Chapter 20
With a pop, Harry and Malfoy landed in a shady corner about five blocks from the muggle pub Neville had booked. He glanced at the blond questioningly.
Malfoy scoffed. “Not all of us are blessed with the power to apparate to wherever we like. Normal people are required to use Ministry-sanctioned apparition spots.”
Harry blinked. He hadn’t even known there was such a thing. “Sorry. I didn’t know. Never passed my test.” He frowned. He should probably tell Robards. It was probably not good that a Ministry employee was regularly breaking the law by apparating without a license.
“Well, you were a bit busy,” Malfoy reasoned, surprising Harry. He’d expected him to go for an easy jab at Harry getting special treatment.
“I should probably sit the test,” Harry admitted. “I’d completely forgotten about it. I don’t want to get special treatment.”
Malfoy quirked a smile. “I know. But you will. Always. And, to be honest, I’m glad you do. It would make my job a lot harder if you didn’t. Besides, it’s good for the people who care about you. The special treatment you get keeps you safe and allows you to be the sanctimonious self-sacrificing and stubborn-headed prat you are.”
Years ago – even half a year ago – Harry would have let Malfoy’s words rile him up, but now all Harry could think about was the man’s insinuation that he cared for Harry. Instead of commenting, however, he simply nodded.
“I sent out the invitations to the Pledge and the Ball, by the way. Kreacher procured a rather magnificent Eagle Owl. You’ll need to name him,” Malfoy told him. Harry felt a gentle tug at his heart as he thought of Hedwig. Malfoy continued, “Hermione and Weasley looked over the guest list. Is there anybody else you’d like to invite that the three of us might have forgotten?”
Harry shook his head but raised an eyebrow at his use of Hermione’s given name. “Hermione? Not Granger?”
The highpoint of Malfoy’s cheeks flushed pink. “Well, since we’re both your unofficial secretaries, it seemed prudent to be friendlier. Besides, Hermione is a good name. It’s a character in Shakespeare, you know. Fits her well actually – she’s just as virtuous and beautiful as her namesake. Stronger though – I can’t imagine Granger dying of heartbreak any time soon, can you?”
Harry smiled. “’Course not. Ron’s not likely to break her heart in any case. It’s actually disgusting how much he loves her.”
“Love can make people do terrible things,” Malfoy shrugged. “Anyway, don’t expect me to refer to Weasley by anything other than his last name, unless you want me to demonstrate my proficiency at coming up with fantastic insults. Besides, learning his first name would require me knowing which of the red-head brood he actually is.”
Harry grinned, fairly confident Malfoy was joking. “What about me then?” he asked after a moment. As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them. Why did he have to voice that particular thought? It wasn’t like Harry and Malfoy were friends. Friendly, certainly. And perhaps there were unspoken feelings between the two, but, as far as he could tell, they were entirely one sided. He was an idiot.
Malfoy didn’t hesitate. “You’ll have to earn the privilege, Potter,” he smirked, his tone haughty.
Harry grinned. “Well, Draco, I’ll try my hardest.”
Draco rolled his eyes, but his cheeks tinged pink again. They walked in silence for a bit. Harry wondered if George was going to come tonight, and if he’d have forgiven Harry by then. He wondered if he’d be okay with Draco being there. He was sure Ron would have warned him, but the war was still fresh for George – fresher, perhaps, then for anyone else. It wasn’t easy for any of them, but every time George looked in the mirror, he’d see a reflection of Fred. Harry wondered if it was like looking in a grief-ridden version of the Mirror of Erised.
They neared the last block. Draco paused, looking at Harry. “You are aware that we’re entering a war council, yes?”
“What?” Harry asked. He blinked. He supposed, to Draco, it would be like a war council – not many people invited had particularly fond feelings for him. “If you don’t want to come, you absolutely don’t have to. But I promise everyone will be on their very best behaviour. There’s nothing a few drinks and conversations about quidditch can’t make less awkward. Besides, Neville said he’s on your side. And you know Luna, Hermione, Ron and I are.”
Draco looked at him curiously. “I appreciate your concern, Potter. I really do. And yes, it will be uncomfortable, and I will hate every moment of it, but that is not what I was talking about. We are walking into a war council, because every person in there is fully aware that you tortured and killed Fenrir Greyback,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
Harry inhaled sharply. He hadn’t been expecting that. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t be daft. There are exactly five people who know the spell that you cast on me in sixth year. One of them is dead. I know it wasn’t me. And there’s precisely one of your Golden Trio who is powerful enough to cast it,” Malfoy snapped. “Do me the courtesy of recognising my general intelligence, Potter.”
Harry swallowed. In hindsight, casting sectumsempra hadn’t been his brightest idea. He eyed Draco cautiously, unsure as to how to respond without incriminating himself or Ron or Hermione or Bill.
Draco huffed and rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to turn you in, you idiot. I’m fairly sure it was sanctioned, anyway, so I’m not sure what good that would do. Besides, as far as I’m concerned, it’s good riddance.” He paused and eyed Harry. “I would appreciate a forewarning, next time, as your unofficial publicist. It could all go rather pear-shaped very quickly if someone were to find out.”
Harry let out a breath he hadn’t been aware that he was holding. “Why will this be a war council?” he asked, not directly acknowledging Draco’s – albeit accurate – aspersions.
“You are a general, Potter,” Draco said, not unkindly. “A king, if you will. Every person in that room knows what you did and will expect that you are mobilising an army. Against whom, I’m not sure, but you inspire loyalty. Everybody in that room will follow you without question.”
Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “Before it was easy, you know? There was a clear enemy. It was obvious who we were fighting against. Who are we fighting against now? Blood purists who are mainly just ignorant? Hermione thinks we should fight them with knowledge. Ignorance is the enemy of progression and all that. The Death Eaters? Most of them are in Azkaban. George doesn’t think Azkaban is good enough, and that we should go on some sort of vigilante mission and kill them all. Corruption at the Ministry? How does one even begin to fight that, without scrapping the whole thing and starting over again? Do we fight all of them? None of them? I don’t know.”
Draco was silent for a bit. “What do you think? In the end, it doesn’t matter what Hermione, the Weasleys or even I think. You’re the King. Who do you want to fight?”
“No one,” Harry answered quickly. He sighed. “Everyone.” He rubbed his scar. It wasn’t hurting specifically, not like it used to, but he was developing quite a strong tension headache. “Everyone’s been quoting Shakespeare recently,” he said after a minute. “Bill told me about some woman who thought she had blood on her hands and went mad trying to get it off.”
“Lady Macbeth,” Draco said. He quirked a smile. “I was about to offer you Richard II. ‘Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood with solemn reverence; throw away respect, tradition, form, and ceremonious duty; for you have but mistook me all this while.’”
Harry knew exactly what that meant, even though he was fairly sure what had just come out of Draco’s mouth was another language. “I don’t want to be King,” Harry said quietly. “Would you want to?”
“Be King?” Draco considered. “As a Slytherin, I suspect I’m meant to say yes. Ambition and all that. But, honestly, no. I’m quite content to be on the sideline, using their power for my own nefarious purposes. Besides, Kings have a habit of dying young, and I’m a Malfoy first. Self-preservation is the essence of my moral fibre.”
“No, it’s not,” Harry said quietly. “You care about preserving the lives of people you love, too.”
Malfoy snorted softly but nodded with reluctance. “Yes. I do.”
“I was meant to be Slytherin, according to the Hat,” Harry said. “But I don’t think I’m particularly ambitious or cunning.”
Malfoy actually laughed. “You, Harry Potter, are about the most ambitious person I’ve ever met. Only someone deeply ambitious would have been able to do all that you’ve done. Even now, you’re determined to somehow fight everyone and change the world, while simultaneously fighting nobody and maintaining the peace. You’re illogical, definitely, but incredibly ambitious.”
Harry grinned, but quickly sobered, considering his options. “So, a war council you say? What do I do?”
“You trust everybody in there, correct?” Draco asked. At Harry’s nod, he continued. “Tell them the truth. You are the King, but nobody there has any illusions that you’re not also a seventeen-year-old trying his hardest.”
Harry nodded, but didn’t make a move to go in. “I think I’m scared I’m turning into Him,” Harry said after a minute.
Draco, very helpfully, didn’t say anything.
“He was normal in the beginning. Well, not really, but he was a lot like me, I think. A fucked-up childhood. Ambitious. Idealistic. And the more dark magic he did, the darker he became. I – I worry that I’ll slip. I can feel the darkness already. I don’t want to be evil,” Harry said quietly. “Sirius once told me that we all have good and evil inside us, and that the only thing that matters is what we choose to act on, but I’m starting to think I’ve got more evil in me than other people.”
Draco looked thoughtful. “You probably do have more evil in you than others – you spent seventeen years with a part of His soul in you. That has to add something to you. But I don’t think that makes you a bad person. Sure, you are drawn to the dark, but you actively aim for light – working against your own nature to do good is far nobler than just being good.”
“You really believe that?” Harry had never thought of it that way.
Draco smiled. “I have to,” he said pointedly. He gestured towards the muggle pub. “Are you ready?”
Harry paused. According to Draco, he was a king. Kings were probably always ready for this kind of thing. He braced himself, but quickly relaxed. Draco wasn’t wrong, necessarily, this was going to be a war council, but his council were on his side – they always would be. They would all follow him to hell and back, but Harry knew that all of them would set him right if he made a wrong decision. They wouldn’t follow blindly. They were his council – his advisors, his friends, his family. They loved him and Harry loved them. It didn’t matter who they were against; ultimately, they always fought for each other.