𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭 & 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 | drarry

20

The atmosphere in the headmistress's office was imbued with a tangible rigidity, a pressure that seemed to settle into every corner, enveloping the room's occupants like a vice.

This unexpected summons-both Draco and Harry called in after the latest incident involving a Slytherin student-had neither of them entirely prepared. Both sensed that the ensuing discussion would not be without difficulty, and each felt a distinct weight on their shoulders, an invisible burden that stemmed not just from their current roles but from everything that had come before.

The matter at hand concerned a young Slytherin boy caught in a compromising situation with a banned dark artifact. The potential consequences were severe, and Draco found himself incapable of standing idly by. He knew too well what it felt like to be harshly judged, to be branded guilty by association. There was something about the boy's situation that stirred an old, instinctual protectiveness within him-an empathy born of his own past mistakes.

Harry, conversely, approached the matter from a distinct vantage point. His familiarity with dark magic extended beyond academic knowledge; he had lived through its horrors and witnessed firsthand its capacity for destruction. His primary duty was now to ensure the safety of the entire school, and he could not afford to allow leniency.

The scars of war were still fresh, and the responsibility of safeguarding the students was one Harry took with absolute seriousness. He could not forget the dangers that dark magic posed, nor could he be seen to be partial in matters as grave as this.

Draco stood before Professor McGonagall's desk, his posture rigid, eyes blazing. Beside him, Harry leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression inscrutable as he listened to the heated exchange between Draco and McGonagall.

"He didn't know what it was," Draco insisted, his voice laced with frustration, underpinned by an unexpected protectiveness. "He's just a child, Minerva. He found it; he didn't create it. Expulsion is too harsh a penalty."

McGonagall's gaze, sharp and discerning, shifted to Harry, seeking some form of concurrence. Harry remained silent for a moment longer, carefully choosing his words. "Draco, the fact remains that it was a dark artifact. It could have caused real harm if it hadn't been intercepted in time. You know how dangerous these objects can be."

Draco turned sharply, his gaze meeting Harry's with incredulity and simmering anger. "And that means we throw him to the wolves? He needs help, not condemnation. You, of all people, should understand that."

Harry's eyes narrowed. He pushed off the wall, stepping closer, his arms still folded tightly across his chest. "I do understand," he replied, his tone clipped. "But what I also understand is that actions have consequences, Draco. You can't shield him simply because he's Slytherin. He put others at risk, and we can't ignore that."

Draco scoffed, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "Of course. Because he's Slytherin, he must be guilty. Is that it, Potter? Still clinging to your old prejudices, are you? I would have thought you'd grown beyond that by now."

Harry was slightly taken aback, not having seen this version of Draco in-well-years, really. Suddenly, their current stance with one another seemed to disappear, and out came the old habits, the old prejudices, and the differing principles that had once defined them.

The argument had rekindled something raw within both of them-memories that, until now, had been buried under years of tenuous peace. It was as though the veneer of professionalism had cracked, and beneath it lay the unresolved tension of their shared past.

For Draco, the anger simmered not only at Harry's seemingly unyielding stance but at the implication that he, Draco, might once again be found wanting. It infuriated him that Harry, who had been lauded as the hero and given every opportunity for redemption, could still doubt his motivations. Harry, the boy who lived, who had everything, dared to look at him and see nothing but the mistakes of his past. And this time, it wasn't just about him-it was about his students, his House, his responsibility.