Bullying (from both sides)
“Did I fall asleep on you yesterday?” Hermione asks as they head off to the great hall. Merlin nods. “Thought I might’ve. Sorry. And thanks, for getting me back to my dorm. Who helped you? I should thank her, too.”
“Helped?” Merlin asks, caught off guard.
“No one helped you?” she frowns, her pace slowing. The others stop and turn to see what the fuss is all about.
“C’mon, we’re here, can’t you smell the pancakes?” Ron whines, gesturing to the inviting door.
“Hang on, that doesn’t- you had to have help. Boys can’t get up to the girls dormitories on their own,” Hermione says, ignoring Ron entirely, squinting at Merlin, who chuckles nervously.
“Woah, what’s that over there?” Arthur snaps, pointing behind Harry’s head. They each follow his finger, Hermione a little less abruptly than the others, and Merlin shoots his husband a grateful look.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Ron demands, crabbier by the second.
“Thought I saw a… snake. On the… candles,” Arthur finishes lamely.
Trust Arthur to cover up something suspicious with something even more suspicious. Even when he tries to help, Merlin still ends up the one bailing them out of these slip-ups. Why does he always use snakes?
“I’m gonna do a thing,” he announces with finality, hopefully drawing their attention, and marches off in the direction of the Slytherin table to do said thing.
People stare openly. The entire room does, really. Merlin doesn’t give them the time of day or the satisfaction of looking nervous. He doesn’t even look back at his troupe of menaces to see their reactions. They’re Arthur’s problem now.
It’s not as unusual for Slytherins to sit alone at their table as it is for Gryffindors, who would find that concept appalling. So Merlin’s not terribly surprised to find Draco sitting on his lonesome, staring at him over his porridge and grapefruit, struck dumb.
He plops himself down opposite him and tucks into a cinnamon bun.
“Morning,” he greets cheerily.
Another slop of porridge drops from Draco’s spoon onto the table. He hasn’t noticed the steadily growing puddle for his shock. In fact, his jaw’s still on the floor. Eh, Merlin will give him a minute. They have time.
“Whatare you doing?” Draco hisses in a much more heated imitation of his father’s cold drawl.
“‘M having breakfast, what’s it look like?”
“ At the Slytherin table.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not allowed!”
“Yeah it is, actually. There’s no rule. Did you think there was a rule? Is that why no one’s mingling?”
The entire Slytherin table’s gone silent to watch the exchange. There’s a low hushed whisper circling the other tables, and Merlin feels every open glance thrown their way. He’s pretty sure Fred and George exchange a handful of money, which makes him smirk.
“Your family’s more important than mine,” Draco spits accusatorily, just barely restraining his words so they stay between them. He leans over the table, eyes flashing, teeth bared. He’s not cleared to say this. If his father knew Draco was frothing at an Emrys like this, he’d be in fits. No, this is all Draco. It’s about time. “How can anyone respect you? Why? How can you come over here like this, ponce about with those shabby Gryffindors, Weasleys and Grangers and all the other nobodies? You don’t even care! You don’t even notice what you do, and still my father thinks you’re the holy FUCKING grail, and no one says anything, and you can do whatever you like and say whatever you like and be friends with whoever you like, and I can’t, and you need to tell me WHY!”
Merlin pauses for Draco to heave in a few slightly manic breaths. Well, everyone probably heard that. Maybe this kind of no-holds-barred breakdown is exactly what Draco needs, though. If he doesn’t grow out of this conversation, which Merlin doubts, the reactions of the peanut gallery will force him to. Draco’s just solidified his development. So who can blame Merlin if he’s smiling behind his bun?
“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing,” he hums genially.
“Don’t you dare mock me. Not about this.”
“I’m dead serious, Draco,” Merlin assures him in a solemn voice, holding the boy hostage with his challenging eyes. “Look me in the eyes and give me one good reason you can’t do what you want.”
Draco blinks like he’s been slapped, caught entirely off guard by something.
“Harry… Potter said that.”
Merlin nods. “He’s absolutely right. None of us have enough time to waste a second standing for things we don’t believe in. Life is too short not to be as happy as we can. Harry Potter is a name respected the world over, but the happiest I’ve ever seen him is when he forgot it for a bit. I don’t think you know who you are until you’ve been so happy you forget your own name. But you never know until you try.”
Draco stares back at him with wide eyes, taking every word with expert care, turning them over and fitting them together backwards and forwards and upside down, analyzing them through lens after lens, careful not to break them. Merlin leaves him to it.
“Always a spot at the Gryffindor table,” he throws over his shoulder as he goes.
Ron assures Merlin when he gets back to the gang that Malfoy’s a lost cause, but it’s not just Malfoy Merlin’s thinking of. At dinner, two Hufflepuff girls make a leap of faith and hurriedly dash over to their friend at the Ravenclaw table, who quickly makes room for them. They look over their shoulders for the first half of the meal, but no one stops them, and people notice.
Tentatively, gradually, the Great Hall becomes a veritable tapestry of tie colours. Merlin introduces Neville to Luna Lovegood. Arthur looks out for Ginny, who looks mighty alone in a sea of people, armed with a thousand Quidditch-related discussion topics.
The Gryffindors and Slytherins are hardest to budge. There’s some deep-seated stuff there, but it’s the Slytherins more than the Gryffindors who hold a grudge- the Reds are just quick to react. The Greens, on the other hand, are slow to forget.
In response to this surge of camaraderie, there’s a surge of hate. An equal and opposite reaction. Merlin’s seen it in every revolution, movement, and stand he’s ever lived through. He’s confident they’ll win this battle in the end, but they have to fight it first, and it gets ugly.
People start hiding Merlin’s things. He and Arthur aren’t always welcome in the Gryffindor common room anymore. Liz looks at them apologetically whenever she has to tell them someone’s given them the wrong password. Merlin suspects she’s stopped telling them and just started letting them in regardless.
Harry gets tripped going into every other class. The newest thing the crowd is calling him is ‘Greenie’ since he’s ‘so fond of Slytherin’. He’s broken his glasses twice from people bumping into him on purpose, and someone swaps his Gryffindor scarf out for a Slytherin one.
Some of the girls try to tell Hermione not to go near those Slytherins, convinced it’s a long con and she’ll be the butt of the joke. It’s true she’s a perfect target, between her buck teeth, insane hair, dark skin, academic drive and muggle parents, but she apparently didn’t know that until now. It hits her hard and she starts to wonder if she’s really that different from the other girls, if she’s that much worse, that everyone else can see it.. The worst of the Slytherins do nothing to disprove this theory.
Ron's no help. He's particularly protective of her, seeing every strike by the opposition as the entirety of Slytherin’s fault. He’s completely oblivious to the Gryffindor bullying, and out of respect for his brothers the bullies give him a pass. Merlin would be mad, but Ron’s gullible enough that he might genuinely not know it’s going on.
Draco Malfoy works his arse off staying out of it, and is surprisingly successful, until about half a month in.
Harry’s the only one that’s there for it, since he’s the only one on the Quidditch team. Malfoy’s been made Slytherin’s seeker, and he’s all ready to be an insufferable bitch about it until Marcus Flint accuses Harry of stinking like mudblood and being a disappointment to his distinguished parents.
Before either team even has the time to roar defiance, Draco punches Flint in the jaw.
Practice is cancelled. No one talks to Draco the rest of the day, one side considering him a traitor, the other still wary of him. He’s used to spending days and nights in the infirmary alone though (Flint punched back and he’s significantly bigger than Draco). Draco has eating problems, and anxiety problems, and sleeping problems, and pills to take, and checkups to have, and parents that won’t accept anything less than perfection. Madame Pomfrey is pretty much the only person he likes in the world, and definitely the only one he cares to talk to, except maybe his mother. He spends more nights in the infirmary than in the dorms. He likes the infirmary better.
But in all the time he’s spent in these medical cots, he’s never seen anyone else by his except Madame Pomfrey. It was like there was an imperturbable bubble around the space and other people didn’t exist within it. No one knew about this little corner except Draco and Poppy. He’s completely safe here.
Today that is disproven.
Harry Potter is dead asleep. He’s still in his muddy Quidditch robes, the outer coat slung over the chair he’s passed out in, barely visible over his massive bush of curly black hair. It tickles Draco’s legs, Harry’s head's slumped into the edge of the mattress by the bedside. He’s still got his playing gloves on. He’s all curled into himself in a bid to make himself smaller. Draco knew he did that, but even in his sleep? It’s like he wants to disappear.
Well, at least they have that in common.
Harry’s completely silent, even when he snuffles over in his sleep, his hair falling belatedly after him through the air like it’s waving. His glasses are smushed against his face at an uncomfortable angle. His eyelashes are dark and long and thick to match his hair- Draco’s always been jealous of Harry’s eyelashes, his own being white and wispy, barely visible. His mouth is in a stupid pout, like a baby doll, quiet little puffs of air escaping his lips in time with his deep breaths, his skinny back rising and falling.
Draco swallows. There’s sunshine coming in through the curtains… Potter will be missing something. Practice, class, lunch, something. He shouldn’t be here. Why is he here?
Draco does his best to straighten Harry’s glasses and then shakes him on the shoulder.
Harry rises as silently as he slept, eyes blinking open and focussing very fast. Draco didn’t think anyone woke up like that, he thought that was just for the movies. The eye Draco couldn’t see before is black and puffy, and Harry’s hand goes to his head gingerly like it’s hurting under all that hair.
“Draco. Er- Malfoy,” he says, his soft voice the only giveaway that he was just conked out with his glasses smushed halfway into his face. He settles them over his nose and there’s a mark where he slept on them.
“Potter,” Draco returns as smoothly as he can.
They stare at each other for a few awkward moments.
“I’ll go get Madame Pomfrey,” Harry mumbles at the floor, shuffling to get up.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Draco orders before he thinks about it. “What happened?”
Harry plops back down into his visitor’s seat like his strings have been cut, still only using the edge of the chair, clasping his hands on his knobby knees.
“There was a fight. Flint said something and you punched him, and everyone jumped you at once. It was a mess.”
“I know all that. Doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
Harry looks unsure of himself for a second. His eyebrows pull together and he winces as it tugs at his bruise. He bites his lip.
“What does that word mean?” he blurts.
Draco knows exactly what word he means. Potter’s… Potter’s never heard it before?
“As soon as Flint said it there was an uproar. It’s something really bad. What is it?”
Draco looks to the side and chooses his words carefully. He finds himself tracing patterns into the bedsheets as he talks.
“Mudblood. It’s bad,” he confirms. “It’s a slur for muggle-borns. Pure-bloods take great pride in their heritage, the direct magical line of their family. They think muggles marrying into a wizarding family taints the pure blood, makes it dirty. It’s not a nice thing to call somebody,” he finishes quietly.
Potter’s quiet for a while as he considers this.
“Why’d you punch him?”
Draco picks at the sheets. Summons his courage. He doesn’t have enough to look him in the eye, but he has just enough to say what he means. That’s what Emrys said to do, isn’t it?
“Because family’s off limits.”
Potter’s answering grin is as wide as his bruises will allow him, and then some. He doesn’t even seem to notice the pain. Draco feels something incredibly foreign and precious that he never thought he’d feel sitting in this infirmary- pride. It knocks him flat. He thinks he’s smiling too.
Emrys was right. It feels good doing what you want.
Then Harry’s smile dies all at once as something occurs to him, and Draco feels his own disappear too.
“Oh no,” Harry says with feeling.
“What? Disappointed I’m not a complete prick?” Draco challenges. He dares Potter to take this from him.
“Not you. You’re good. I mean you’re not a prick. Well, you are a bit, but I didn’t mean that. Was that the first time that you- I mean, did you ever- the Slytherins, do they know you-?”
“Which side I’m on?”
“Yeah.”
“They do now.”
Harry’s face collapses like that’s the worst news he’s ever received.
“Spit it out, Potter,” Draco orders, losing patience.
“Well if you stayed out of it before… no wonder they all lost it at you… but Draco, now they know, they’re gonna be horrible. They’re gonna eat you alive.”
“I can look after myself,” Draco declares over his fear.
“No, they’re really horrible! Seriously, what they’re doing to us is gonna look tame compared to what they’ll do to you! And your dad…”
“I’ll use Emrys to justify it. Father practically worships him, it’ll do,” Draco snaps immediately, anything to stop them talking about that and him thinking about it. “What’s this about them doing things to you? What kind of things?”
“Forget that. You have to watch your back,” Harry urges, suddenly full of determined fire, leaning in. “You can sit with us now. I know you probably don’t want to. I wouldn’t make you choose, Draco, I know you still don’t like me, but seriously, you need a friend right now, because it’s basically war out there. When this all settles down, you can leave if you want, but just take it for now. You can’t do this alone.”
Draco blinks. Is he… offering him his friendship? A seat at the Gryffindor table? Is he serious?
“Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?” he hears himself shoot back automatically.
“You can do whatever you like, but this is the best offer you’re gonna get! You don’t have to be our friend or anything, okay? But I promise you that we will have your back if you have ours. Can you say the same of Crabbe and Goyle?”
What a stupid question. Of course he can’t.
“Is it really that bad out there?” he asks, because he really doesn’t know.
“Yes,” Harry stresses.
Just do what you want, Draco.
Well… isn’t his father always telling him it would look good to be more chummy with Harry Potter? And with him and Emrys as a package deal, he can’t possibly be unhappy with Draco for this, blood feuds aside. It just has to look good.
And it just so happens that it’s what Draco wants to do.
“Alright,” he agrees. “Best of luck convincing Weasley.”
💥
Throughout this, regular politics continue as scheduled. Now that Hermione Granger’s lost faith in Gilderoy Lockhart, rumours fly.
Merlin has to admit that sticking it to him was fun, though.
“How about we have our star student come up and give a demonstration?” Lockhart said in the class following the whole ‘tutoring’ affair. “Will the lovely Miss Granger please pick a volunteer and come up to the front?”
She quickly picked Merlin, which made Lockhart falter for a moment, before he evidently came to the conclusion that the infallible Hermione had converted him and Merlin was now another die-hard hater who’d seen the light and become a fan.
“Marvellous! I can’t wait to hear from you both, you make quite the little dream team, so cute. Up you come!”
And up they went, proceeding to dunk on their professor with unmatched enthusiasm and ruthless abandon, because Hermione is not a girl to cross and Merlin was long overdue some entertainment.
In their dramatic recreation of the great Gilderoy besting a horrifying mountain troll (20 feet tall, he swears) Merlin, playing Gilderoy, managed to work in six different unsubtle product placement advertisements for things like blinding white toothpaste and L’Oreal (because you’re worth it). He made it a ballet performance, flicking his hair so obnoxiously with his pirouettes it’s uncanny, speaking in a booming, pompous voice and swishing his robes around unnecessarily like a cape.
Not to be outdone, Hermione, as the troll, gave an entire lecture with verbal citations on all the fallacies in the source material, which, incidentally, Lockhart wrote.
Once all that was done, Merlin turned directly to the class with Lockhart’s exact brand of would-be roguish charm and said:
“I can’t wait to write this in my next book: Travels with Trolls, by Magical Me: Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award. Conditionsmayapply. Eachsoldseperately. Batteriesnotincluded.”
That’s the last time Lockhart let them up in front of the class, but the damage was done.
“I bet he rejected her and she got all huffy.”
“I don’t know, she knows her stuff. Maybe she’s right about him.”
“You believe Hermione Granger over Gilderoy Lockhart?! Your loss, honey!”
“What about Em? He’s smart too.”
“Not too shabby, either.”
“They were funny up there in class.”
“Have you heard him talk? I want to believe anything he says.”
“Em or Professor Lockhart?”
“...Both.”
“Yeah, but…”
And so it goes.
No one’s sure what to make of it, until Lockhart makes his biggest mistake.
Thinking that he just needs to try harder, Lockhart sends his next best student (read: biggest fan) to cure Merlin of his delusions through tutelage. After an hour with Merlin, Marie-Chantelle would sooner take a lecture from a spork than Gilderoy Lockhart.
So Lockhart sends in his third best student.
Jessica spends every lesson after that glaring at him like he’s dirt on her shoe.
One by one, Merlin converts the false messiah’s followers, and the extremely unbalanced measure of respect in his class dips. There are two unforeseen consequences of this:
- Merlin has once again underestimated the wrath of the fairer sex. Lockhart now has what amounts to an angry mob for third period.
- Apparently teenage girls need something to focus all that attention on, and they’re not too picky about where it gets transferred. The short version? They all have crushes on Merlin now.
Harry says it’s karma for leaving him at the mercy of Colin Creevey. Arthur, who swears up and down he’s not jealous (‘why should I be jealous of a horde of prepubescent girls, Merlin, don’t flatter yourself’ ) makes a full-time job out of ‘accidentally’ stepping on the girls' toes and scoffing loudly whenever they bat their lashes at his husband. Hermione doesn’t fare much better, actually. Ron reckons he’s some kind of brilliant woman-whisperer and that’s why Fred and George love him so much.
It’s a strange turn of events to coincide- a school-wide upheaval of pureblood ideals and the downfall of Gilderoy Lockhart at the hands of children. It’s almost a relief when Sam’hain rolls around.
Arthur laughs out loud when Harry tells them he’s volunteered them to go to Sir Nicolas’ Deathday party instead of the feast. That’s sort of their plan too, to reconvene and celebrate with those long lost to the mortal plane, isn’t it?
“Can’t go, sorry Harry,” Merlin says with a hand over his husband’s fat mouth. “But a word to the wise: eat before you go.”
“Why…?” Ron asks suspiciously, eyes narrowed.
“Have you been to a Deathday party before? Is there anything you haven’t done?” Hermione bemoans.
“He did say you probably wouldn’t want to come,” Harry notes. “He gave you a pass, for some reason.”
“Aaaand we’re taking it,” Arthur declares with finality. “Thank you and goodnight.”
Maybe Sam’hain is cursed. This happened last year too, didn’t it? As soon as they left, Ron, Harry and Hermione got attacked by a troll.
This year, while Merlin and Arthur are seeing their friends that are only mostly gone, the trouble trio find a message of doom written on the wall in blood and the petrified body of an innocent cat- a familiar no less.
And that’s not counting the fact that Merlin comes back to his bedsheets shredded and a word spray-painted that same alarming red on the mattress.
TRAITOR.