Chapter Twenty-Eight of 'Leopard's Choice'- Bending

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Chapter Twenty-Eight—Bending

“You realize that you can’t provide any guarantee of protection against the Dark Lord. What you said last night just wasn’t true.”

Harry lets out a long sigh as he turns around. He thought some people from Slytherin would probably come up and confront him about what he said last night, but he didn’t think the first confrontation would happen before he was even out of the common room.

Pansy Parkinson is standing there, fingers winding together like the snakes on the corners of the fireplace mantel. Harry wants to shake his head. She doesn’t believe him, but she can’t even present a confident mask to accuse him of lying?

No, that’s not it. Look closer, Harry.

It’s as if Severus is standing right beside him, whispering into his ear. Harry lifts his head and looks more closely at Parkinson. It’s not something he’s done a lot over the years, except during those few times when it seemed like she could present a threat.

It’s not a matter of accusing him, or of not being able to present a confident front. She’s afraid. She probably even wants to believe him, or at least might want to, but she can’t, not when she doesn’t see a way out.

Harry’s voice is softer than he wants it to be, even with an audience of Blaise and Theo coming down the stairs, when he speaks. “Who are you afraid I can’t protect you from, Parkinson?”

“It should be whom, you know,” Parkinson says, but her eyes are wide and her hands have gone still.

“Harry did manage to protect me from my mother,” Blaise says, right on cue, voice gentle but bored, as if he wants Parkinson to know this but doesn’t care about her reaction. “And that’s not an easy thing to do when she’s killed so many people, every one of my stepfathers as long as I’ve been alive. When she killed my father.”

“Harry made an ally of my father, and then he managed to protect himself from him when my father decided the bargain was going south,” Theo says. His voice is more bored still. He leans against the couch near the fireplace, picking at his nails. “You’ll notice that my father isn’t fighting against Harry beside the Dark Lord or proclaiming Harry a liar in every edition of the paper.”

Those situations are more complicated than that, Harry wishes he could mouth to them. And anyway, we don’t know that Parkinson is seeking protection from her parents. It could be someone else.

But he won’t undermine his friends in a situation like this. Parkinson still hasn’t spoken. Harry turns back towards her, and waits.

“My—my parents wouldn’t force me to serve him,” Parkinson finally whispers, shivering. “They care more about money than anything else, and they’ll ally with whoever wins and give money to all the sides. But my older sister…” She stops.

Harry blinks. Huh. He doesn’t remember Parkinson having an older sister, but then again, he barely paid attention to the Slytherins who weren’t Draco or Severus his first two years in Hogwarts. And Parkinson’s sister might be older than that and have left Hogwarts before Harry even arrived.

“I can offer to protect you from her,” Harry says with as much quiet confidence as he can muster. “You’d have to accept the offer and tell me enough about her that we could make sure you were safe. But we can try.”

Parkinson sniffles and peers at him from behind a strand of black hair. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“It’s not usual, that’s all. And I haven’t been nice to you. I’m not your friend.”

“You’re not my friend, but you’re not my enemy, either,” Harry says carefully. “And if you’re afraid of someone, then I do want to help you. That’s the way it is. Hermione says I have a bit of a…saving-people thing.”

Unexpectedly, that makes Parkinson jerk her head up with her eyes too brilliant for tears. “I am not going to be some kind of project for you, Potter! Or…I don’t know, a Slytherin you can parade around to show to your friends how much you redeemed me. I am a person!”

“So am I.”

Parkinson pauses. “You don’t think I was treating you like one?”

“I think that you have reason not to. But if you’re going to demand personal consideration and nuanced thought about your situation, then so am I about mine.”

Parkinson waits. Theo waits. Blaise waits. Harry waits. He doesn’t know all of Parkinson’s thoughts, but he can tell that Theo’s lazy lounge holds more than a hint of the leopard, and he doesn’t know if he will be fast enough to get in Theo’s way if he decides Parkinson is a threat and leaps for her.

Which means that Harry has to make sure that it doesn’t come to that.

Parkinson sniffles once more, and then gives Harry an unexpected, slow, brilliant smile. “We could go to breakfast together and I could tell you the details about my sister and why she wants me to follow the Dark Lord?”

“Of course,” Harry says, sweeping a bow, and hoping that he doesn’t show too much relief. That might make Parkinson start looking at Blaise and Theo in a different way. “The more details I know, the easier an enemy is to take down.”

Parkinson laughs, and looks surprised at herself for doing so. “I never knew that you had a sense of humor, Potter.”

“People who argue with me or avoid me don’t usually get to see it.” Harry gestures her ahead of him, and although she gives him an amused look that says she knows perfectly well why he doesn’t want her at his back, she goes. Theo and Blaise fall in on Harry’s either side as they leave the common room.

“Do you think we can trust her?” Theo asks out of the corner of his mouth.

Harry answers in a low voice. “I think she’s sincere. Whether we can do enough to make her stand up to her sister or flee to me for protection, I don’t know.”

“Good thing that you have us to watch out for any signs of insincerity, since you would probably give in if she starts crying,” Blaise says lightly.

“Good thing I have you.”

Harry hides his smile at the way Blaise blinks and even Theo’s expression slips for a second. They are his friends, and he would do almost anything for them, but it’s fun taking them off-guard with his own sincerity now and then.

Gryffindor rashness and bravery and impulsivity all have their downsides, but so do Slytherin reserve and suspicion and desire to believe that every smile is hiding a knife to stab them in the back with. Harry hopes that he’s coming closer and closer to being the perfect melding of those traits rather than just one or the other.

*

“I’m flattered, of course, Harry, but I do wonder why you came to me in particular to ask about Parkinson. I think one of your Housemates would probably know her better than I do.”

Zacharias leans back in his seat at the Hufflepuff table, keeping his eyes and posture lazy. Of course they’re drawing attention just by virtue of the fact that Harry bloody Potter strolled over here this morning instead of trying to stay with his House, but Zacharias doesn’t see a need to tell everyone what their business is.

“Come off it,” Harry says, smiling to take any sting from his words. Zacharias is glad to see that he appears to be as calm and confident as he’s pretending to be. He doesn’t look down the table at Ernie Macmillan, who helped call for his expulsion from Hogwarts just a few days ago. He didn’t even need Zacharias to tell him that being ignored will drive Macmillan mad.

Well. Madder.

“I know that you know all the political gossip thanks to your grandfather,” Harry goes on. “And I know that you know a lot on your own, too. You just call it by a more dignified name than gossip or rumors.”

“I will have you know that it’s political wisdom.”

“That, too. So what can you tell me about Heliconia Parkinson?”

Zacharias does take a moment before he answers, mostly to gather his thoughts. He does know Parkinson’s older sister, of course, but she cut no great dash at Hogwarts and hasn’t gone to a distinguished career since. Zacharias doubts that Harry has any reason to care about her blonde hair (dyed) or her dress robes (probably stolen with a Confundus Charm) or her appalling taste in food (likely to kill her before she’s fifty).

Ah. Of course. There would be a reason for Harry to ask.

“She’s one of the most rigid blood purists that I’ve ever met,” Zacharias says softly, and watches Harry’s eyes widen. The Niffler finds gold. “I don’t think she had a good word to say even for that one Slytherin in her year—Arcella Warrington—just because the girl’s grandmother was a half-blood. And she’s doing her best to spread her leader’s word on blood purity in the Ministry.”

“How good is she with curses?”

“Not that much. She has a nasty hand with Potions, though. I wouldn’t eat or drink anything if you have to go visit her.”

Harry snorts. “Not planning on it. Can I—ask for your help in writing and addressing a letter to her?”

“Why are you writing a letter to her if you don’t intend to go near her?” Zacharias demands. Honestly, someone has to ask these questions. Harry’s Slytherins aren’t doing their jobs if they let him just go along with this plan.

“I have something else in mind.”

Harry looks shifty. Zacharias studies him and decides that Harry probably isn’t going to explain whatever he has in mind. Well, that’s all right, as long as Zacharias can figure it out later. “Fine. Do you want to bring the letter to study group tonight and have me look over it? Or write it there?”

“The first one, I think.” Harry glances over his shoulder. Zacharias follows his gaze and notices Pansy Parkinson sitting a lot closer to Theo and Blaise than she ever did before. “I have to talk it over with someone first.”

At least one Slytherin will be advising him, Zacharias thinks. “Fine. I’ll see you later this afternoon, then.”

Harry nods, stands up from the Hufflepuff table, and walks back to the Slytherin one. Zacharias sees a movement from the corner of his eye, and glances up in time to see Shacklebolt glancing away from them, or from Harry, more precisely.

It’s unfair, like Hermione said. We deserve a Defense professor who actually wants to teach us and isn’t serving some Lord’s agenda or another.

Zacharias pauses, and then the best idea ever comes to mind. He grins and decides that he’ll write to Grandfather Josiah before he meets with Harry this afternoon. He won’t get an answer back right away, but just the idea is enough to carry him in a light mood through the rest of breakfast.

And to let him ignore Macmillan’s glares. Honestly, Zacharias could have told the prat about the changed law on expelling students if he’d asked, but then again, Macmillan deserved that spot of humiliation he got. It’s still not enough to puncture his ego.

*

“You want to write Heliconia a letter?”

Parkinson sounds so doubtful that Harry reconsiders his plan. But they’re already in the Room of Requirement and at the meeting—something that Harry made Parkinson swear an oath not to speak of before he let her attend—and Harry has his draft on parchment, and Parkinson hasn’t read it yet. She’s just staring at him with wide eyes.

Harry nods. “And threaten her.”

Parkinson sighs and casts herself back on the patterned rug behind her, which Harry thinks she requested specifically and probably looks like something in her family home. “You can’t threaten Heliconia. She’s too stupid. She’ll just run with the letter to the Dark Lord and be pleased that she has something she can show him.”

Harry smiles. Parkinson starts and sits up, staring at him. “I don’t plan to only use words, Parkinson.”

“What, then? I know that you’ve got better at Potions, but you can’t send her poison. She’d recognize it—”

“Not poison from a potion,” Harry says, and reaches up to stroke Lion, who’s curled sleeping on his shoulder. Lion unfolds his wings sleepily, but doesn’t rear up or hiss. He exhausted himself this morning hissing uncomplimentary remarks about Shacklebolt’s teaching in Defense.

Parkinson swallows. Opens her mouth. Closes it. She flicks her eyes from Harry to Lion several times and finally says, “I had no idea he was that venomous.”

“I just meant that I’ll use snake venom, not Lion’s specifically.”

Parkinson’s face twitches at the mention of Lion’s name, once again making Harry glad that he decided to call his snake that. “How is it going to make her reconsider pressuring me? I told you, she’s stupid. Pigheaded. She could get half her hand burned off and convince herself that it’s just a sign her enemies fear her and she should keep charging straight ahead.”

Harry smiles, and once again, Parkinson takes a moment to consider that smile. “It’s not going to depend on what she believes. Or, rather, I’ll change what she believes.”

“I still don’t see how—”

Harry closes his eyes and pulls strongly on the magic inside him that Lyassa taught him. He practiced conjuring this kind of serpent several different times this summer, but never for something as intricate as this. He hopes he gets it right.

Light sweat breaks out on his forehead, and his body’s shaking by the time he finally releases the magic and lets it coil in front of him into the shape of a snake. A hand touches his shoulder, and he’s not surprised, when he opens his eyes again, to see Ron standing next to him and Theo hovering a short distance away.

“I’m fine,” Harry says, and then realizes he’s speaking in Parseltongue and shakes his head, looking up at Ron. “I’m fine.”

Ron frowns. “Okay.” He moves back, but only a short distance, and sits down on the floor where he can keep an eye on both Harry and the snake.

Harry reaches out a hand, and the serpent comes and coils around his arm, glinting a brilliant gold, with green dots down the sides like emeralds. He holds it up so Parkinson can see its small length and the delicate fangs glistening with clear venom that it shows when it opens its mouth.

“This is the kind of venom I can let sink into the parchment,” he says quietly. “And when your sister touches it, it’ll sink into her veins and affect her brain. She’ll have vicious nightmares if she even thinks of trying to pressure you to Voldemort’s side again.” Parkinson jumps. “I can’t change her mind the normal way, so I’ll do it this way.”

Parkinson is gaping at him. She’s not the only one. Harry conjured serpents during the summer that could bite someone and make them fall asleep, or whose venom would make people ignore the presence of a snake in the room, and he tried a few of those on his friends with their permission. But he’s never done anything this complex.

“Why don’t you just take over the world already?” Draco finally mutters behind him.

“We have one Dark Lord. I don’t think we need two.”

“But what about a Lord?” Theo asks, and Harry doesn’t know how many people can hear it. Ron, yes, who looks at Theo sharply, and Parkinson, who seems thoughtful. But no one else reacts.

“I’ll be what I need to be. Which is not a Dark Lord.”

Theo looks unconvinced.

Harry turns away from them and faces Parkinson again. “I still need your advice on the wording, and Zacharias’s. But I think it’ll do to keep your sister from trying to control you again, don’t you? To keep you safe?”

Parkinson stares from the snake to him, and then down at the letter. Harry knows it can be improved. He just wrote the first things that came into his head, introducing himself and then including a fierce defense of Parkinson.

“Can the Dark Lord undo this magic?” Parkinson finally whispered.

Harry let his smile wash over his face. “I doubt it.”

“Why?”

“He might be a Parselmouth, but he hasn’t studied the same magic I have. The people who taught it to me hate him. And he’d have to know that Heliconia was under this kind of influence in the first place. From what you said, she probably doesn’t serve him directly or have any contact with him on a regular basis, just passes along information that she finds, right?”

Parkinson nods. “She works in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. It’ll be office gossip and the like, mostly.”

“Then he probably won’t even notice, if he ever does, that she’s under the effects of the venom.” Harry slides the letter towards Zacharias. “Can you work on this with me? Make sure that the content at least catches her attention long enough for her to hold the letter and have the venom work its way into her skin?”

“Of course.” Zacharias grins at him as he accepts the letter from Harry. “You’re right frightening, you know that?”

Harry’s laughter is cut off by someone whispering, “Harry.”

He glances back at Parkinson. “Yes?”

“Please call me Pansy.”

Harry averts his gaze politely at the sight of the tears shining in her eyes. “Yes, of course. Please continue calling me by my first name.”

The expression of fervent devotion that sweeps over her face worries him a little. It seems so much for something that’s a pretty small gesture on Harry’s part, a gesture that he would have made anyway if he’d known about Par—Pansy’s sister before this.

He supposes this is politics, though. You make a small gesture and people take it for more than it is and give you a lot more.

Maybe he’ll get used to it.

*

Theo watches Pansy look at Harry, watches Harry act uncomfortable and mutter something under his breath about “nothing,” and is glad that no one is looking at him so he can roll his eyes in comfort.

He’s becoming a leader the way he needs to. Acknowledging that he’s already a Lord to some people.

But some of it, he’s never going to understand.