasn't the game now; it was real.

People nearby snickered. Pansy murmured something to one of her friends. Harry took a deep breath.

"I apologize for my behavior this morning," he said firmly. "I was up all night with Dean, and I was upset, but there was no reason to take it out on you. Don't get me wrong -- I meant what I said about Muggles being people and all -- but my hostility was inappropriate. I'm sorry."

Nearby Slytherins gawked.

"What?!" Hermione raged.

"Harry!" Ron snapped, moving closer. Zabini and Bulstrode stepped forward to block his approach.

Draco evaluated Harry for a moment.

"Apology accepted," he said formally, and held out his hand.

A group of Hufflepuffs was now coming down the hall, towards the crowd, expanding the size and scope of their audience considerably. Harry knew the handshake would be seen as a betrayal by most of those watching. However, to back down now would as much as saying he hadn't meant it. With a feeling of doom, he reached out and shook Draco's hand firmly.

"Still friends?" Draco asked quietly.

"Still friends," Harry allowed.

"Pity you can't get away," Draco said quietly. "I'm sure we would both appreciate some time someplace where we could really scream."

Harry nodded. "See you in Potions," he said. He got some interesting looks from the Slytherins as he left. Blaise Zabini even winked at him. Harry decided he didn't want to know what private understanding he was supposed to have with Zabini.

"What was that for?" Hermione raged at Harry, as they walked to the Gryffindor table.

"I should not have gone after him this morning," Harry said tightly. "It was nothing to do with him."

"It was to do with him," Ron said grimly. "You had best get that through your head now."

"You don't know anything," Harry replied viciously. Harry spent the rest of dinner fantasizing about destroying Voldemort, and perhaps Lucius Malfoy with him. Hermione and Ron made no further attempt to talk to him.

The atmosphere in the Gryffindor common room was tense, that night. With the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match scheduled for the next day, talk would normally have centered around that, and Harry would normally have been wished luck by at least half the House. Instead, talk was about Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and Harry was not sure how much of the decrease in good wishes was due to people being preoccupied, and how much was due to him shaking hands with Malfoy in the hall. Dean and Simon had gone home to see their families and attend funerals.

After reading the same paragraph in his Transfiguration text three times, Harry gave up on homework and went to see Hermione, who had retreated to her room.

"Hermione?"

"I'm busy."

Harry shivered at the ice in Hermione's voice. "House business?" he tried.

"Come in and be quick."

Harry slipped nervously into Hermione's room, and shut the door behind him.

"This better not be Quidditch," Hermione said.

"No." Harry looked down at the worn floor in front of the doorway. He wondered how many people came only this far into the prefect's room. "I've been thinking," he said, "that we ought to do something for Dean and Simon's families."

"Such as?"

"I don't know! Flowers or something. A card. You know, some sympathy thing. From Gryffindor."

"What a kind thought, Harry," Hermione said, with saccharine sarcasm. Harry tried not to roll his eyes.

"Well, just keep me out of it," he said.

"What, the rest of us should send flowers?"

"No, I mean, of course I'll pitch in, but it should be your idea." Hermione looked startled, so Harry added: "Because if Dean knows I thought of it, he won't believe it's sincere ... He'll think I'm trying to shore up my reputation, or some such idiocy. And then it won't do any good."

"Any good?"

"In making them feel supported, you know. All right?"

"All right," Hermione said more gently. "I'd been thinking about it anyway."

"Good, then." Harry turned to leave, but stopped at the sound of his name. "Yeah?" he answered.

"Good luck in the game tomorrow."

"Thanks."