February 8, 1942 (continued)
They remained like that, Tom leaning on Harry and Harry's hand in his hair, for an indeterminable amount of time. Harry breathed in, feeling Tom slump further against him.
I could remain like this forever, Harry thought, gently running his hand through Tom's hair, detangling his waves. Tom leaned his head back slightly, his eyes closed, the skin around his eyes smooth and lacking the tenseness that was always present in the day.
Harry leaned his head against the top of Tom's head, breathing slowly as he cradled him with his other arm.
This must be what heaven feels like.
Eventually, though, they had to return to their dorm.
"Walk back with me," Harry said softly, breaching the comfortable silence.
Tom's eyes flitted to meet his, and he nodded slightly, more subdued than Harry could ever remember seeing him. Harry reluctantly removed his hand from Tom's hair, and Tom stood up slowly.
They walked to the door, and Harry grabbed the invisibility cloak, fitting it over himself first. Tom followed, and they cast a plethora of silencing charms. Confident that they were ready to go, Harry asked, "Shall we?"
Tom nodded slightly, sluggishly. As they walked back to their dorm in silence, their conversation reverberated in Harry's head.
"What do you truly want?"
"I want..."
Harry's brows furrowed, his feet walking him through the winding hallways without a single thought.
"Have you ever felt successful?"
Tom considered his words quietly. Then he looked up and inhaled deeply, saying softly, "I have not."
Blinking once, Harry's returned to reality. A bare stretch of the cobbled stone wall greeted them. Harry muttered the password to the dungeons and a familiar passage revealed itself. Briefly flicking his eyes to meet Tom's, he found Tom staring ahead with a contemplative expression. As Harry nudged him, Tom's eyes snapped to meet his gaze.
Harry could tell he was projecting his worry onto his face, but he couldn't help himself. It was almost frightening, how empty Tom seemed at the moment, but Harry could barely feel his fear over his concern. He looked away, and they made their way through the common room to their dorm.
Seeing that Tom was out of commission for now, Harry undid all the locking charms and protective wards when they arrived. Tom entered first and Harry followed, shutting the door behind him and quietly redoing the charms and wards.
Harry hadn't thought that Tom could be this introspective. He was glad to be proven wrong.
Though that didn't mean he was any less worried for him.
Tom waved his wand to remove his robes from his body and flatten them. He waved his wand again, and the closet door opened, a lone clothes hanger floating through the air until it reached his robes, which affixed itself to the hanger, and the hanger floated back to the closet.
Somehow, even that seemed subdued, sluggish. As though moving was a weighted, difficult thing.
Harry glanced at him, a worried frown tugging at his lips, before he removed his robes in the muggle fashion, something he had never grown out of. While Tom had wholeheartedly embraced the magical lifestyle down to the smallest habits and mannerisms, there were always littlest things that Harry could never shake off like Tom did. He folded his robes and placed them neatly into his drawer.
They changed into their sleepwear in silence, the only noise being the rustling of cloth against skin.
Tom climbed into his bed, drawing the covers over himself. He closed his eyes and lay back against the covers, breathing slowly.
Harry bit his lip.
Should I?
He made up his mind. Walking over to Tom, he paused at the edge of Tom's bed and waited with bated breath.
Tom remained still, his muscles unmoving.
"May I?" Harry murmured, all too-aware of Tom's unstable mental state. He held his breath.
Tom's eyes remained closed, but his lips thinned.
"Please," Harry said in an even softer voice.
A tired sigh left Tom's mouth, and he moved aside, creating just enough space for Harry.
Harry's shoulders relaxed as he removed his glasses and placed them on Tom's nightstand. Then, he lowered himself gingerly onto the mattress, pulling the covers over himself and facing Tom. He wanted to reach out and caress Tom's face, but he refrained from doing so.
It was really quite the achievement that Tom had allowed Harry to cradle him like he did earlier. Tom absolutely hated being emotionally vulnerable in the first place, and showing that to Harry required a breakdown. But what caused Tom to accept Harry cradling him or surrounding him was a fundamental break in his beliefs. It had happened twice in his life: once after the bombing, once after today when Abraxas Malfoy politically, socially, and emotionally ruined Tom.
Tom was marginally more okay with comforting Harry in his moments of weakness than he was showing or admitting vulnerability, a miraculous feat in and of itself.
Warm fingers wrapped around his wrist, causing his arm to stiffen. He turned his head sharply, the sheets rustling beneath him.
Tom stared at him steadily, evidently having gathered his emotions and wrestled them into submission.
Harry stared right back, unsure of what brought this on. Nevertheless, he shifted towards Tom, his wrist relaxing into Tom's grip.
"Hurting you doesn't bring me the satisfaction I thought it would," Tom said at last, eyes tracing the curves and lines and grooves of his facial features.
Harry's eyes widened.
That's...
"Oh," he said softly, surprised and at a loss of other words to say. He cleared his throat. "I'm glad."
Tom's fingers unwrapped themselves from his wrist, moving to grasp his palm instead. With a squeeze, his eyes piercing as ever, Tom said, "Good night, Harry."
Harry smiled softly.
"Goodnight, Tom."
He reached out with his other hand to clasp Tom's free hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Tom's eyes were bright with something Harry couldn't name, but understood perfectly.
For a moment, Harry couldn't breathe, his lungs stuttering to a halt as though all the muscles in his chest bound them still.
"I meant what I said," Harry said, his voice thick as he squeezed Tom's hand again. "I want you to be happy. I don't care how successful you are. I only care that you're happy with yourself."
Tom squeezed back, a conflict Harry couldn't name swirling in his eyes. It felt like he was staring into Harry's soul. Tom averted his gaze momentarily before flicking his eyes back up to Harry, whispering, "I'll try. For you."
Harry found himself blinking back tears.
You mean everything to me.
He swallowed thickly. "Thank you," Harry whispered back, his voice hoarse.
Tom searched for something in his eyes, and seemingly satisfied by what he saw, moved closer to Harry so that their foreheads were touching. At this distance, Harry felt hot puffs of breath dance softly against his skin, sending tingling feelings down his spine. Their hands remained interlocked.
Harry breathed in, unable to move, a warmth spreading outwardly through him from his chest. He watched as Tom's breaths slowed, his body relaxing into the sheets. Something in him cracked open as Tom fell asleep.
He trusts me.
Harry's eyes flitted upwards, tracing Tom's features, handsome even in the dim lighting. The perfect arch of his cupid's bow, the gentle slope of his nose, the smoothness of his gleaming skin. But what was more important than his physical features was that Tom allowed Harry to see him in such a vulnerable state. His eased eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips, the utter relaxation of the skin around his eyes that was in stark contrast to how he handled himself while awake.
He trusts me with everything he has.
Harry's throat closed up. He had never paused to consider the extent that Tom trusted him. Sure, Harry knew that Tom trusted him, but for Tom to let him into his personal space, for Tom to let him touch and hold and grasp, for Tom to close his eyes and fall asleep without making sure Harry was asleep—
His throat felt so tight that he might choke.
Suddenly finding himself tearing up, Harry didn't bother to hold back the onslaught of tears. The burning drops ran freely, wetting his cheeks as they trailed downward. He held Tom's hands tighter.
If he didn't know better, Harry would have said Tom loved him.
The following morning, when Harry woke, he saw their hands were still entwined. The sight of Tom fast asleep, a small trail of dried drool on the corner of his mouth, sent daggers piercing into his heart.
He trusts me enough with his whole self.
Harry let out a wet-sounding chuckle, gently extricating his hand from Tom's. Slowly, he reached out and tapped the sleeping boy's shoulder.
Tom's eyes flew open, but he immediately relaxed upon seeing who it was.
Harry's heart clenched at the sight. He squeezed the hand still entwined with his.
"Good morning," Harry whispered.
Tom squeezed back. "Good morning," he said, his voice raspy from lack of use.
Harry lay back, feeling quite content as he observed Tom grab his wand from the nightstand.
"Up you go," Tom ordered, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
Harry grinned, feeling an inexplicable warmth rush through him. Once both of them finished dressing, a sense of dread settled into Harry's bones as he considered the ramifications of yesterday's events.
"We'll have to take extra precautions," he murmured.
Tom dipped his head in agreement, his previous good mood having evaporated. "Yes. Shall we?"
Harry nodded, and he opened the door.
They walked out of their dorm and were greeted by stony silence. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed a piece of parchment stuck to their door, which read:
THE SILENT MAJORITY IS STRONGER THAN EVER.
By the way his body tensed, Harry could tell Tom was having a hard time keeping himself from lashing out. He couldn't exactly speak any soothing words to Tom with everyone watching them, so he instead walked in front of Tom and led them to the bathroom so that they could finish their morning routines.
Harry would have ripped it off their door, but the parchment had a high probability of being cursed or jinxed, and neither Tom or Harry wanted to risk it. And it wasn't even guaranteed that the parchment would come off their door. They would have to remove it later when everyone was asleep.
Inspecting himself critically in the mirror, Tom attacked his hair with brylcreem, and Harry had a feeling he wasn't reticent to broaching the topic anytime soon.
Finished with their morning routines, they walked back into the common room, ready to make their way to the Great Hall for breakfast as a much larger version of the flyer attached to their door was displayed front and center on the Slytherin bulletin board. This time, it wasn't specifically addressed to them, but the entirety of Slytherin.
THE SILENT MAJORITY SPEAKS OUT
WE, THE SILENT MAJORITY, HAVE HAD ENOUGH.
AS CULTURAL DEGENERACY CONTINUES TO CREEP INTO OUR SOCIETY, IT IS OUR DUTY TO UPHOLD THE VALUES OF SLYTHERIN.
WE WILL NOT STAND BY AS OUTSIDERS DESTROY OUR CULTURE, OUR VALUES, AND EVERYTHING WE HAVE FOUGHT AND DIED TO PROTECT.
WE WILL NOT STAND BY AS OUTSIDERS STEAL OUR MAGIC AND DILUTE OUR BLOODLINES.
ARRIVE AT 7:00 PM THIS WEDNESDAY IN THE COMMON ROOM IF YOU DO NOT BELIEVE THEY BELONG IN OUR SOCIETY.
SLYTHERIN IS BEING CORRUPTED FROM THE INSIDE OUT, AND IT IS UP TO US TO STOP IT.
WE WILL NOT GIVE IN.
GUEST SPEAKERS: ABRAXAS MALFOY, THERESA NOTT, EVANDER ROSIER & WALBURGA BLACK
Sly, Harry thought. He couldn't even bring himself to be angry. Abraxas Malfoy's message was nothing new: it was built from the same racist rhetoric that recycled itself through society. Moreover, Malfoy had deftly written it so that he couldn't be personally implicated by it. (Not that anyone would report it, though, and even if it was reported, no meaningful action would be taken.)
A Slytherin would never put mudblood down in writing—it was too self-incriminating—but anything implied, well, that was fair game. The only unspoken rule at Hogwarts was that slurs weren't allowed.
Slughorn and Snape were a bit more open minded than the students they taught, but still, they allowed the usage of slurs as long as it wasn't put to parchment. If Abraxas Malfoy had written "mudblood" on the flyer, Slughorn would have had to report him—otherwise, it made for juicy blackmail material, as someone could have documented the Head of House's lack of action.
It was honestly more disappointing to see that the Queen was going to be speaking. Harry had thought that she believed in Tom, but this was her method of damage control, as everyone saw what the mob wanted last night.
Blood.
Just like they had with Justina Jones, Harry thought.
Harry really hated Slytherin sometimes.
From the corner of his eye, he caught Tom's subtle inclination of his head, a way of telling him that they should go.
They exited the Common Room, walking shoulder to shoulder in a sign of unity. All Harry could think was that they were so fucked.
Tom walked stiffly, lacking the usual elegance he possessed. They walked to the Great Hall, hyper aware of every word that was said or movement around them.
Harry tried his best not to jump or jolt, but it was hard to relax his guard. Slytherin's rule of house unity did save them from the worst of it, but it wouldn't prevent the icy air that emanated from everyone in their house.
Breakfast was a hurried affair. The Slytherin table emanated an icy coldness that painfully reminded Harry of first year, when they had been at their most hated and most powerless. A ring of empty seats surrounded their usual seats, and Harry stiffly sat down.
It's exactly like the Sorting all over again.
Harry could only imagine how Tom was taking it. He could only pray that Tom wouldn't devolve into one of his homicidal moods.
In their classes, they were faced with the same iciness that they were treated to during breakfast. Lunch was equally as painful as breakfast. By dinner, a few rumors had started circulating around the school regarding why the other Slytherins were distancing themselves from Tom and Harry.
After a long day of humiliation after humiliation, Harry and Tom returned to their dorm. Once inside, they set up as many protective wards and charms as they could.
When they finished, Harry turned to face Tom, who had a murderous expression on his face.
Please don't tell me you're thinking about killing or injuring someone.
"Well?" Harry prompted.
"We'll sneak into the common room tomorrow under the cloak," Tom said in a clipped voice.
"Are you sure that's a good idea? What if they catch us?" They'll have our heads on a platter if we're caught, Harry wanted to say, but he refrained.
Tom's nostrils flared. "They won't. And we need to attend the meeting. We need to know what our enemies are planning."
Figuring it was best not to poke the sleeping bear, Harry nodded slowly and flung himself into his bed. He couldn't help the anxiousness that rose to the forefront of his mind, though.
If only this nightmare was simply that, and not reality.
For the first time in a very long time, Harry found himself reciting prayers.
----- ----- -----
February 11, 1942
That Wednesday night, Harry and Tom slipped into the Common Room under the Invisibility Cloak, entering behind Lavinia Parkinson. They shuffled to the back of the room, which was filled with rows and rows of chairs that led to a stage where the four speakers were sitting. A spotlight shone on the Queen as she stood up and walked forward.
Facing the crowd, the Queen clapped her hands together and said, "Welcome all. We have proofed this room with anti-mudblood charms and charms that prevent audio recordings as to prevent interruptions."
Either I'm not a muggleborn or the anti-muggleborn charms don't work, Harry thought. He stared morosely at the recording device in his hand, clicking it on and finding that it wouldn't turn on.
He hadn't expected a stunt like that, but clearly, the crowd hadn't either, relaxing into their seats. The Queen was right to be paranoid, he thought bitterly.
As the Queen continued her speech, Harry couldn't help but tune her out, too focused on his inner thoughts.
... And if true, it proves without a shadow of a doubt that Tom is related to Salazar Slytherin. The victory of relishing the irony of something that was meant to prevent their presence proved Tom's ancestry was hollowed out by the fact it was even attempted in the first place.
She clapped her hands again, her crown blindingly bright under the spotlight. With a wave of her wand, a plethora of wards and charms settled over the audience. "Abraxas Malfoy shall start the conversation."
Abraxas Malfoy stepped forward, platinum blond hair gelled and slicked back neatly, his pale blue eyes glittering maliciously as the spotlight moved to hover over him.
"A certain group of people have been stealing our magic for the past few centuries. It is shameful that we have allowed this—" Malfoy walked slowly from side to side on the stage, his hands behind his back, "—to have continued for so long."
His face hardened, the harsh planes of his face emphasized by the harsh lighting.
"Our forefathers have dedicated their lives to righting the injustice. And now, this immense responsibility has been passed to us. We are the torchbearers of the future. It is our duty to end the humiliation of our people."
Bile rose in Harry's throat. He barely prevented himself from retching.
Malfoy's eyes swept the room, briefly passing over them. The crazed, maniacal air in his pupils hushed the room to a standstill.
"For those who are hesitant to believe me," Malfoy drawled lazily, his tone contemptuous as he flicked a finger upward, "consider this: an unsorted mudblood enters the walls of Hogwarts for the first time, having only known the existence of the Wizarding World for less than a year. Said mudblood is then sorted into Slytherin."
Tom's the Heir of Slytherin, you fucking dolt, Harry thought, fuming inwardly. It was ironic how Tom's own house shunned him while he was the actual Heir of Slytherin. Even more painfully ironic was that Tom had tried to show them his true ancestry, and Slytherin had dug its head in the sand, choosing to ignore the truth in favor of a comfortable lie.
Malfoy raised his eyebrows, daring the crowd to disagree with him. No one responded, so Malfoy snapped once, the sharp, cracking sound loud in the silence.
"Said mudblood proceeds to excel in their classes at a level that far exceeds every previous mudblood in Hogwarts' history."
Maybe he's simply that good, Harry thought viciously. He'll always be better than you, that's for sure.
What he wouldn't give to punch Malfoy in the face and dislodge his perfectly straight teeth.
Malfoy spread his hands in front of him, palms upturned to the sky, pale and gleaming under the glare of the lights. He murmured, "Please, ponder the quandary. How does a mudblood with no previous knowledge of the Wizarding World rank in the top ten based on their exam scores in their first year?"
Whispers spread through the crowd, and Malfoy pressed forward, snapping his fingers once, his eyes alight with cool passion.
"It is alarmingly clear to anyone with sense that no mudblood could accomplish such feats without stealing our magic. Specifically, I am talking about the family magics unique to us purebloods, carried through our veins and exclusive to our bloodlines."
Harry resisted the urge to growl. The idea of family magics was a pervasive myth that purebloods clung to in order to justify their blood supremacy. Unsurprisingly, it was a thoroughly debunked pseudoscientific belief.
Family magics were a subset of magic specific to a bloodline that its clan supposedly excelled at, having been born with an affinity for their unique family magic according to the paternal line. For example, the Malfoy family magic was nonverbal dueling.
Frankly, Harry thought it was a load of sexist bullshit. Firstly, the categories for family magic were too broad. Nonverbal dueling sounded pretty specific, but if anyone sat down to ponder what that meant for more than a second, questions would inevitably arise, such as: what does an affinity for nonverbal dueling entail? Most adult witches and wizards used nonverbal magic in their day to day lives with simple household spells. Many duelers used nonverbal spells—it was a necessity due to the nature of dueling—but no one praised them for their abilities.
And Malfoy was a Dark family, meaning they used mostly Dark Magic. Harry really didn't find it all that impressive that Malfoy could use most spells nonverbally since Dark Magic was based upon intent, not magical core strength. Anyone could do nonverbal Dark Magic with enough willpower and practice.
(Privately, Harry thought the widespread belief in family magics to be a textbook example of confirmation bias.)
Even setting aside the skepticism about the categories of family magic, inconvenient questions relating to the nature of who received what family magic remained. The Sacred Twenty-Eight boasted the most about their family magics, yet they were the most inbred of all purebloods, which muddled the waters of figuring out the inheritance of family magics. If a Parkinson woman was married to a Selwyn man with a Parkinson-born mother, would his children still inherit the Selwyn family magic? Harry didn't find it unreasonable to assume that the children would inherit the family magic of the bloodline that dominated their genetic makeup, paternal line or not.
And it was quite stupid for another reason: only pureboods could inherit family magics, as any muggle blood would somehow destroy the family magic from appearing in the offspring of purebloods with non-purebloods. Squibs were conveniently left as unexplained mysteries and brushed under the rug when debating the family magic myth—after all, if all purebloods were guaranteed to have a family magic, then how could squibs exist?
Anyways, these were only a few of the many reasons that debunked the family magics myth by tearing it apart at the seams.
Harry could have ranted on and on, but a quick tug from Tom returned him to the present. He blinked and refocused on Malfoy's words.
"—It is up to us to prevent the genocide of our people. It begins by exposing the mongoose in the house of snakes."
Wonderful, Harry groaned inwardly. If they didn't have it out for us before, they certainly do now.
The crowd clapped enthusiastically, the dozens upon dozens of faces displaying righteous anger and single-minded determination blurred together into a monolith as they stood up one by one into a standing ovation. The noise generated by the attendees was a few decibels below deafening.
Harry glanced worriedly at Tom, who was surveying the room with an expression that spoke of a deep-seated hatred.
Abraxas Malfoy bowed deeply, sweeping a hand over his abdomen. As he walked back to his chair, the Queen stood up and walked to the front of the stage, waiting for the spotlight to adjust onto her.
Her eyes were cool as she spoke. "Before I begin my speech, I would like to formally apologize for crowning Tom Riddle as the victor in yesterday's house duel. In light of new evidence, I have realized that my former judgement was clouded by faulty evidence and personal bias. Accordingly, I take back my previous judgement and hereby crown Abraxas Malfoy as the victor."
The crowd erupted into noise, shouting and yelling and exclaiming their opinions with a fair amount of slurs thrown into the mix. The Queen's eyes positively gleamed as she silenced the rowdy crowd with a wave of her wand.
Fucking coward, Harry seethed, hands clenched into fists by his sides. She couldn't take the heat and bowed to public pressure.
Quickly glancing to the side, Harry saw that Tom was shaking, his hands clenched into fists so tight the whites of his knuckles were showing. Harry tentatively placed a hand on Tom's shoulder, and Tom whipped his head around to glare at him. Harry kept his gaze steady, and Tom briefly closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply. Satisfied that Tom had collected himself, Harry refocused on the Queen.
"I thought Slytherins were civilized," she said, raising an elegant brow. Seeing the crowd's subdued reactions, she waved her wand again, this time to remove the silencing charm. The room was silent, as no one dared speak and provoke the Queen's ire.
She surveyed the room with her neck held high, a regal air surrounding her as her gaze made contact with those in the crowd.
"When I was first sorted into Slytherin many years ago, I was taught the values of this house," she said softly, caressing her wand. "Each night, I recited those values before I allowed myself to sleep. Fairly quickly, I had memorized the principles of Slytherin early into my first year. By embodying the traits of Slytherin over the school years, I am now the Queen you see on stage today."
She lowered her head, dark brown hair illuminated as she removed her crown, an ornate, shining thing decorated with emeralds and writhing silver snakes at its base. She held it out in outstretched arms, letting the crowd observe the symbol that represented her power.
"When I accepted my duties as the Queen, I knew I had to embody the values of Slytherin and represent the best and brightest of this house. However, I am ashamed to say that these past few days have taught me that I have failed in my duties. I have grown lax in my morals, and as such, I have unwittingly submitted myself to a belief system incompatible with our way of life."
Abraxas Malfoy was nodding along to her words, looking quite smug and satisfied.
She put the crown back on and raised her hand until it was adjacent to her head, her pale palm facing the crowd. "I promise you that what has happened shall never happen again. It is rare that a Queen has errors in judgement, but it is also a wake-up call for all Slytherins. We must collectively examine and reexamine our morals and beliefs to ensure we are not betraying the values of our house due to complacency."
She bowed slowly, and the crowd broke into applause, more subdued than Abraxas' standing ovation.
Malfoy's vigorous applause rose to the forefront of the noise, and once everyone saw that the wizard who had been slighted had forgiven the Queen, they burst into rapturous applause. A few shouts and hollers were sprinkled in with the applause, and Harry could tell the crowd was satisfied with her apology.
She chose to remain in power at the cost of her integrity, Harry thought, glowering.
"Spineless," he muttered. "Fucking spineless bitch."
Tom was grinding his teeth together, his jaw jutting out in an ugly fashion. He exhaled slowly, saying, "Life would be so much easier if Malfoy were dead." The deep seated contempt in his voice raised goosebumps on Harry's arms.
Harry was about to retort but halted as he saw Evander Rosier and Walburga Black step forward in a synchronized fashion, their respective right and left hands clasped together, their backs straight and heads held high.
Evander Rosier spoke first, his eyes gleaming hatefully at the thought of his enemy. An undercurrent of contempt laced his words.
"A weed, when spotted in a garden, must be exterminated. If left untreated, the weed will outcompete the healthy plants for resources and steal the nutrients they need. Haven't we already seen that process happening before our very eyes?"
Walburga Black nodded approvingly, turning her gaze on the crowd. She spoke in an equally low voice.
"We have. However, that is not even the most insidious quality of the weed. Its greatest asset is its resiliency, and as such, the only proper approach of ridding a garden of weeds is total annihilation. Unless the weed is fully eradicated, it will grow back. The invisibility of its greatest asset allows it to destroy its target ever so slowly until nothing good and pure remains. We cannot continue to pluck the leaves and pat ourselves on the back for our superficial efforts, all the while ignoring the fact that we have left the roots intact."
Evander Rosier spoke again, his voice booming with the terrible sort of righteousness all staunch blood purists seemed to possess. "After all, a weed's singular purpose in life is to proliferate until the garden is only composed of weeds. A weed destroys the natural biodiversity seen in a balanced ecosystem."
Walburga Black eyed Rosier, her admiration for him clearly expressed in her gaze. Turning back to face the crowd, she said, "To those who harbor unsure feelings in their hearts, you need look no further than the path our governmental institutions have been heading down. Quite frankly, you need look no further than Slytherin."
She held up her index finger, her eyes fiery and burning with passion. "If you do not find anything alarming about the trajectory our society is headed upon, you are contributing to the problem."
Soft claps echoed through the crowd. Rosier spoke again, his utterly emotionless voice in stark contrast to the inhuman cruelty he spoke of. "And as a word of caution, I must remind everyone that it will never be enough to halt at total extermination. We must not allow ourselves to grow complacent and rest on our laurels. We must be proactive, not reactive in our response."
In unison, Evander Rosier and Walburga Black announced, "We must eradicate the weeds in our garden before they destroy everything we cherish."
They bowed together, their movements in sync. The crowd was deathly silent.
They stood up. Their eyes gleamed with undisguised zeal as they declared with booming voices, "We purebloods must adopt a proactive, vigilant approach against the perpetrators of pureblood genocide."
The applause started softly, but once approving whistles and hollers rolled in, the crowd clapped louder and people stood up one by one. Soon enough, Walburga Black and Evander Rosier were receiving their very own standing ovations. The Queen and Malfoy had stood up and were also clapping vigorously.
Great. Harry gritted his teeth together. These fanatics are going to succeed in radicalizing Slytherin.
"We're going to end up dead in a ditch one day, aren't we?" Harry commented, trying his best to act unaffected.
"Not if we kill them first," Tom growled.
Under the deafening applause that went on for what seemed like hours, Harry felt hopelessness seep into his bones. He had prayed that it would never get this bad—that their safety would be threatened—but Slytherin always reached new lows with each passing year.
There's no going back now.
Harry shook his head slowly. "We're only two people. We can't take on two hundred Walburgas and Evanders by ourselves."
Glancing to his side, Tom was shaking intensely from anger, the hatred so strong in his eyes that Harry was surprised the room hadn't caught on fire.
"We cut off the head of the snake."
Harry barked a bitter laugh as despair clawed at his heart. "Cut off one head, and two more grow back in its place. Slytherin isn't the house of snakes, it's a breeding ground for the hydra."
Tom's eyes snapped to him, and he said urgently, "I've figured out a plan. We need to go to the Room right now."
Figuring he had nothing better to do, whatever Tom wanted to tell him would at least serve as a distraction to the impending sense of doom that hung over him like a crackling thunderstorm.
As they waited for the crowd to disperse so that they could leave, someone in the crowd yelled, "DIVERSITY IS PUREBLOOD GENOCIDE!"
Soon, it caught on, becoming a chant that rose in volume until everyone was chanting alongside the original instigator, including the Queen, Abraxas Malfoy, Walburga Black, and Evander Rosier.
"DIVERSITY IS PUREBLOOD GENOCIDE, DIVERSITY IS PUREBLOOD GENOCIDE, DIVERSITY IS PUREBLOOD GENOCIDE—"
Harry shivered, resigning himself to enduring the wave of hate until the crowd calmed down.
They really want us dead, he thought hopelessly. But Harry worried more for Tom than himself—Tom was the face of muggleborn excellency, while he hid in Tom's shadow. As such, Tom bore the brunt of the racism directed at them.
Peeking at Tom, he saw that Tom was not taking it well. His eyes were filled with hateful fervor, his expression one of crazed madness. His shoulders were trembling.
"I'll kill them," Tom whispered, flexing his fingers around his wand. "I'll give them a taste of their own medicine."
Harry closed his eyes and resigned himself to wait for the storm to pass, all the while the chant reverberated around the four walls.
I always knew it would end badly, but I never thought it would be like this, he thought bitterly.
After all, they were figuratively and literally trapped in a house that should have been their safe haven—but it was seeming more and more like their burial ground.