As soon as the portrait closed behind Uncle Sev, the atmosphere in the room shifted.
Draco had been expecting this; his father warned him when he told him about the Slytherin politics. He told him what to expect on the first night, as alliances were created and hierarchies were sorted.
Sure enough, the 7th year female prefect, Farley, stood and eyed the room.
"If anyone wishes to refrain from being challenged; I suggest you retire to your dorm now," she barked rather bossily.
Harry shot Draco a quick glance, impressively communicating his confusion to him without announcing it to the room. Draco raised a brow at him and hoped to indicate patience, knowing all would be explained once those wishing to avoid conflict left.
Crabbe and Goyle immediately lumbered off in search of their dorm, no surprises there. Their fathers likely told them to avoid the power struggle and to simply attach themselves to whoever came out on top. Very few of the older students left, many, like himself, staying just to observe the incoming conflicts.
After the passive students cleared the room- less than a dozen leaving in all- Farley addressed the silently tense room again.
"I will only explain this once, and quickly, for our new students. Slytherin produces the most politicians partially due to our ambition but also because politics play an important part in our house and our history. Your name means nothing here if you lack the strength to back it up. Power is what matters. If you want to be powerful in our house then this is your chance to prove it. Challenges are public and may be issued by anyone to anyone. However, once a duel is finished it may not be rehashed until the next year. Seconds are on a volunteer basis only. We do this on the first night so that the rest of the year can be completed in peace- with power plays already finished we can focus on our studies and extracurriculars. If you are challenged and refuse then you must leave for your dorm- understand that this is one of the highest forms of dishonor in our home though."
She fixed a steely gaze on them all before grinning sharply. "The first challenger may speak up."
A sixth year, Alexander Lestrange, stepped forward immediately. Draco had a gut feeling he knew where this was going.
Sure enough, Lestrange announced clearly, "I challenge Harry Potter."
Most of the room sucked in a shocked breath, it was considered bad form of the highest degree for a student past fourth year to challenge a first year. Draco's father had reassured him that the only students who might challenge him would be fellow first years, and he taught him a couple spells to ensure he could beat them. Draco assumed that Potter's fame and history likely led to this confrontation. His display of power at dinner probably pushed it as well.
Potter had a blank look on his face, belied only by the glimmer in his eyes that looked positively delighted by the challenge.
"Brill," Harry said, accepting the challenge simply with his odd slang.
Draco was about to volunteer to be his second, a position he would rather not be in, but knew would help establish himself within Potter's circle, when Weasley beat him to it.
"I'm his second. Whose yours?" Weasley said, addressing Lestrange gruffly.
Lestrange laughed. "A blood-traitor pairing with the brat-who-lived? How surprising."
Daniel Travers, a 7th year student, spoke up, volunteering himself to be Lestranges second.
Draco saw the look on Potters face; his absolute blood-thirsty eagerness unhidden in his gaze and shuddered. His sympathies switching swiftly to the older boys who looked so smug and so self-assured.
He's going to kill them.
Almost as if Farley read Dracos thoughts, and perhaps she could, there were legilimens all through the house, she spoke up.
"Non-lethal curses only," she told the boys. "We have our healers-in-training on hand to cure injuries and curses but we will not be aiming to kill. Unforgivables are generally forgiven, within reason. Anyone who attempts to inform a teacher on the use of these curses will be shunned- a highly unpleasant fate for any student. Understand?"
Potter, Weasley, Lestrange, and Travers all nodded. The other students began whispering about the odds of Lestrange crucioing Potter into insanity like his Uncle and Aunt-in-Law did to the Longbottom Aurors.
The rest of the students backed away swiftly, forming a circle around Potter and Lestrange. Weasley and Travers stood behind their mates, just on the outside of the shield Farley put up.
"The duel begins when I shoot up the white spark and ends when one opponent yields."
Lestrange stood stiffly, holding the standard dueling pose that he no doubt learnt from his incarcerated uncle. His feet were shoulder width apart, his dominant hand holding his wand vertically in front of his chest, and his other hand taut at his side. His face held a ruthless kind of determined expression on it. Confident, arrogant, and wrong.
Draco knew the moment Potter summoned his ratty jacket in Diagon Alley that he was a force. When he left, the witches and Draco had been silent, still feeling the after effects of his magic. Draco told his father about the interaction, lamenting on how he'd never felt someone's magic so potently before. His father had been thoughtful when he advised him to stick close to Potter- that power was something to follow and Potter seemingly had it in spades.
Draco watched Potter eagerly now. He saw his relaxed pose and grin on his face. He wondered how Lestrange could possibly be feeling so confident when faced with Potters sharp smile and eager eyes set in a face scarred with marks that showed he had battled before- and won.
Farley shot up a single spark and the room fell silent. Except for Zabini, who Draco heard placing bets on Potter's imminent win. It sounded like good odds. Draco would have to place a bet quickly next year.
Lestrange laughed, a cruel mocking laugh. "Where's your wand, little Potter? Did you give up already?"
Potter cocked his head to the side, looking like a confused child. "'M sorry," he said softly, a mocking tilt to his accented voice. "'Suppose I forgot you must need yours."
Weasley snickered while Draco was sure it was Blaise's obnoxious laugh he heard behind him.
Lestrange snarled, a vicious look overcoming his aristocratic features at the subtle insult, and struck.
"Finestra!" he shouted, his wand aimed right at Potter.
... who danced to the side of the incoming curse so easily he might as well have been waltzing.
"Ooh, scary," Potter said mockingly, his smile growing until too many of his teeth were visible to be considered anything except deadly.
"Bombarda! Incarcerous! Reducto!"
Potter waved one hand dismissively in front of him, a corporeal shield protecting him from the curses. He could cut glass from the sharpness of his smile.
"Weak," Potter taunted Lestrange, his green eyes laughing at the older student.
Draco knew exactly what was going to come out of Lestranges mouth before he said it. He crossed his fingers and prayed to Merlin that Potter could resist screaming too much when Lestrange shouted: "CRUCIO!"
Time seemed to slow down as the whole room watched the red curse fly towards the fae-like child who twirled elegantly to the side of it, laughing.
Potter was mad. Absolutely, brilliantly, terrifyingly, mad.
"My turn?" Potter asked, his head still cocked to the side, as if curious about what would happen when he did. He gazed hard at Lestrange and merely whispered, "I want you to hurt."
Lestrange never could have dodged the spell as quickly as it flew to him. He hit his knees and cradled his head in his hands. His ear-splitting shrieks would haunt both Dracos worst nightmares and his most giddy dreams.
While he was still screaming, Potter waved his hand and all of Slytherin watched in shock as a black handled wand flew from the older boys hand straight to Potter's empty one.
Draco was sure that Potter was about to offer Lestrange the opportunity to concede, he ended the curse he placed on him anyway, but then he danced right up to the other boy and placed a knife against his throat.
"D'ya give up, little boy?" Potter asked quietly.
Lestrange lifted his head to answer, but before he could Potter struck again.
Viciously. Vindictively. Aggressively.
Potter slashed his knife across Lestrange's face, causing blood to spurt from a gash that went from his forehead down the right side of his face to his lips.
Lestrange shrieked again and began babbling, "I yield. I yield."
Travers immediately jerked in to action as Farley dropped the shield. He drug the bleeding Lestrange off to the seventh year students who were apprentices at St Mungos for treatment.
Farley eyed Harry, her face uncharacteristically showing her surprise.
"Winner- Potter," she said quietly.
Draco burst in to applause, pleased that he was not the only one. Weasley clapped Harry on the shoulder jovially, although Potter flinched minutely at the contact.
Draco hoped the rest of the house wrote it off as the adrenaline crash from the duel instead of a vulnerability.
Potter smirked at the room as he pocketed his knife. Seemingly indifferent to the influx of the impending alliance offers he would soon have.
"'M I done?" Potter asked the room, eyeing Parkinson roughly, as if she had the nerve, or idiocy, to challenge the boy while he was covered in the blood of a sixteen year old.
When no one spoke up, Potter laughed. "G'night then."
And in the most casual display of indifference yet, Potter turned his back to the room and slowly strutted to the staircase. His head high and his bloodied hands empty.
Draco made shocked eye contact with Weasley before they both immediately made for the dorms behind Potter.
Draco had been told his whole life to find power and do what he had to to follow it.
Never bow, Malfoy's never bow if it can be avoided. But if you find power- follow the power. Make yourself indispensable.
Potter was the most powerful wixen he'd ever seen in action before.
So Draco followed him.