Chapter Text
Sirius sat in the dimly lit study of Black Castle, his hands clasped together in front of him as he leaned forward, tension clear in his posture. Across from him sat his grandfather, Arcturus Black, a commanding presence even in his old age, his gaze sharp and calculating as they waited. Between them, the fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting flickering shadows against the walls lined with ancient Black family portraits. A third chair was drawn up to the polished mahogany table, and Sirius's eyes flicked to it briefly, his mind already racing with the plans they were about to put into motion. The weight of what was to come pressed on his shoulders, but there was a sense of grim determination settling over him. This was the moment they had been working toward ever since his escape. It was time to clear his name.
The door creaked open, and Grant Haworth, the Black family lawyer, stepped inside. His presence was both familiar and reassuring. He had been with the family for decades, a man of sharp intellect and unwavering loyalty. His dark robes swirled around him as he moved toward the table, his face betraying nothing but the calm professionalism Sirius had come to expect.
"Lord Black," Haworth greeted Arcturus with a respectful nod, acknowledging the weight of his title. Then he turned to Sirius. "Mr Black."
Haworth settled into the chair and placing a leather-bound briefcase on the table. "Let's get straight to it, then. We have a lot to discuss, and not much time."
Arcturus gave a small nod of approval, his hands resting calmly on the arms of his chair. "Indeed. The Ministry has kept Sirius imprisoned far longer than they should have, and without a trial. The time has come for us to remedy that—properly and thoroughly."
Haworth's sharp brown eyes flicked between the two men before he opened his case, pulling out a series of documents and laying them carefully on the table.
"The first order of business is, of course, Sirius's exoneration. We'll need to approach this carefully, given the political climate and how the Ministry is always trying to save face. They'll fight back hard on this, but we have the advantage. The key is Pettigrew."
Sirius leaned forward, his voice hard. "We've got him. There's no doubt now that the world will see he's alive—and a traitor to boot. How do we use him?"
Haworth tapped the stack of papers in front of him. "We file a motion for a formal trial, demanding that Sirius's case be reexamined. We'll present evidence that not only was Sirius wrongly imprisoned but that Peter Pettigrew is the true traitor, the one responsible for the deaths of James and Lily Potter, and that Sirius was framed for it. With Pettigrew in custody, we have a strong case to argue. His testimony will seal the deal."
Arcturus spoke, his voice cool and calculated. "We will ensure that Pettigrew's appearance before the Wizengamot is irrefutable. However, we cannot rely solely on him. Pettigrew's word, even under Veritaserum, may not be enough to sway those who wish to keep the matter buried. We need more."
Haworth nodded, anticipating Arcturus's concerns. "Exactly. That's why we'll need additional character witnesses. Sirius's record, despite his youthful indiscretions, shows no true evidence of criminal intent, especially in comparison to his history during the First War. We'll bring in testimony from the Potters' close friends—those still alive, of course—along with others who knew Sirius well before Azkaban."
Sirius frowned, rubbing his chin. "Most of the people who can speak to my innocence are either dead or scattered, thanks to the war. Remus might testify, but I don't want to drag him into this mess. He's got enough to worry about."
"He may be essential," Haworth pointed out gently. "But more importantly, we'll need to emphasize the lack of due process in your case. The Ministry acted out of fear when they threw you in Azkaban without a trial. That alone is a grievous violation of your rights, and it will work in our favor. If we push hard enough, they'll be forced to acknowledge it publicly."
Arcturus's eyes glittered with cold calculation as he steepled his fingers. "And we will push. The Ministry's corruption and incompetence will be laid bare if they resist. They will not want to tarnish their reputation further, especially with the Dark Lord's resurgence looming over them."
Sirius clenched his fists, feeling the familiar rage simmering beneath the surface. "The Ministry doesn't care about justice—they just care about saving their own skins. But if we can make them look like fools, they'll have no choice but to clear me. We can't let them bury this."
"That's exactly the angle we'll take," Haworth said smoothly. "Once we file the motion for the trial, the press will get wind of it. We'll control the narrative. I already have a few contacts in the Daily Prophet who owe me a favor or two. They'll be sympathetic to your case."
"And what about Dumbledore?" Sirius asked, his voice hardening at the name. "He's part of the reason I've been kept out of the loop for so long. He could've helped clear me years ago but didn't."
Arcturus's expression darkened. "Dumbledore plays a dangerous game, keeping his hands clean while allowing others to suffer. We will deal with him in time. For now, our focus is on securing your freedom and bringing Pettigrew to justice."
Sirius nodded, though he felt a familiar bitterness rise in his chest. Dumbledore had always had his own agenda, and Sirius was tired of being caught in the middle of it. He needs to protect Harry, but he needs to be free to do it on his own terms.
Haworth cleared his throat, bringing their attention back to the matter at hand. "Once we secure the trial, I'll petition for Sirius to be placed under house arrest at Black Castle until the proceedings are complete. This will allow us to move more freely while preparing for the trial, and it will give you a chance to start working on the other matter we discussed—the adoption of Harry Potter."
Sirius's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Harry. "How soon can we make that happen?"
"Once you're exonerated," Haworth explained, "you'll be free to act as his legal guardian without any hindrances. But there's more to it than just clearing your name. You'll need to officially petition the Ministry for custody, which will involve proving that you're fit to take care of him and that it's in Harry's best interest to be in your care. Given his current status as the Boy Who Lived and the political implications surrounding him, it won't be a simple process."
"We'll need to be strategic," Arcturus interjected, his voice firm. "The Ministry may not want to relinquish control over Harry, especially with Dumbledore's influence. But as Lord Black, Sirius will have certain rights that cannot be easily denied."
Haworth nodded in agreement. "Once you are reinstated as Lord Black, your status will carry considerable weight. The Black family's name still holds power, and we can use that to our advantage. We'll build a case that shows not only are you capable of providing for Harry, but that it's essential for his safety and well-being."
Sirius sat back in his chair, feeling the gravity of what lay ahead. It wasn't just about clearing his name anymore—it was about securing a future for Harry, one where he would be protected from the dangers that still loomed.
"We'll do it," he said, his voice steady. "We'll take down Pettigrew, clear my name, and I'll bring Harry home where he belongs."
Arcturus's eyes gleamed with approval. "And we will do so with precision and efficiency, Sirius. The Black family's future depends on it."
Haworth gathered his documents, his expression one of quiet confidence. "I'll file the necessary paperwork with the Ministry first thing in the morning. We'll get this trial on the docket, and we'll have our strategy in place before the week is out. You have my word."
Sirius gave a firm nod, feeling a sense of determination settle over him. The fight was far from over, but for the first time in years, he felt like he was on the verge of reclaiming everything that had been taken from him. He wasn't just fighting for himself anymore—he was fighting for Harry, for justice, and for the Black family's legacy.
~
Harry trudged through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, his hand throbbing after yet another detention with Umbridge. He kept his head down, lost in his thoughts, as he made his way back to the Slytherin dorms. His mood was already soured, his mind replaying the events of the evening—the sting of the Blood Quill and the look of twisted satisfaction on Umbridge's face. He had not done anything to deserve another detention with her, not that he did anything to deserve the first one. Draco would be furious where he got back to the dorms.
As he turned a corner, he nearly walked straight into Ron.
"Harry," Ron said, his voice tight, and Harry immediately knew this wasn't going to be a friendly encounter.
"Ron," Harry muttered in return, trying to sidestep him, but Ron shifted to block his way.
"What are you doing out so late?" Ron asked, crossing his arms.
Harry's jaw clenched. He wasn't in the mood for this. "Just finished detention. Not that it's any of your business."
"Detention?" Ron scoffed. "Guess you're fitting right in with the Slytherins now, huh? Breaking rules, getting in trouble. Bet they love that."
Harry's fists curled at his sides, but he kept his expression neutral. He didn't want to fight—not tonight. "I don't have time for this, Ron. Just move."
"Move?" Ron's eyes narrowed, his voice rising. "What happened to you, Harry? You're not the same anymore. Ever since you got sorted into Slytherin, you've changed. You're always with them now, like we don't even exist."
"You wouldn't understand," Harry muttered, trying to brush past him, but Ron shoved him back, his frustration clear.
"Try me," Ron snapped. "Why don't you ever talk to us anymore? Why are you always with Malfoy and his lot? What happened to sticking together?"
Harry's temper, already frayed from the day's events, snapped. "You wouldn't understand because you haven't bothered to ask! You have barely looked at me after I was sorted into Slytherin. Do you think I can hear your muttered insults in class Ron?"
"Maybe if you hadn't been sorted there—"
"That's not something I could control, Ron!" Harry interrupted, his voice rising. "You think I wanted this? You think I asked to be put in Slytherin?"
"Could've fooled me," Ron muttered darkly. "You act like you belong there. All this time with Malfoy—"
Harry's eyes flashed with anger. "Don't act like you know what's going on. You have no idea what I've been dealing with."
Ron shook his head, his face flushed with frustration. "Why won't you just come back? Come back to Gryffindor. Stop pretending like you're one of them."
Harry's breath hitched, the weight of Ron's words cutting deeper than he expected. He felt his anger surge again, but this time, it was tinged with sadness. "I'm not pretending, Ron. This is where I am now. And if you can't accept that, then maybe you're the one who's changed."
Ron stared at him, taken aback. The fight between them seemed to hang in the air, unresolved and bitter. Harry could see the conflict in Ron's eyes, the battle between his pride and the friendship they used to share.
"Fine," Ron muttered after a long, tense silence. "If that's how you want it." He turned and stormed off down the hall, not sparing Harry another glance.
Harry stood there, his hands shaking from both the confrontation and the pain in his hand. He watched Ron disappear down the corridor, feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion, not just from the physical pain but from the emotional weight of it all. He turned and continued his walk back to the dorms, the emptiness of the castle echoing in his steps.
~
The Slytherin common room was steeped in shadows, the eerie green light from the lake outside casting jagged patterns on the walls. Harry sat alone by the fireplace, trying—and failing—to concentrate on his Potions textbook.
He had been in Slytherin for a week now, enduring the whispers, the stares, the thinly veiled insults from Ron and his so-called housemates. He'd kept his cool, tried to be diplomatic like Draco was teaching him, but he was reaching his limit, the detentions with Umbridge were not helping and Draco was not always there to calm him.
Adrian Pucey loomed over him, smirking down at Harry like a predator about to pounce.
"Potter, Potter, Potter..." Adrian sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "It doesn't matter what house the Sorting Hat put you in. You'll never be one of us. The Gryffindor in you is too strong. We can all see it."
Harry's fingers dug into the edge of the armrest. His jaw tightened, and his breath became shallow. He had tried to ignore Adrian's petty taunts since he had been sorted, tried to be better than this, but he could feel something dark and dangerous bubbling under the surface, clawing its way up.
"You think just because you're the Black heir, you get to act like you belong here?" Adrian continued, oblivious to the storm brewing in Harry's chest. "No one gives a damn about your title. You're a joke, Potter. A freak."
Something snapped.
Harry slammed his textbook shut with a force that echoed through the common room, making several heads snap over to him. His emerald eyes, usually warm with kindness, were now cold, sharp—dangerous. Slowly, deliberately, he stood up, his gaze locked on Adrian with a burning intensity that made the older boy take a step back. The air around Harry seemed to thrum with power, thick and suffocating.
"Don't call me that." Harry said, his voice low and laced with a venom that sent a chill through the room.
Adrian's smirk faltered, but he tried to stand his ground. "Or what? You think you scare me, Potter? You're nothing."
Harry's lips curled into a dangerous smile, one that didn't reach his eyes.
Without looking away from Adrian, Harry flicked his hand toward the large metal snakes that coiled around the fireplace. The room seemed to darken as his magic swelled, heavy and menacing. A hissing sound filled the air as one of the massive decorative snakes began to move, its metal body creaking and groaning as it uncoiled from the wall.
The other Slytherins gasped, several of them standing, backing away from the scene unfolding before them. The snake slithered down from its perch, its gleaming, metallic eyes fixed on Adrian.
Harry's gaze never wavered. His voice dropped into something entirely serpentine, the words slipping from his mouth like a curse. "Bind him."
The snake obeyed instantly, slithering across the floor with deadly precision. Adrian's eyes widened in terror, his bravado crumbling as the snake coiled around his legs, winding its way up his body with suffocating pressure. He struggled, panicked gasps escaping his throat, but the more he fought, the tighter the snake coiled.
"P-Potter! Stop! What—what are you doing?" Adrian's voice cracked as the snake's cold metal body pressed against his chest.
Harry stepped forward, his expression dark and unrelenting, like a predator toying with its prey. He spoke again in Parseltongue, the hissing, guttural words sending a ripple of fear through the room.
The snake tightened its hold, and Adrian let out a choked sound, his face pale with terror. Draco Malfoy, who had entered shortly before Adrian had approached Harry had been watching from the side with narrowed eyes, now stepped forward, clearly intrigued by the sudden, dark shift in Harry's demeanour.
"Potter... That's enough."
Harry's eyes flicked toward Draco, his gaze sharp and calculating. For a brief moment, Draco wasn't sure if Harry would listen—or if he would lash out even more. But then, with a slow, deliberate breath, Harry stepped back, his gaze still locked on Adrian.
"Let him go," Harry ordered in English this time, his voice devoid of emotion.
The snake obeyed immediately, uncoiling from Adrian and slithering back to its place on the wall. Adrian collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath, his eyes wide and wild with fear. He didn't dare look at Harry as he scrambled to his feet and bolted from the room, his dignity shattered.
Harry turned slowly, facing the other Slytherins who were watching in stunned silence. His temper still simmered just beneath the surface, the dangerous glint in his eyes enough to make anyone think twice about crossing him.
No one dared to challenge him now.
Draco stepped forward cautiously, his gaze lingering on Harry. His voice was softer, but there was an edge of respect in it now and something else. "Potter... That was—impressive."
Harry's eyes flickered, the wild anger in them dimming slightly. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to calm down, to pull back from the brink.
"I just want everyone to leave me alone." Harry said, his voice still hard, though the menace had softened slightly.
Draco nodded slowly, a calculating look crossing his face. "Well you have done a fantastic job, I don't think anyone besides me will be bothering you anymore."
Harry's lips quirked up into a smile, "What I didn't scare you?"
"You? Never." Draco laughed, looping his arm through Harry's and steering him back to his seat, ignoring the obvious shift in the room. They Slytherins weren't just wary of Harry now—they respected him. They feared him. And in Slytherin, that was important.
As Harry sat back down with Draco beside him as his anger cooled, he felt it click: This was where he belonged. He was never supposed to be in Gryffindor, he was always supposed to be here.
Slytherin was his. And everyone knew it now.
~
Draco Malfoy had always prided himself on being observant, especially when it came to reading people. But Potter—Harry Potter—had always been an enigma to him. Draco had expected Harry's transfer into Slytherin to be met with difficulty, and it had been, but the tension had started to shift recently. Draco had noticed the way Potter held himself, the way his green eyes sharpened whenever someone challenged him. There was something brewing beneath the surface, and tonight, Draco would witness it fully.
It started with Adrian Pucey, of course. Pucey had always been arrogant, a fool who thought he could push Harry because of his Gryffindor past. The common room was quieter than usual, but there was an undercurrent of excitement—whispers, snickers, and smirks as Pucey stood in front of Harry, towering over him. Draco stayed back, leaning against one of the pillars, his arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold. Pucey had no idea what he was doing.
"You think just because you're the Black heir, you get to act like you belong here?" Pucey sneered, "No one gives a damn about your title. You're a joke, Potter. A freak."
Draco saw the shift in Harry's posture—the way his fingers tightened on his book, the way his jaw clenched. But it was the eyes, those emerald eyes, that caught Draco's attention. They flashed with something cold, something dangerous. A shiver ran down Draco's spine. Potter had been putting up with this nonsense for a while now, but this time... this time, something had changed.
Harry closed his book with a loud snap, and the room fell silent. Draco's heart skipped a beat as he straightened slightly, his gaze locked on Harry. He could feel it, the tension, the thickening air. Magic crackled through the room, barely restrained, and it was coming from Harry.
"Don't call me that." Harry said in a voice so low and deadly that even Draco, who was standing a good distance away, felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
Adrian's smirk faltered, but he tried to stand his ground. "Or what? You think you scare me, Potter? You're nothing."
Before he could say anything else, Harry moved, not physically but with his magic. Draco saw it. He felt it. The metal snake around the fireplace—one of the many Slytherin house decorations—twitched. It was subtle at first, but then it began to move, sliding down the wall with a fluidity that defied its metallic nature.
Draco's breath caught in his throat as the snake uncoiled itself. It wasn't just coming to life—it was responding to Harry, obeying him. The room felt oppressive now, thick with magic, and everyone was frozen, too shocked to react. The only sound was the faint hiss of the snake slithering toward Pucey.
Harry's eyes stayed locked on Pucey, glowing with a dangerous intensity that sent a chill through Draco. He had seen Harry fight before—on the Quidditch pitch, in duels, in the chaos of the Triwizard Tournament—but this was different. This wasn't Harry being heroic. This was Harry true fury. Harry commanded something in Parseltongue, his voice slithering through the room like the snake itself.
Draco shuddered. The sound of Parseltongue had always unsettled him, but hearing it now, coming from Harry with such power and command—it was intoxicating.
The snake obeyed, wrapping itself around Pucey's legs, then his torso, squeezing tighter and tighter. Pucey gasped, his bravado evaporating as he struggled against the cold, metallic coils. He looked terrified, his face pale as he thrashed uselessly.
"P-Potter! Stop! What—what are you doing?" Pucey choked out, his voice cracking.
Harry didn't even blink. His expression was cold, unfeeling, like he was watching an insect struggle in a spider's web. He stepped forward, just once, his voice low and dripping with menace.
Harry spoke in Parstletongue again and he snake constricted further, and Pucey's panicked wheezing echoed in the dead silence of the common room. No one moved. No one even breathed. Draco's heart was hammering in his chest, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Harry. The way he stood there, commanding this ancient magic like it was an extension of himself—there was nothing of the boy Draco had once sneered at as 'Scarhead.' This was something far more dangerous. Far more... impressive.
Pucey let out another choked whimper, and Draco found his voice. He didn't know why, but something compelled him to speak. Maybe it was the thought that Harry might actually let the snake crush Pucey if someone didn't intervene.
"Potter... That's enough."
For a moment, Draco wasn't sure if Harry had heard him. His gaze was still fixed on Pucey, his expression unreadable. But then, slowly, Harry blinked, and the tension in the air seemed to loosen. With a flick of his fingers, Harry commanded the snake to release Pucey.
Draco could barely hear Harry's voice as he spoke, but it was sharp and cold. "Let him go."
The snake uncoiled itself, slithering back to its place on the wall. Pucey collapsed to the floor, gasping and wheezing, scrambling away from Harry like a terrified child. Draco almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Draco's gaze stayed on Harry as the others whispered amongst themselves, too stunned to speak aloud. There was something magnetic about him, something Draco couldn't quite place. He had known Harry was powerful, but this—this was beyond anything he had expected. It wasn't just power. It was control. Dangerous, lethal control. Draco found himself stepping closer, his pulse racing, his mind whirring. It was as if something had clicked into place. Harry was more than the Boy Who Lived. More than the Black heir.
He was the Slytherin heir, connected to the house in ways Draco could only dream of. And Draco wanted him. Not just wanted him as an ally, though that was important too. Draco wanted all of him. The power, the darkness, the complexity. Watching Harry control that snake, watching him bring Pucey to his knees without lifting a finger—it stirred something deep in Draco, something primal and irresistible.
"Potter," Draco said, his voice softer now, filled with something he wasn't sure Harry would recognise. "That was... impressive"
Harry's gaze shifted to Draco, the fire still smouldering in his eyes. Draco's heart skipped a beat again, but he didn't flinch. He held Harry's gaze, his mind racing.
This was it. This was what he had been waiting for. Potter wasn't just a passing fascination. He wasn't some fleeting rival or friend. He was power. He was everything Draco had been taught to value. And Draco was going to have him.
One day, Draco was going to marry Harry Potter. It wasn't just a desire now—it was a decision.
~
The Slytherin common room had never felt quite as heavy as it did now. Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Daphne Greengrass gathered in a secluded corner, well out of earshot of the other students.
They had all witnessed the same thing earlier that evening: Harry Potter commanding one of the giant metal serpents to wrap around Adrian Pucey like it was nothing more than a toy under his control.
The image of Potter, his green eyes cold and deadly, still lingered in their minds. They weren't sure what to make of it, but one thing was certain—they needed to talk about it, and Draco Malfoy, wherever he was at the moment, could not be included in this conversation. Not with the way he'd been looking at Potter recently. Black blood ran too strongly in his veins.
Pansy spoke first, her voice low and clipped as she crossed her arms, leaning against the back of a velvet chair. "That was—well, let's just say I didn't expect that from Potter. He's completely unhinged."
Blaise let out a soft snort, lounging casually as though the events hadn't rattled him as much as the others. "I don't know if I'd call him unhinged. More like... dangerous. He was completely in control, Pansy. That snake was listening to him like it had no choice."
"That's exactly why he's unhinged!" Pansy shot back, her eyes flashing. "Who does something like that? He didn't even flinch. Just went full Parselmouth in front of everyone like it was *normal*."
Theo, always the quiet observer, leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes thoughtful as he laced his fingers together. "I suppose it is for him. I mean let's be honest, Potter's always had a temper. He's always been a fighter, a survivor. This isn't new. What's new is that he doesn't seem to care who sees it anymore."
Daphne shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had been quiet during the confrontation, but her mind had been racing ever since. "He didn't care who was watching, but that's what makes him even more unpredictable. It's not just about his magic—it's about the fact that he was willing to let everyone see just how powerful he is. That's not something we can ignore."
There was a pause as they all considered her words. They knew Potter had power, but no one had expected him to reveal it so openly in Slytherin, of all places. Their house had always been about subtlety, about playing the long game, about keeping cards close to the chest. Harry Potter didn't seem interested in any of that.
"I'm not saying we need to do anything about it," Theo said slowly, his voice calm but firm. "But we need to decide where we stand. He's not just some Gryffindor who got dropped into our house. He's the Slytherin heir, and after tonight, no one's going to question that. No one besides Salazar's heir would be able to control the common rooms snake like Potter can, I mean I didn't even know they could be controlled."
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "What are you saying, Theo? That we should side with him?"
Theo shrugged. "I'm saying we might not have a choice. If he can control that kind of magic without blinking, imagine what else he could do."
Blaise, still lounging, nodded in agreement. "Theo's right. Potter's not someone you want as an enemy. He's powerful, and whether we like it or not, he's one of us now. It wouldn't hurt to have him on our side."
Daphne hesitated, glancing between them. "But what if he goes too far? He didn't just put Pucey in his place—he could've killed him if he wanted to. What if he snaps like that again? What if it's one of us next time?"
Pansy's lips pressed into a thin line as she considered it. "That's exactly what worries me. He's volatile. We don't know what he's capable of."
"Or," Blaise cut in, his tone measured, "we don't know what we're capable of with him. Think about it. Potter has power. Influence. People follow him whether they like him or not. And now that he's showing this side of himself, the other Slytherins are going to fall in line sooner or later. Imagine him on our side, protecting us."
Pansy frowned, clearly torn. She didn't like the idea of siding with Potter, but she wasn't blind to the reality of the situation. "But Draco—he's already too close to Potter. He's completely infatuated with him, and it's going to cloud his judgment. We can't just blindly follow Potter because Draco will."
Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Draco is a Black and so is Potter, you know how they are about family, I wouldn't expect anything different. But it doesn't mean he's wrong. Potter is going to change things here, whether we like it or not."
The group fell silent for a moment, each of them lost in their own thoughts. The idea of Harry Potter, once the enemy of Slytherin, now becoming its most powerful member, was a hard pill to swallow. But they couldn't deny what they'd seen. Harry wasn't just a part of their house now—he was the Slytherin heir. And with that kind of power came influence.
Finally, Pansy sighed, her gaze steely. "So what do we do? Do swear him our loyalty?"
Blaise smirked. "We don't have to make any grand declarations. Just... stay close. See where this goes. If Potter keeps rising—and he will—we'll be in the right position to benefit."
Theo nodded. "Agreed. We'll keep an eye on him, but for now, it's safer to be on his side."
Daphne bit her lip, still uncertain, but she nodded along with the others. "Alright. But if he does something reckless, something dangerous—"
"Then we'll deal with it," Pansy finished. "But until then, we play the game."
They all shared a look, a silent agreement. It wasn't loyalty they were offering Potter—it was strategy. Slytherin was about survival, after all, and right now, Harry Potter was their best chance of coming out on top. For better or worse, the heir of Slytherin had finally claimed his place.