94Chapter 9: The Apprentice's Gambit
Pulling on the cloak, Harry slipped out of the cupboard just behind Ron, leaving the door ajar. He decided to forego the Great Hall, not wishing to rehash the events of the potions lesson with Hermione, and set off for the castle grounds. He wandered aimlessly for a while, mulling over his brief discussion with Draco and the events which preceded it. Eventually, Harry looked up, focusing on his surroundings, and found himself heading towards the Whomping Willow.
The great tree had sustained nominal damage during the battle, but had inflicted greater harm upon the combatants who had found themselves within reach of its vicious branches. At the moment, it appeared no different than any other venerable, aged willow, its long branches swaying peacefully in the light breeze. As he moved closer, Harry was startled to find that despite being hidden by his cloak, the tree shuddered and the branches began to swing ominously. When he was within a few yards of the tree, but outside of its striking distance, Harry levitated a nearby stick about an inch above the ground. He didn't want to draw attention from anyone nearby or possibly watching from a window. The stick glided along the grass and struck a knot near the base of the Willow's trunk. Immediately, the tree stilled and a passage opened up.
Harry wriggled down through the opening and made his way up the passage to the Shrieking Shack. When he entered the house, he paused a moment, heaving a sigh as he remembered all that had transpired there—the maniacal grin on Sirius' face the first time they'd met; Wormtail's unmasking and subsequent escape; the murder of Severus Snape. Harry shook his head and prepared to apparate, catching sight of his reflection in a broken mirror that hung precariously on the wall. He quickly transfigured his appearance, lightening and lengthening his hair, giving himself blue eyes and changing the shape of his eyeglasses. Another quick transfiguration and his school uniform passed for a high-fashion wizarding ensemble.
He apparated into the high street and made his way to the Abraxas & Dragon. The public house was not crowded. There were only a few wizards seated at the bar, hunched over their ale. Harry stepped up and perched on a stool. He kept his hood pulled up and sat apart from the others.
"What can I get you?" asked the barman.
"Shot of Blishens," Harry replied, placing a few coins on the bartop. "Why don't you pour a brandy for yourself?" he suggested.
The barman paused, looking suspiciously at him.
"Slow day, Percutio? What's good for lunch?" Harry lifted his head and gave him a wink, pushing up his glasses. Recognition dawned on the young publican's face.
"How about the skivver's special?" he winked, pouring the shot that Harry had ordered. "Steak and ale pie."
"I'll have that, with a pint." He knocked back his firewhiskey and gazed casually at the mirror behind the bar, noting the others present. Everyone appeared to be focused upon their drinks or their companions, wholly unconcerned with the business of others around them, and he saw nothing questionable among anyone's actions.
Percutio went to the kitchen and returned shortly with a platter of steaming pie accompanied with steak chips, setting it down in front of him and summoning clean flatware. He pulled a pint of Dragon Scale for Harry, who had dug into the pie with relish.
"Wow! This is tasty!" he exclaimed, savoring the meal. He raised his beer in salute before taking a sip.
"I'll be sure to let the wife know." Percutio smiled and rested his elbows on the counter. "So, how's your mate?" he asked.
"I'm sorry?" Harry gave him a perplexed look over the top of his glass. "Who—oh, you mean—he had to be transferred to St. Mungo's. The entire thing was very bizarre, but the Headmistress and Matron are keeping things very hush-hush." Harry spoke in a low voice.
"I thought that you mentioned that he was recovering. Has he taken a turn for the worst?" Percutio's expression was one of worry, and Harry warily set down his glass.
"Somehow, I get the impression that we aren't speaking about the same person," he said. "I thought you meant Terry Boot, the bloke I'd had words with the other night."
"Oh? Has something happened to him?" the publican asked in a tone that bordered on disinterest.
"He was attacked near Hogsmeade Station over the weekend."
"I see. Have they caught the culprit?" he asked. Harry shook his head.
"That's the thing. There is speculation that it might have been an Obscurus." Harry noted the change in the barman's demeanor.
"Really? But he survived?"
"It's unusual, based on what we've been taught, but he seems to have survived so far."
"Ah. And what of your other mate, the one he seemed so fired up about. What was his name—Malfoy—was it?"
"Yes. Well, I don't know that I'd exactly consider Draco a mate. As I mentioned, he sympathized with the Death Eaters during the early days of the war."
"Oh, yes. So you did. But you seem to believe that he's changed now? Is that why you visited him?" Percutio asked.
"Well, I know that he had a change of heart before the final battle began. I don't believe he ever really wanted to become a Death Eater. As I said, he and his friends were swept up by their parents' involvement and the longstanding tradition of their families' views on pureblood supremacy. I believe that he was only trying to please his father, and maybe protect his mother in the long run. Were it not for their duplicity, I might not have managed to defeat Riddle."
"Really?" Percutio poured himself a brandy. "So what is he really like?"
"Tom Riddle?" Harry gave him an incredulous look. Percutio looked at him with exasperation.
"Draco Malfoy—what's he like?"
"Well, when we first met, I found him to be a spoiled, pompous git. He consistently complained about everything, threatening to tell his father when he didn't get his way. At the time, Lucius was on the Board of Governors. He made it habit to use his wealth and dark connections to persuade others to do his bidding. Draco always traveled with an entourage of bullies who tormented students from other houses, especially muggleborns or those whom they deemed inferior, like my mate Ron and my friend Neville. Draco and his lot disdained Ron because his family isn't wealthy and they saw both him and Neville as blood traitors. Interestingly enough—they're all related. All of them have ancestors who appear on the family tree in my drawing room."
"In your drawing room? I assume there's a story there, yes?" Percutio set another pint in front of Harry.
"Indeed. One which couldn't possibly be related in a single sitting, but the short version is that my godfather—the one I mentioned that you so resemble—left me the house and family fortune after his death. He and Draco's mother were cousins. Draco's aunt, Bellatrix, murdered him during the war. Ron's mother killed her when she attempted to kill Ron's sister during the Battle. Sirius Black actually did not share his family's views on pureblood supremacy. He was disowned after being sorted in to Gryffindor and subsequently running away from home. Despite all of that, he was the last surviving male heir, his brother having been killed after he abandoned the Death Eaters and set out to help defeat Riddle." Harry gave a shrug and lifted his glass.
"How interesting. So, you believe he's a changed man?"
"Ah, I dunno. Some habits are difficult to change. He's still a bit poncey, but he is definitely not the same Draco that I had come to know and loathe over the first few years we knew one another. There's something…I can't quite put my finger on. Something has happened to him. It's something more than witnessing the horrors of the war. He seems afraid of something, or someone maybe. I imagine there's any number of people who feel that he too ought to have gone to prison for war crimes and therefore wish him ill. He was clearly attacked on the train, but he's flatly denied that anything happened—or at least that he remembers what happened—he's remained tight-lipped about it all."
"It certainly sounds like a mystery." One of the patrons at the bar called for another drink, and Percutio flicked his wand, sending a mug down the bartop. "So, this Draco and his mother were pardoned for their participation in the war, but his father was not?"
"Lucius had simply too many misdeeds at the end of his wand," said Harry. "He was one of Riddle's top lieutenants. During the first war, he'd been accused of torturing muggles. He smuggled Riddle's diary into Hogwarts and caused the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, unleashing a basilisk into the castle. He'd Imperioused Ministry employees and was responsible for orchestrating a break-in at the Department of Mysteries. He attempted, on numerous occasions to discredit Dumbledore in order to have him replaced as headmaster—presumably with Snape, though they had no idea Snape was a double-agent. He tried to force Draco to identify me when we were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor.
"Frankly, the man was a menace. I always got the impression that Draco was a bit afraid of him. He always put up a front, but there was something there. Whenever Lucius seemed to be displeased with him, Draco would actually cower. I remember an incident at the World Cup when—" The door opened and they looked up. Both wizards scowled immediately upon recognizing the platinum blond ringlets that were the witch's signature style. A number of patrons disapparated immediately.
"I'm holding you responsible for any unpaid tabs, madam." Percutio glowered at her.
"Perhaps you should place an Anti-disapparition jinx on your establishment, good sir." Rita Skeeter sauntered over to a booth near the back of the pub, adjusting her chair in order to have a full view of the room. "I'll have a glass of your finest brandy…please." Her voice dripped with false gentility.
"Coming right up." Percutio smiled with the same level of civility. "Nosey, lying old bat!" he muttered, turning back to Harry, only to find his spot abandoned and a few galleons beside his empty plate.
Harry apparated to an alley between Honeydukes and Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. He peered out to the street and breathed a sigh of relief that Skeeter hadn't seemed to recognize him or attempted to follow. He went into Honeydukes and browsed the displays, finding himself drawn to the chocolate section, where he spent several minutes examining the displays of cocoa confections. Finally, he made a few selections and headed out once more.
Harry was just steps away from the cellar door, thinking that he would sneak back into the castle through the secret passage behind the one-eyed witch, when a thought struck him. He pulled out his invisibility cloak, pulling it on, and placed the sweets he'd purchased into his pocket before disapparating once more.
Seconds later, Harry scanned the platform at Hogsmeade Station. It was largely abandoned. He spied a lone wizard seated on a bench with his chin on his chest, apparently napping. A large valise sat at his feet next to a cat carrier that appeared to house a kneazel. Inside the station, a newspaper mostly obscured the face of the Station Master as he sat reading behind the ticket window. Harry continued walking up the platform towards the path that led back to the castle. As he approached the end of the platform, he heard a noise. He crept towards the source of the noise, muffling his footsteps. Harry furrowed his brow, the slightly muted grunts and pants sounded a bit like a scuffle, but something was off. Harry gripped his wand and rounded the last building, peering carefully around the back. He was wholly unprepared for the sight in front of him.
Draco was grateful that Professor Slughorn had summoned him to his office, glancing back only once to note that he had exited the Potions dungeon not far behind Harry.
"Was there a problem Professor?" Draco asked, turning his attention back to Slughorn, who had settled his large frame into the chair behind his desk.
"Ah, no. No, Mr. Malfoy. Not at all. I understand that you plan to seek a Master's certificate in Potioneering. Is this true?" Slughorn asked. Draco squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.
"That is correct, sir. As I am sure you are aware, Fa—my father has been convicted of his extensive crimes in service to—well, as a Death Eater. As a condition of my pardon, in order to retain ownership of the Apothecary, I must certify as a Potions Master."
"I see." Slughorn lightly slid his fingers back and forth over the edge of his desktop.
Draco bit his lip. Although Lucius had been a member of the Professor's exclusive "Slug Club" as a student, the revelation that his father had become a Death Eater precluded Draco from obtaining an invitation to Slughorn's inner circle. He hadn't considered how he would obtain a letter of recommendation for an apprenticeship once he'd completed his education.
"I recognize that the Malfoy Apothecary has a long and distinguished history. It was quite a shock to learn that it had gone into Ministry receivership."
"Yes, sir."
"Young Malfoy, you have been an exemplary Potions student during your matriculation here at Hogwarts. I have noticed that Severus made quite a few notations in your record lauding your classroom performance and brewing skill prior to my arrival. It was disappointing to note the decline in that performance upon my arrival. You seemed to have lost your edge."
Draco kept his face impassive as the professor spoke. He knew what Slughorn said was true. Of course, at the time, the Potions Master could not have known of the stress that the young Slytherin was enduring, faced with the task he had been forced to undertake. Draco had had very little interest in any of his studies during his Sixth Year or beyond.
"I have spoken with Severus' portrait at length, and he confirms much of what Harry Potter had to say during your Wizengamot tribunal. Draco, I believe that you have the potential to become a leading Potions Master, under the right circumstances."
"I appreciate that assessment, Professor. I intend to prove myself worthy of recommendation to a distinguished apprenticeship."
"Ah yes. About that," Professor Slughorn began. Draco now tasted blood. "I am afraid that I simply cannot in good conscience recommend you to apprenticeship after your N.E.W.T.s"
"I understand, sir." Draco fought to keep his jaw from quivering. "Thank you for informing me." He gave Slughorn a curt nod and turned to go.
"I am afraid you misunderstand me, Malfoy," said the professor. Draco paused, looking at him curiously. "Based upon the notes from your O.W.L. performance, and my discussions with Snape, it would be remiss of me to allow you to languish in an apprenticeship at the back of a second-rate apothecary. I would like to offer you the opportunity to begin your apprenticeship concurrent to your studies here at Hogwarts if you like."
"I-I'm sorry. You'd like me to serve as your apprentice?" Draco stared at Slughorn agog. Draco could not have dreamed in a million years to be afforded such an opportunity. Slughorn himself had enjoyed a distinguished reputation as a Potions Master. Draco recalled hearing his grandfather once mention having made several attempts to lure the professor away from Hogwarts to work at Malfoy Apothecary. He surmised that the professor's talents were also the reason for the Death Eaters' efforts to recruit him to their ranks as well.
"I believe that you have an open schedule on Mondays and Thursdays, commencing after the lunch period, as well as Friday mornings, yes?"
"I—y-yes, I do."
"Very well. I shall expect you in the Dungeon Five brewing room on those days. Professor McGonagall has also consented to allow you to provide limited classroom assistance in my First and Second Year classes as needed."
"I-I'm honored, Professor. Thank you very much for this opportunity." Draco's heart was pounding with astonished pride. Slughorn smiled.
"I shan't delay you any longer, my boy. We shall discuss further details when you arrive tomorrow. Away with you then. Enjoy your afternoon."
"Bloody hell!" Harry exclaimed, losing his glamour as he registered his surprise. The couple leaped apart, staring at him in embarrassed shock. "How did—I mean—what are you doing down here—well, it's obvious what you're doing—" he stammered.
"Harry—"
"I never would have—Does anybody else—does Ron know?" he continued.
"Harry—"
"What?"
"Stop talking."
Harry stopped his rambling, but continued to stare at Dean and Seamus in astonishment as they straightened their clothes and faced him, standing hand in hand.
"Why are you down here?" he asked.
"Are you serious? That's the first question you ask?" Dean gave him an exasperated look.
"Well, to be fair, that wasn't my first question," Harry replied. "Is that how you came across Terry?" They heard a distant train whistle.
"We should probably get going before th' station master does his next round," suggested Seamus. They began walking up the path that led to the castle.
"Hey, wait a minute. I just realized—you simply walked right off the castle grounds?" Harry asked.
"Yeah," Seamus replied. "Pointed our wands at th' gate and it swung right open."
"That's odd."
"We figured maybe it opens for us because we're of age," said Dean. "Besides, no one said we couldn't leave the grounds."
"Hogsmeade access is only on weekends."
"Ye sound like Hermione." Seamus ribbed him. "And anyway, what were you doin' down here, mate?"
Harry ducked his head and shrugged in concession. "At least I had transfigured my appearance, but seriously, mates, why skulk around down there where anyone can see? There's plenty of private places inside the castle. Why not your own quarters?"
"First of all, we weren't matched up as roommates," said Dean.
"Yeah, I'm stuck with bloody Maxwell Bathgate! He's a bigger lummox than Crabbe and Goyle combined!" Seamus complained.
"That isn't saying much," Harry snorted.
"Dean has it worse," said Seamus.
"I'm paired with Camden McClaggen," he said. Harry made a disgusted face.
"Ugh!"
"Posh git! Has no shortage of opinions on everything, and is never disinclined to share them. And always adds 'but of course you wouldn't be expected to know the proper way. You were raised in a muggle household.' Arse hat!"
"Blimey! He sounds worse than Cormac!"
They rounded the greenhouses and entered the training grounds where Madam Hooch was conducting a flying class with the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Harry watched the eleven-year-olds studiously hovering on the quirky school brooms, and though he still felt himself to be undersized, he found it difficult to imagine his friends ever being that small. He glanced at Dean and Seamus, noting that they were no longer holding hands, and marveled at the men they had become. Seamus, while not particularly tall, had a solid, muscular frame. Meanwhile, Dean had the bearing of an African warrior prince. With a long neck and well-proportioned frame, he stood taller even than Ron. Dean's stature reminded Harry of American basketball players he had seen on television. He glanced back at the First Year students again as they entered the castle.
The trio continued to talk as they strolled through the castle, eventually finding themselves in the Sundial Garden, where they settled on the ground amongst the stones.
"…And now he has designs on Demelza Robins. It's all he can talk about—securing a proper match. 'Now that Cormac has come into his birthright, it's imperative that I select just the right wife, from a proper family, you know. If I wait too long, one might assume that I don't favor witches, but I assure you that I too shall produce an heir.'" Dean rolled his eyes. "You should know, Harry, he intends to impress her by trying out for Quidditch."
"Oh, joy! Well, I'm not bothered by that prospect. If he's anything like big brother, Ginny and Ron will destroy him. And don't think I haven't noticed that you changed the subject. Even if your roommates are problematic, why not go to the Room of Requirement?"
"Wasn't it destroyed?"
"It worked just fine for me and Ginny the other night," Harry replied. Dean and Seamus gave him pointed looks.
"Minds out of the gutter, mates. We only talked."
"Sure ye did!" Seamus winked.
"Well, at least, if we had done anything else, no one would have seen us."
"No one saw us." Dean retorted.
"I beg to differ." It was Harry's turn to deliver a pointed look.
"Well whatever. Anyhow, Dean's always up for a bit of adventure," said Seamus.
"Jealous?" Dean winked. Harry snorted, rolling his eyes.
"So, if you don't mind me asking, when did all of this come about? I certainly had no idea."
"Course not; seein' how ye were a bit preoccupied all tha' time," said Seamus. "Runnin' from Voldy an' chasin' Malfoy."
"I told you, I was—" Harry began to protest.
"Just takin' th' piss, mate. Relax!" Seamus teased. "Ta answer yer question, I rather fancied Dean from th' time we met. Didn't really know it though."
"Yeah. I don't think we realized it was deeper than just a friendship until—when did we first kiss—sixth year?"
"After ye split with Ginny." Seamus rolled his eyes, clearly indicating that he still harbored a bit of resentment over the brief relationship. Harry averted his eyes, knowing the role he'd played in its ultimate demise.
"We were alone in the dormitory, and I was moping about. Seamus offered me a chocolate frog and tried to cheer me up."
"I dunno what possessed me. I just grabbed him and planted a wet one on him," said Seamus.
"Needless to say, it didn't take me too long to get over Ginny Weasley," said Dean with a broad grin. Harry rolled his eyes once again.
"Clearly. I suppose that explains the way Seamus threw himself into your arms when you arrived to fight." Harry smirked.
"Like Ginny did you?" Seamus retorted.
"Touché. So, why didn't you guys ever say anything?" he asked.
"Would you choose to come out of the closet in the middle of a war predicated upon the ideals of pureblood supremacy? I mean, I just told you how McClaggen went on about the importance of producing an heir. What if Malfoy had found out?"
"He'd've tormented us like a cat with a trapped mouse!" Seamus exclaimed. Harry nodded understanding. "I was devastated when Dean disappeared. Thought I'd never see 'im again! 'S why I stood up to th' Carrows again and again. I only went into hiding with th' others because I thought they'd eventually end up killin' me in their efforts ta break me, and if Dean survived, he'd be shattered."
"I was shattered, beloved—the sight of your face!" Dean frowned, moving closer to him and taking his hand.
"Aye! Thank Asclepius for Madam Pomfrey's skill as a healer!" Seamus gave his hand a squeeze.
"Wow! You're really in love!" Harry exclaimed. The couple looked at him with nervous smiles.
"But if you don't mind, Harry, please don't tell anyone, yeah?" said Dean.
"Okay. If that's what you want, but why?"
"Because purebloods're like muggle Catholics," said Seamus. "Like Dean said about McClaggen, many of 'em don't believe in relationships that fail to produce a legitimate heir."
"Yeah, but neither of you are purebloods."
"No, but Ron and Neville and loads of our friends are," said Dean.
"You think they'd care? Honestly, Dean!" Harry protested.
"We're just not ready yet, mate," said Seamus. "Me mam's the only one who knows, and frankly, she isn't terribly keen on it—Catholic. Dean's parents are still getting over his disappearance and return. We want to take it slow."
"Understood. You can trust me," said Harry.
"No. No. I think not!" Draco declared, shaking his head, upon entering the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom after dinner, and seeing his opponent on the other side of the chessboard. "I thought I was meant to be playing against you, Professor."
"I assure you, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Weasley is a worthy opponent. He's only one match away from taking the Gryffindor House title. Hogwarts may take two representatives to the Championship. I'd like to mix up the students before they compete for their house championships. Just to see how they handle the pressure."
"Afraid you'll lose, Malfoy?" Ron taunted. His white queen gave Draco a haughty and disdainful look.
"To the likes of you, Weaselby? Hardly!" Rising to the bait, Draco deposited his satchel on the floor, taking the seat opposite him, and the game commenced with the Bishop's Opening.
"Knight to F-three," said Ron.
"Knight to C-six," Draco immediately countered, his knight galloping into the light square.
"Bishop to C-four." Ron's bishop glided serenely into the light square.
Professor Onwachimba watched the game with rapt attention. He was pleased to see that Draco's strategic mind appeared to be processing the challenge before him with relative ease. The atmosphere was tense and neither of the young wizards took their eyes from the board as they called their moves.
"Bishop to G-five," said Ron.
"Queen to D-six," Draco replied. He tossed his hair. Ron rubbed his palm over the side of his thigh, wiping away the sweat onto his trousers.
"Any news on Mr. Boot, Poppy?" Minerva McGonagall asked the Matron as she passed a platter of vegetables.
"Actually, yes, Minerva. The healers have combined an aggressive therapy of Replenishing Potion with a muggle procedure."
"Really?" Minerva looked at Poppy with interest.
"Boot's father and mother were brought in and both had specific blood cells extracted and then administered through an infusion that allows them to flow directly to the heart, and from there disperse throughout the body. I'm told that for muggles it is quite a lengthy process, lasting up to three months—"
"Three months! By Merlin!" the headmistress exclaimed.
"Yes, but once the infusion is complete, sometime tomorrow, he will be administered a course of Blood-Replenishing potion which will speed things along considerably."
"Goodness! Are they certain that it will work?" Minerva asked.
"Well, the procedure has been performed at least twice in Spain. In both of those instances, the patients had been afflicted by a blood malediction curse. He seems to be responding well thus far." Poppy topped up her glass of wine. "In light of what has happened, Minerva, do you think it wise to continue allowing the Advanced students to have the additional Hogsmeade privileges?"
"They are of age, Poppy. Many of them fought valiantly in the Battle. If we didn't allow them a bit more freedom than the average seventh year, they'd only find ways to circumvent our security measures. After all, Longbottom and Dumbledore's Army managed to survive for quite a while during the resistance. They had to have been getting food and drink from somewhere. These young people are more than capable of looking after themselves. Let's just hope that this was an isolated incident."
"I suppose you have a point."
"Yes. In the meantime, we shall have to encourage them to follow Alastor's mantra—'constant vigilance!'"
"King to A-five," Draco commanded.
"Bishop to D-two. Check," said Ron.
"King to A-four."
"Queen to D-six." Ron lightly drummed his fingers on the edge of the table. His queen strode haughtily to the dark square. In the next square, Draco's bishop eyed her warily.
"A-five," said Draco.
A squat black pawn moved into position and was immediately captured by one of its white counterparts, who flung him off the board by his hair. Draco scowled letting out a sigh. He glared at the board for a long moment before he spoke.
"Resign." His king drew his sword and fell upon it.
Ron smiled, letting out a sigh of satisfaction. He extended his hand. Draco gave a start of surprise at the gesture. After a moment's hesitation, he grasped the Gryffindor's hand.
"Well played, Weasley. You are a worthy opponent."
"You too, Malfoy."
"Outstanding game gentlemen!" Onwachimba exclaimed. "Simply mesmerizing to watch! It was, almost to a move, a replay of Paulsen versus Mackenzie 1863!"
Draco and Ron gazed at the professor, nonplussed.
"Who?" asked Draco.
"Must have been muggles," said Ron.
"Yes! Yes, they were muggles. Ah! The Two Knights Defence!" Onwachimba marveled.
"Polerio, sixteenth century," said Ron.
"But he was a wizard," Draco replied. "How would muggles know that strategy?"
"Yes, Polerio was a wizard, but the Statute of Secrecy wasn't signed until the seventeenth century—long after Polerio had been established as a chess master."
"Do you mean to say that muggles have come to excel at chess?"
"That would be putting it mildly, my friend. After all, it is believed that the game originated in muggle China. I would think that someone from a wizarding family as old as yours would have known that. Really, Mr. Malfoy, it is why Muggle Studies should never have been considered a soft option and what makes it a good idea that it is now compulsory. A greater understanding of their world might have helped us to avoid the terror of dark wizards such as Voldemort." Ron and Draco both winced visibly at the mention of his name. Professor Onwachimba continued, oblivious to their response. He waved his wand and the intricately carved pieces repaired themselves, settling into a velvet-lined case.
"Gentlemen, while I haven't as yet had the opportunity to assess players from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, I have a feeling that the two of you might be among Hogwarts' most skilled chess players. I must maintain an objective position ahead of our tournament, but I would suggest that you might improve your chances of earning the opportunity to compete at the international tournament if you work together.
"In order to be the best, one must compete against the best," said Draco.
"And the best has always been Gryffindor," said Ron with a smirk.
"But the most cunning will always be Slytherin," Draco replied.
"That sounds like a challenge to me, Malfoy."
"And like every Gryffindor, you will accept, Weasley."
"Well, it is high time that the Weasley name appear on the Chess trophy again. Besides, if I'm to be honest, you've proven a much more formidable opponent than Zabini."
"Zabini?" Draco blanched. "Do you mean to say that he plans to compete?"
"It's what he said in class last week."
"Blaise is a talented player, but he lacks style. Alright then, Weasley, as Professor Onwachimba seems to think that engaging in chess will also help me recover from my recent injury, I could do worse than competing against you from time to time."
"Hm. Ever the Slytherin aren't you, Malfoy. Still, I suppose if Harry is willing to set aside his differences for the greater good—"
"Oh, my! Quoting dark wizards?" Draco gave him a wink, pointing out Ron's unintended reference to Gellert Grindelwald's motto.
"Oh, sod off, Malfoy! When would you like to play again?" Ron rolled his eyes.
"I'll have to let you know. My apprenticeship begins tomorrow and I'm not yet certain what my schedule will be. Shall we tentatively plan for Saturday after breakfast?"
"Quidditch trials for Gryffindor." Ron shook his head. "How about Sunday? In the common room?"
"I think not. Too many potential competitors studying our strategy."
"Hm. True."
"Gentlemen. You may feel free to meet here," Professor Onwachimba finally intervened, having been entertained by their badinage, borne of what he realized had been a longstanding rivalry.
"Done. See you then."
"I look forward to it."