Harry's face was now neutral. He had not thought of that and he really, really should have. "And from this you concluded...?"
"Snape's hold was some secret of Dumbledore's and you've got the secret!" Draco was looking exultant. "It can't be powerful enough to destroy Dumbledore entirely, or Snape would have used it by now. Snape refuses to use his hold for anything except staying king of Slytherin House in Hogwarts, and he doesn't always get what he wants even then, so it must have limits. But it's got to be really good! Father's been trying to get Snape to tell him for years!"
"And," Harry said, "now Lucius thinks maybe I can tell him. Did you already get an owl -"
"I will tonight," Draco said, and laughed. "It will say," his voice took on a different, more formal cadence, "My beloved son: I've already told you of Harry Potter's potential importance. As you have already realized, his importance has now become greater and more urgent. If you see any possible avenue of friendship or point of pressure with him, you must pursue it, and the full resources of Malfoy are at your disposal if needed."
Gosh. "Well," Harry said, "not commenting on whether or not your whole complicated edifice of theory is true, let me just say that we are not quite such good friends as yet."
"I know," Draco said. Then his face turned very serious, and his voice grew quiet even within the blur. "Harry, has it occurred to you that if you know something Dumbledore doesn't want known, Dumbledore might simply have you killed? And it would turn the Boy-Who-Lived from a potential competing leader into a valuable martyr, too."
"No comment," Harry said yet again. He hadn't thought of that last part, either. Didn't seem to be Dumbledore's style... but...
"Harry," Draco said, "you've obviously got incredible talent, but you've got no training and no mentors and you do stupid things sometimes and you really need an advisor who knows how to do this or you're going to get hurt!" Draco's face was fierce.
"Ah," Harry said. "An advisor like Lucius?"
"Like me!" said Draco. "I'll promise to keep your secrets from Father, from everyone, I'll just help you figure out whatever you want to do!"
Wow.
Harry saw that zombie-Quirrell was staggering in through the doors.
"Class is about to start," said Harry. "I'll think about what you said, there's lots of times I do wish I had all your training, it's just I don't know how I can trust you so quickly -"
"You shouldn't," Draco said, "it's too soon. See? I'll give you good advice even if it hurts me. But we should maybe hurry up and become closer friends."
"I'm open to that," said Harry, who was already trying to figure out how to exploit it.
"Another bit of advice," Draco said hurriedly as Quirrell slouched toward his desk, "right now everyone in Slytherin's wondering about you, so if you're courting us, which I think you are, you should do something that signals friendship to Slytherin. Soon, like today or tomorrow."
"Letting Severus go on awarding extra House points to Slytherin wasn't enough?" No reason Harry couldn't take credit for it.
Draco's eyes flickered with realization, then he said rapidly, "It's not the same, trust me, it's got to be something obvious. Push your mudblood rival Granger into a wall or something, everyone in Slytherin will know what that means -"
"That is not how it works in Ravenclaw, Draco! If you have to push someone into a wall it means your brain is too weak to beat them the right way and everyone in Ravenclaw knows that -"
The screen on Harry's desk flickered on, provoking a sudden wash of nostalgia for television and computers.
"Ahem," said Professor Quirrell's voice, seeming to speak personally to Harry out of the screen. "Please take your seats."
And the children were all seated and staring at the repeater screens on their desks, or looking down directly at the great white marble stage where Professor Quirrell stood, leaning on his desk atop the small dais of darker marble.
"Today," said Professor Quirrell, "I had planned to teach you your first defensive spell, a small shield that was the ancestor of today's Protego. But on second thought I have changed today's lesson plan in the light of recent events."
Professor Quirrell's gaze searched the rows of seats. Harry winced from where he was sitting, in the back row. He had a feeling he knew who was about to be called on.
"Draco, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy," said Professor Quirrell.
Whew.
"Yes, Professor?" said Draco. His voice was amplified, seeming to come from the repeater screen on Harry's desk, which showed Draco's face as he spoke. Then the screen shifted back to Professor Quirrell, who said:
"Is it your ambition to become the next Dark Lord?"
"That's an odd question, Professor," said Draco. "I mean, who'd be dumb enough to admit it?"
A few students laughed, but not many.
"Indeed," said Professor Quirrell. "So while there's no point in asking any of you, it would not surprise me in the slightest if there were a student or two in my classes who harbored ambitions of being the next Dark Lord. After all, I wanted to be the next Dark Lord when I was a young Slytherin."
This time the laughter was much more widespread.
"Well, it is the House of the ambitious, after all," Professor Quirrell said, smiling. "I didn't realize until later that what I really enjoyed was Battle Magic, and that my true ambition was to become a great fighting wizard and someday teach at Hogwarts. In any case, when I was thirteen years old, I read through the historical sections of the Hogwarts library, scrutinizing the lives and fates of past Dark Lords, and I made a list of all the mistakes that I would never make when I was a Dark Lord -"
Harry giggled before he could stop himself.
"Yes, Mr. Potter, very amusing. So, Mr. Potter, can you guess what was the very first item on that list?"
Great. "Um... never use a complicated way of dealing with an enemy when you can just Abracadabra them?"
"The term, Mr. Potter, is Avada Kedavra," Professor Quirrell's voice sounded a bit sharp for some reason, "and no, that was not on the list I made at age thirteen. Would you care to guess again?"
"Ah... never brag to anyone about your evil master plan?"
Professor Quirrell laughed. "Ah, now that was number two. My, Mr. Potter, have we been reading the same books?"
There was more laughter, with an undertone of nervousness. Harry clenched his jaw tightly shut and said nothing. A denial would accomplish nothing.
"But no. The first item was, 'I will not go around provoking strong, vicious enemies.' The history of the world would be very different if Mornelithe Falconsbane or Hitler had grasped that elementary point. Now if, Mr. Potter - just if by some chance you harbor an ambition similar to the one I held as a young Slytherin - even so, I hope it is not your ambition to become a stupid Dark Lord."
"Professor Quirrell," Harry said, gritting his teeth, "I am a Ravenclaw and it is not my ambition to be stupid, period. I know that what I did today was dumb. But it wasn't Dark! I was not the one who threw the first punch in that fight!"