Divided We Fall

The faded, washed out wintry sky of mid-November overlooked the gloomy cityscape of London as pale twists of cloud littered the horizon. The atmosphere in the streets was charged, with an almost tangible tension visible in the actions of every citizen. It was the twenty-fourth of the month, 1641, and Charles I sat securely on the throne - at least, for now.

* * * * * * *

"Late, I'm late..." A young lad half moaned breathlessly as he ran, clutching a well-worn book to his chest and weaving in and out of the other people traversing the street. He frowned in distress as he felt himself slowing down, but his brief upsurge of panic lessened as he saw his destination draw closer. Jogging slowly now, the boy ran a hand through his dark messy hair, and squinted at the building to see if his father was waiting for him or not.

Ignoring the vagrants and harlots who lined the street corners, he put on a final burst of speed and skidded to a halt beside the daunting building; thick black beams embedded in the brickwork gave it an imposing feel. Nervously poking his head through the door, he wondered whether or not he would be able to sneak in without anyone realising. He crept forwards and headed for the stairs, hoping to make it to the sanctuary of his room unnoticed.

"Henry Potter!" Wincing slightly from the harsh tone of his Father's voice, Harry drew back and started making his way to the study, his expression resigned.

"Yes, Father?" Harry hovered uncertainly in the doorway, watching as his Father rifled through stacks of paper, seemingly searching for something. Pausing for a moment, the older man glanced up and regarded his son with a vaguely harassed air.

"Look, Harry, I told you I needed you back early today! How am I supposed to manage if my supposed assistant runs off and doesn't even tell me when he's going to be back?" He returned his attention to the papers in front of him and continued talking, "Harry...you know how important today's client is, and I need for you to make a good impression as well. If you want to learn how to be a lawyer, then you need to do what I tell you! Now, run upstairs and get ready; they'll be here soon."

Waving a dismissive hand at his son, he sat down and became absorbed in looking over a document of some kind. Harry shut the door with a quiet click, and slowly made his way up the creaking stairs to his room. Despite apparently needing Harry's 'help', his Father still hadn't told him who this mysterious client of his was. Still, it was a whole step upwards from last time if he was actually going to be involved in whatever was happening today; usually his Father insisted that all the meetings with his clients were highly confidential, and Harry was made to go to his room.

Shutting his bedroom door with a flourish, Harry ventured over to his wardrobe to find some better clothes for the meeting. His room was moderately sized, with a bed, cabinet, wardrobe - and as a recent addition because his Father's practice had been going so well - a beautiful oak bureau. Out of the wardrobe he extracted a grey, slightly lacy suit of sorts, and moved to place it on the bedcovers before shutting the bedroom door so he could get changed.

Just as he'd finished poking his arm through the ticklish cuff of the left sleeve, his eyes lit up as he heard the distinctive sound of a horse-drawn carriage come to a stop beside their house. A loud rapping sounded upon the door soon after, and Harry made his way to the top of the stairs and peered down as his Father pulled open the heavy door.

"Good afternoon, Mr Malfoy," Harry saw his Father bow very slightly and extend a hand to the tall blond man in the doorway. "I'm James Potter." Clasping his hand gently for a moment, Mr Malfoy nodded coolly and strode inside; revealing in the doorway behind him a young, sullen boy of about seventeen years.

"This is my son Draco, Mr Potter. He won't be joining us." Harry watched his Father nod hurriedly, and smile briefly at the boy.

"Of course. My own son, Harry, will see to it that he's kept entertained." Harry slowly descended the stairs as his Father beckoned to him, and noticed that the moody blond boy seemed to be his own age, and that he was eyeing him dubiously.

"Good, let's get on with it then. Draco, I'll be taking you to Ashe's afterwards; mind that you're ready."

"Yes, Father." The boy didn't look up.

James nodded at his son, and then hastened towards the study near the back with Mr Malfoy. An unpleasant sense of disappointment lodged itself in Harry's stomach - today wasn't any different at all; his Father had just been planning on using him as a means of keeping some aristocrat's son from becoming bored.

"Come on, then," he murmured listlessly, "the parlour's being renovated at the moment, so we'll have to go to my room." He noticed that Draco seemed to almost sneer at this suggestion, before shrugging slightly and following Harry up the stairs. As soon as they entered, Draco immediately took the single chair which graced the room, leaving Harry to try and find a comfy spot on the rather lump bed.

"Um," Harry fumbled for words and tried not to find the sight of the blond boy glaring at him off-putting. He soon gave up, though, and that left them to sit in awkward silence for a while. Draco, Harry thought, stood out like a sore thumb. Except, in an opulent way. He made everything in Harry's room look slightly shabby, and fabric of his deep maroon clothes looked ridiculously expensive - even though they clearly weren't his best.

He watched Draco's eyes trail uninterestedly around the room, before finally coming to rest upon the week old newspaper which lay on the cabinet nearby. "I say..." he began, reaching out for it and scanning it with distaste, "this is the Mercurius Aulicus!"

Harry merely nodded, biting his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything scathing about stating the obvious. He saw Draco glance up from the paper and narrow his eyes.

"Oh, no...don't tell me you're a Royalist?" His nose wrinkled in disgust, and then he regarded Harry almost curiously. "But... that's awful! How can you be? Does my Father know?" Delicate eyebrows drawn together in thought, he spoke almost to himself.

Harry shrugged and stared back at Draco warily. "You mean... you're one of those who - who opposes the King?" Draco laughed delightedly; the first real emotion he'd shown since he arrived.

"Well, it depends what you mean by 'oppose', I'd say. I agree he has far too much power - ruling the country without Parliament? - how dare he! And of course, his utterly shameful display in making Laud the Archbishop...we've practically reverted to Catholicism! No, something has to be done," he finished firmly, eyes ablaze.

After this little speech Harry was scowling in disapporoval, but stopped himself from answering back for fear of offending the boy - no matter how much he didn't like him, his Father was expecting him to keep the younger Malfoy happy. He could see Draco watching his internal struggle with a half-grin on his face - evidently politics was a favourite topic of his.

"Well? Aren't you going to defend your King?" the blond taunted, as Harry perched on the edge of the bed and glowered.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked abruptly, wanting to change to a less controversial subject. Draco seemed to deflate and looked slightly bored again.

"Well I don't know...my Father doesn't tell me everything he does," he frowned and bit his lower lip in thought, "probably something to do with his finances... not that it's any of your business." Harry had the grace to blush slightly and moved backwards to lean against the wall. "Afterwards I'm going to visit out tailor, though," he added, grimacing slightly, "it's an awful bore, but my Father insists."

"Mm..." Harry accepted this information, and couldn't help but be drawn back to what they were talking about before. "So...are you planning on going into Parliament, then, when you're old enough?"

"Only if we still have one," he replied darkly, raising an eyebrow accusingly at Harry. "But...otherwise, yes, of course!" he smiled slightly. "Politics have always fascinated me, in fact--"

"Draco! Come down now, we're leaving!" The blond boy faltered and fell silent. He seemed almost wistful as he stuck out his right hand for Harry to take.

"Well...goodbye, Harry. We'll probably be back again soon - Father always takes forever to sort out his business. But you must promise me that next time we'll have a debate... I've never met a Royalist my age before - I look forward to proving you wrong!" He flashed a brief smile at the dark haired boy and walked hurriedly from the room, not wanting to keep his Father waiting too long.

Harry remained silently in the center of the room, arm hanging limply by his side from where it had dropped after he'd released the other boy's hand. His palm burned hotly, and he was left staring at the empty archway of the door through which Draco had passed only moments before.