Ron didn't appear to notice it, but before Harry could say something a bit more obvious, Zabini was swaggering forward, his eyes narrowed hatefully.
"Malshite, tell your brother that he's interrupting a team meeting. Ha, he's forgotten how Quidditch matches work. No great surprise there, since Gryffindor won't even let him play."
"As I recall, you wanted him to play," Draco returned coolly. "And I have it on good authority that he hasn't decided which team to play on next year. So, if you still want him I'd suggest you make him feel welcome."
Harry wasn't really sure what Draco was playing at with that comment. Ron certainly took exception to it. "Merlin'll cough up fur balls before Harry ever plays with you snakes!" Ron shouted from beyond the door.
Draco crossed his arms and walked toward the doorway. Harry could just imagine the kind of glare Ron must be receiving. "Weasley, why don't you be a gentleman and go escort Granger to the stands? Harry can hang about here until Severus comes by."
"Fine. See you later, Harry."
As he turned back to the team, Draco flashed Harry a hard look. "Stand by me and don't say a word," he whispered.
The Slytherins were clearly unsettled by Harry's presence, but Draco ploughed ahead reviewing their game strategies. Or tried to. Zabini interrupted him after a few seconds, and did his best to take charge of the team meeting, rattling off instructions quickly and loudly, as if he was worried that Draco would cut in the way he just had. By the time he stopped for Agnes DeMolay, the statuesque seventh year chaser, to deliver a report on the Hufflepuffs' strengths and weaknesses, Harry thought Zabini was actually a bit winded.
"All right team," Zabini resumed. "We just need to get through this one last game. Now I know this has been a rotten year and we've had a bunch of bad breaks, but that's not our fault. We're Slytherins, damn it! And no matter what the counters say, Slytherins are not losers! They think because our so-called Head of House took away all our points that we don't have any points!"
"We don't!" snarled Bulstrode.
Zabini gave her a nasty look and kept right on talking. "When we're all out there on the pitch, just remember this one thing. When you mash up a pumpkin, what do you get? You don't get pumpkin juice. You get what's inside. They can mash us up but they're just gonna get something better out of us."
An uncomfortable silence descended. Harry was just as confounded as the Quidditch players. What the hell was Zabini going on about? After a few seconds Vanvelzeer spoke up. "But isn't pumpkin juice what's inside?"
"I thought it was," said DeMolay in a confused-sounding voice. "Isn't that how you make it? You mash the pulp?"
"Strain it, I think," said a younger Slytherin. Harry didn't remember his name.
Draco shot to his feet. "Oh for Merlin's sake, Zabini! Is that your idea of a pep talk? No wonder the team's been losing! You make about as much sense as Trelawney after she's been guzzling her so-called medicinal tea!"
"Oh yeah, Malshite? At least I've been here this year, leading this team!"
"Leading it into the ground, sounds like! Why don't you just tell them that no matter how bad gets out there, it'll all be over soon?"
Zabini gave a sarcastic wave of his hand. "Oh, and you think you can waltz in here and do better, do you, Malshite?"
Draco's own gesture was dismissive if not contemptuous. "Listen, Weasley could've stayed and done better than you."
"That's enough squabbling," Harry cut in, a bit surprised to find himself talking at all. "I think what Zabini was trying to say is that you lot have gotten a raw deal what with the points and all. And, I know you blame me and think that I'm glad for what my father did--"
"Yeah, and aren't you?" Zabini crossed his arms, glowering.
Harry glared. "As far as I'm concerned, it's rotten that the entire house has to suffer just because a few money-grubbing morons decided to murder one of their own and frame another member of the house. Slytherin's in last place point-wise, but at this point that hardly matters. The other houses all thought you were a bunch of losers well before Severus took those thousand points away!"
"Losers, are we?" shrieked Bulstrode.
While Harry had been speaking, Draco had moved over to his side, but not to support him. Not even to defend him. No, what Draco apparently wanted was to be close enough to shut Harry up. He pinched Harry's arm. Hard.
Harry ignored the flash of pain near his elbow.
"Yeah, losers," he said, raising his voice. "And you know why they all think that of Slytherin? It's because those three arseholes broke the ultimate rule. And I don't mean that they were working for Voldemort. They killed a member of their own house! And here the rest of you are going around calling Draco Malshite, turning on him the same way they did! What do you expect the other Houses to think of you, eh? Does Slytherin brotherhood means less than nothing? Is there even any such thing? I'll tell you what the other Houses all think! If you'd stab one another in the back just to get ahead then you're all worthless!"
Another pinch from Draco. Ouch. That one was going to leave a bruise. Better get to the point, Harry thought.
"But look, we all know that nothing in the world takes more strategy and cunning and skill and teamwork than a really, really good Quidditch win. And Draco's set you up for one! You know, he could just get out there and catch the snitch as fast as he could to prove that he hasn't lost his touch despite being unfairly expelled and all. But he's putting Slytherin first by coming up with this strategy to give you all the chance to earn as many points as you can. And by Merlin, you ought to go out there and show everyone that Slytherins aren't a bunch of short-sighted opportunists. Show them that when you all work together, you're a force to be reckoned with."
Silence descended on the locker room once again and for a few moments, Harry thought he'd just made a total arse of himself. Strangely enough, it was Millicent Bulstrode who first set his mind to rest.
"Hell yeah!" she hollered, jabbing a meaty fist into the air.
Vanvelzeer echoed her, and then DeMolay, and soon everyone but Zabini was chanting victory cheers.
During the hubbub, Draco managed to pull Harry aside. "Brilliant! Just brilliant, Harry!"
Harry chuckled. "Well, it was better than the juice lecture, anyway."
"I thought you'd gone completely barmy at first, but you really brought them 'round. Um... sorry about your arm, then."
"Sorry you tried to puncture it with those bony fingers, you mean?"
Draco grinned and flexed his hands inside his Quidditch gloves. "Long and slender, you mean. But anyway... yeah, good speech. I guess I owe you for that one."
Harry couldn't have asked for a better opportunity. "Good. 'Cause see, I want you to start wearing this again." Digging into his cloak pocket, Harry pulled out Draco's turquoise protection amulet. "Severus got it back from the Aurors the other day and he gave it to me."
Draco looked a bit offended. "Did he! Well, I like that! It's mine, not yours!"
"I think he thought you might... er, tip it in the rubbish," Harry admitted. "You know, bad memories. But once I had it, I got to thinking about how dangerous Quidditch can be, not to mention, er, your House mates. And this worked so well last time. Too well, you might say, but still..."
Draco snatched the amulet from Harry's hand, but didn't look up to meet Harry's eyes. "Thanks. I'll tuck it under my uniform, then. Just to make you feel better, of course."