A Wolf Between Two Houses
Chapter 17: A Wolf Between Two Houses
The big day had come.
For the Slytherins, one of the most important Quidditch matches of the season was upon them – the game against Gryffindor.
Even at breakfast, the tension in the air was palpable.
The players of the Slytherin team sat a little stiffer than usual, their faces serious, their movements tense.
Draco and Nott, both on the team, looked especially nervous.
Harry sensed it immediately.
His wolf instincts made him highly sensitive to the emotions of his pack.
He could feel the tension, the nervousness, the subtle crackle in the air – and it bothered him.
So he did what had become second nature to him:
He tried to calm his pack.
Leaning forward, he raised an eyebrow and said with mock seriousness, “What’s wrong? Worried you’ll look ancient against Gryffindor?”
Draco, who had been staring into his cup of coffee, blinked and looked up at him.
Then he snorted.
“You’re the last person who should be talking about looking ancient, Potter. With your white hair, you look like a bloody grandpa.”
Harry grinned. “I call it wisdom, Malfoy.”
“Don’t laugh.”
“Well then, oh wise wolf, got any words of wisdom for us?” Nott asked. “Something about how not to choke?”
Harry shrugged. “I could tell you that freaking out beforehand won’t help. You’ve trained, you’re good. If you get too nervous, you’ll just start making mistakes.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “And how would you know that?”
“I played against you for years, Malfoy.” Harry smirked. “Trust me, I know when you mess up.”
Zabini burst out laughing, and even Pansy cracked a smile.
Draco rolled his eyes, but a faint smile tugged at his lips.
Harry’s words had helped.
The tension broke.
Draco and Nott visibly relaxed, Zabini slid a few extra slices of toast their way, and even the entire mood at the Slytherin table lightened.
Draco, now visibly calmer, placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze.
Harry blinked in surprise, but before he could respond, Nott chimed in with a wide grin:
“Honestly, there’s no way we can lose. We’ve got our lucky charm on our side.”
Harry blinked again.
“Lucky charm?”
Zabini grinned and pointed at him.
“You, Potter.”
Harry gave them a look. “I’m your lucky charm?”
“Of course,” Pansy said dryly. “Things have been going great ever since you joined us. And today, you’ll be sitting in the stands cheering us on.”
Harry’s expression tightened.
He swallowed.
And then—after a brief pause—he shook his head.
“I don’t think… I’ll be watching.”
The cheerful mood collapsed instantly.
Draco’s eyebrows drew together. “Why not?”
Harry ran a hand through his hair.
He hesitated—then decided to be honest.
“It feels weird,” he admitted softly. “Gryffindor. My old house. My old team.”
Silence.
The others looked at him. No one said anything.
Then—surprisingly—Nott nodded.
“Understandable,” he said simply.
Harry looked at him, surprised.
Draco stared at him for a while.
Then he sighed and leaned back.
“Alright,” he said. “But then I at least expect you to celebrate with us after we win.”
Harry couldn’t help but grin.
“Deal.”
____________________________
After breakfast, Harry had retreated to the Slytherin dormitory.
He had no intention of watching the Quidditch match.
It just felt... wrong.
Gryffindor had been his old house. His old team.
It wasn’t that he disliked Slytherin—on the contrary, they had become his pack.
But to sit out there and cheer against his former team?
He just couldn’t do it.
So he transformed, jumped onto Malfoy’s bed, and curled up in his blanket.
___________________________
Meanwhile, the match was already in full swing.
Draco and Nott had prepared with the team in the changing rooms; their nerves had settled, and as they stepped onto the pitch, a roar of applause greeted them.
The match was fast-paced, wild, full of energy.
Slytherin and Gryffindor fought fiercely for every point.
Bludgers whizzed across the pitch, the Quaffle changed hands in seconds, and the Seekers were locked in a tense battle.
And then—
The Slytherin Seeker spotted the Snitch.
He dove at full speed, hand outstretched—
BAM!
A Bludger, redirected by a Gryffindor player, slammed into his side.
He lost control, his broom tilted, and with a loud yell he crashed to the ground.
A collective gasp echoed through the crowd.
Referees rushed to him immediately. He was carried off the field—his arm was broken.
Nothing life-threatening, but he was out.
And without a Seeker?
Slytherin was as good as finished.
Chaos broke out in the locker room.
Markus, the team captain, threw his gloves onto the bench in frustration.
“That was on purpose!” he growled. “They did that on purpose!”
The others murmured in agreement.
“Without a Seeker, we don’t stand a chance,” one of the Chasers said, exasperated.
Draco clenched his jaw. He knew it. Everyone knew it.
“We need a substitute,” Nott threw in.
Markus scowled. “And who, exactly? None of us has Seeker experience.”
Silence.
Then—
“Harry,” Nott said suddenly.
Draco whipped around. “What?”
Markus frowned. “Potter?”
“He’s been Gryffindor’s Seeker since first year,” Nott explained with a grin. “He’s damn good. And—he’s one of us now.”
A murmur ran through the team.
Markus still looked skeptical. “I don’t know…”
“He’s better than anyone else here,” Nott insisted.
Markus clenched his teeth, then turned to Draco.
“What do you think?”
Draco crossed his arms.
“Forget it,” he said immediately. “He didn’t even want to watch the match because it felt wrong. He’ll never play for us.”
Markus snorted. “So you’d rather we lose?”
Draco grimaced.
Of course he didn’t want to lose.
He hated losing.
The rest of the team began to chime in.
“Potter’s our only shot.”
“You can talk to him.”
“He can beat Gryffindor—and you know it.”
Draco groaned.
He knew they were right.
And damn it, he wanted to win.
Finally, he shook his head and muttered, “I hate you all.”
Markus grinned triumphantly. “Perfect! Then go get him off the stands.”
Draco’s face twisted.
“Yeah… there’s a small problem with that.”
Markus frowned. “What kind of problem?”
Draco cleared his throat.
“He’s not there.”
Silence.
“Excuse me?” Markus asked slowly.
Draco shrugged. “He didn’t come. He’s probably in the common room.”
Markus rubbed his temples. “Of course he is. Of course.”
Then he pointed at Draco and Nott.
“Then go get him!”
Draco groaned again.
There was no room for discussion now.
“Fine,” he muttered.
He grabbed Nott, and together they sprinted off.
______________________________________
Draco and Nott burst into the Slytherin common room, breathless and panting.
But Potter was nowhere in sight.
Draco huffed in frustration. “Where is he?”
Nott, holding his side, shrugged. “Maybe he’s sleeping.”
Draco paused—then spun around and ran to the dormitory.
And sure enough—there he was.
Curled up on Draco’s bed, peacefully sleeping in his wolf form.
But as Draco slammed the door open, Potter flinched, blinked sleepily, and shifted back into human form with a yawn.
“Hey,” he rasped. “Is the match over?”
Nott wasted no time.
“Our Seeker’s hurt! Broken arm! We’ve got no sub, and we need you!”
Harry’s eyes widened.
And then—
“No.”
Draco wasn’t surprised.
But he wasn’t about to accept that.
“Potter,” he said firmly. “You’re a Slytherin now. Your house needs you.”
Harry bit his lip.
“I… I can’t. It just feels… wrong.”
“Wrong?” Nott echoed. “Wrong would be letting us lose on purpose when you’re the best damn Seeker here.”
Harry avoided his gaze.
Draco stepped closer.
He knew what to do.
Harry didn’t play for house points.
Not for glory.
But for his pack?
For what he saw as family?
“I’ve got your back,” Draco said firmly.
Harry’s head snapped up.
Draco looked him dead in the eye, steady and certain.
“If you play, you play with me. I’ll look out for you—like I always do. But please—help us.”
Harry stared at him for a long moment.
Then—slowly—he nodded.
There was barely time to process the decision.
They ran to the changing room, where Markus was already waiting impatiently.
“Is he playing?” he asked the moment Draco and Nott stormed in with Harry.
Draco nodded. “Yes.”
Markus grinned and pointed at the spare uniform. “Get dressed. Quick.”
Harry moved automatically, changing into Slytherin’s green and silver.
Markus quickly went over their strategy, but Harry barely listened.
It felt… surreal.
He was in the Slytherin locker room.
Wearing Slytherin colors.
And he was about to play against Gryffindor.
He didn’t know whether to throw up or laugh.
But there was no time for doubts.
When they stepped out of the changing room, the crowd was already waiting.
The Gryffindors were cheering loudly—sure that Slytherin had lost.
But then—
Madam Hooch stepped into the center of the field and raised her hands.
The crowd quieted.
“Due to the injury of Slytherin’s Seeker Flint,” she announced, “a substitute player will join the team.”
A brief pause.
Then—
“I call Harry Potter as Slytherin’s new Seeker.”
Silence.
Stunned, breathless silence.
And then—
An explosion.
The Gryffindors erupted in outraged shouts.
The Slytherins?
They roared with celebration.
Draco saw Harry shrink slightly under the attention, trying to hide behind him and Nott.
Of course, they noticed immediately.
“Potter,” Nott grinned. “Are you hiding?”
“Looks like our lucky charm has stage fright,” Draco teased.
Harry blinked at them, then growled softly.
“I hate you both.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Draco grinned. “Then play well and punish us for it.”
Harry snorted.
And then, with one last deep breath—he stepped forward.
He lined up at the front with Draco and Markus.
The Gryffindors stared at him like he’d stabbed them in the back.
Maybe he had.
But at that moment—he didn’t care.
Madam Hooch blew the whistle.
The match began.
At first, Harry felt unsure on his broom.
It had been a while since he last played, and flying in new colors felt strange.
But once he was in the air, instinct took over.
It was like riding a bike—you never forget.
He flew higher, taking in the field.
He felt the wind, the movement, the flutter of cloaks.
And then—
He closed his eyes.
Let his instincts guide him.
He listened to the wind.
Felt the subtlest shifts in the air.
And then—
A flicker.
A trace of magic.
His eyes snapped open, catching a golden glint—
And he dove.
His broom sliced through the air, hands outstretched, heart pounding.
The Gryffindors screamed, their Seeker chased after him—
But it was too late.
He’d seen the Snitch.
He knew where it was.
And ten minutes later—it was over.
The whistle blew.
Confusion spread.
Some thought the match had been stopped for a foul.
But then—
Harry shot toward the ground, arm raised.
And there—
The golden Snitch sparkled between his fingers.
Silence held for a heartbeat.
Two.
Then—
An explosion of cheers.
The Slytherins went wild.
Gryffindor?
They were in shock.
Harry stood there—in Slytherin colors—Snitch in hand.
And he had won.
For Slytherin.
For his pack.
___________________________________________
The Great Hall buzzed with celebration.
Slytherin was celebrating—loudly.
Harry had won for them—against Gryffindor.
He’d remembered the game faster than expected, and with instinct and skill, proved he still had it.
After the match, the team had mobbed him on the field—Draco, Nott, and the others hugged him, clapped his back, cheered for him.
Even the toughest Slytherins had given him approving looks.
Now, at dinner, the celebration continued.
Harry sat beside Draco, still a little tired, but in good spirits.
They laughed, talked about the match, teased each other.
He felt… at home.
But then—
A hand clamped tightly onto his shoulder.
Before Harry could react, he was yanked around.
He blinked in surprise.
Ron Weasley stood before him.
And with him—the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team.
The joyful atmosphere at the Slytherin table vanished instantly.
Harry stared at Ron.
His face was red with fury, his eyes blazing.
The Gryffindors behind him looked no less angry.
“What the hell was that, Harry?” Ron hissed.
Harry blinked. “What?”
“You know what I mean!” Ron’s fists clenched. “You betrayed us!”
The words echoed across the Great Hall.
It suddenly grew quieter.
The students at the other tables had heard.
They’d stopped eating.
Turned to watch.
Harry felt the weight of all those eyes on him.
“I didn’t betray you,” he said calmly.
Ron laughed bitterly. “Oh really? Then tell me why you played in Slytherin colors!”
“Because his team needed him,” Nott said coldly from behind.
“His team?” Ginny glared at Harry. “We were his team! We were his friends!”
Harry swallowed.
“You left me,” he said quietly.
Ron’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Harry’s fists clenched.
“Not a single letter over the summer. No message. No help.” His voice grew stronger. “You weren’t there when I needed you.”
Ron scoffed. “And that justifies this? Teaming up with them?”
He gestured toward Draco with disgust.
Harry’s stomach turned.
“I belong here,” he said—and for the first time, truly meant it.
Ron growled. “You’re a Gryffindor! You went through everything with us! And now you’re a snake!”
Harry flinched slightly.
Not because he regretted it.
But because Ron would never understand.
“I’m not a Gryffindor anymore,” he said quietly.
Ron’s eyes blazed.
“Then you’re a damn traitor.”
Harry froze.
“I bet your parents would be ashamed to see their son in the arms of snakes.”
Harry’s stomach clenched painfully.
It felt like the air had been knocked out of him.
The Hall was deathly still.
Even the teachers watched from the staff table.
Draco felt it first.
Felt Harry’s shoulders collapse.
Felt how the words cut deep.
His own expression darkened.
And then—
Draco stood.
In one swift motion, he placed himself between Harry and Ron.
Between Harry and the Gryffindor team.
His stance was relaxed—but his eyes were dangerous.
He said nothing.
Not at first.
But his presence alone was enough to make Ron take a step back.
Draco Malfoy could be intimidating.
And right now, he was.
“Leave him alone, Weasley,” he said quietly.
Ron glared. “Oh, and what’s this? Need your snake to defend you, Harry?”
Draco’s eyes gleamed.
He looked like he’d just added Ron to a very unfortunate list.
And then—
Ron pushed it too far.
He raised his chin, voice loud enough for all to hear.
“You’re a disgrace to the wizarding world, Potter. And now you need him to defend you?”
That was the breaking point.
Draco heard the gasps around him.
He saw Harry’s face.
Saw how the words hit him.
And then—
A single look.
A glance exchanged among Slytherins.
And—
They all stood.
Pansy. Nott. Zabini.
The entire Quidditch team.
Half the Slytherin table rose with them.
A heavy rumble echoed through the Hall as dozens of Slytherins stood, ready.
Draco didn’t move.
His icy gaze stayed locked on Ron.
“Take it back,” he said calmly.
Ron scoffed. “What, the truth?”
Draco’s jaw clenched.
“You’re not the only one willing to fight for him,” he said softly. “But next time you try to hurt Harry, you better watch yourself, Weasley.”
Behind him, Zabini muttered dryly:
“Just a hint… but there’s a lot of us.”
The Gryffindors were starting to realize.
It wasn’t just Draco.
Not just Harry.
It was an entire table of Slytherins ready to defend one of their own.
Ron opened his mouth to say more—but stopped.
He looked around.
Saw everyone was watching.
The entire room waiting to see what would happen next.
And then—
He cursed under his breath.
Turned sharply.
And stormed back to the Gryffindor table.
The others followed, some throwing glares back.
The tension lingered.
Draco waited.
Waited until they were really gone.
Then slowly let his shoulders fall.
He turned to Harry.
Harry’s eyes were blank.
Wounded.
Torn.
Draco took a deep breath.
And then—
With a simple motion—
He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder.
It wasn’t much.
Not everything.
But it meant something.
“Forget them,” Draco murmured.
Harry blinked.
Looked at him.
And then—
He nodded.
Because here, at this table—
He knew where he belonged.