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Story Notes:
• This was written for the [info]dracotops_harry fest in March 2011, for a prompt contributed by [info]winterstorrm. When I saw it, I literally gasped out loud and knew I had to write it!
• The first scene is paraphrased from Deathly Hallows, but veers a bit from canon, of course. ;-) I generally don't count JKR's ideas about what happened after the book as canon, so there are some details in here that won't match interview canon. Just roll with it. ;-)
• Thanks to [info]singlemomsummer, [info]acidbathory, and especially to [info]starlitshore for betaing!
• Originally posted here. This version has been slightly edited from what was posted there.
.:::::.

"Harry, no!" Ron shouted above the roar of the fire. "They're not worth it!"

The Room of Requirement was being consumed, the detritus of centuries of Hogwarts students fueling the massive flames. A fiery dragon raised its head and snapped at Harry with jagged white-hot teeth, and he managed to turn the bulky broom just in time.

He'd heard the scream from… there. He could see Malfoy now, standing atop a large stack of furniture, having apparently dragged the unconscious Goyle up the summit with him. Flames shaped like many-headed serpents were striking around their feet, and the look of terror on Malfoy's face was like nothing Harry had ever seen before.

He flew in a tight arc toward them and Malfoy lifted his arm. Harry reached for it, but both their hands were slick with sweat and with Goyle's added bulk there was no way Harry could lift them. He reached for the hawthorn wand tucked into his sock, but then Ron was next to him, glaring daggers at Harry. He and Hermione reached down and tugged Goyle up onto the broom between them.

"I fucking swear, Harry, if we die for them--" The rest of Ron's words were cut off by the roar of the rising flames and Harry had to rise three feet to get out of the way. Ron steered the broom toward the door and disappeared from view.

"Take my hand!" Harry shouted down to Malfoy. Malfoy reached up and Harry pulled, but Malfoy slipped from his grasp again, this time falling hard on the stack of furniture which began to collapse under the strain of the fire. "Malfoy!" Harry shouted and dove after him again.

"Potter!" Malfoy was slipping down, trying desperately to get his footing.

The straws of the broom were beginning to smoke, flames were licking at his heels, and Harry could barely breathe. The heat was overwhelming, but he couldn't leave Malfoy here to die, not like this. He found an opening in the flames and dove through it, and managed to grab hold of Malfoy's hand once more.

There was no time to do anything but fly away. Harry gripped Malfoy's hand as tightly as he could and flew toward the doorway, gritting his teeth against the strain in his arm and the heat and smoke. He could barely see and had only a vague idea of where the door was, but he leaned forward on the broom and hoped he wasn't about to crash into the wall.

And then it happened -- Malfoy's hand slipped through his fingers and there was nothing he could do. It happened in slow motion, and then Malfoy was out of his reach, falling toward the flames. His expression was one of pure terror; his mouth was open in a scream Harry couldn't hear over his own cry of "NOOOOO!!!"

And then he was gone. Harry dove down, but was met by flames. The fire closed in quickly and he barely made it through the door. He crashed into the wall on the other side and pushed to his knees, tears welling in his eyes.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted as she ran to him. "Oh God, Malfoy… Harry, I'm sorry."

"Me too," he replied. He wiped his eyes and clambered to his feet. There was no time to think about it now. The battle was far from over.

.:::::.

[TEN YEARS LATER]

Harry Potter stretched his arms over his head and yawned. It was only half-eight, but he was eyeing his bed already. He flicked his wand at the large pile of rolled parchments on his desk and they sorted themselves into two piles, marked and unmarked. The unmarked pile was still far larger than it ought to be, considering the amount of time he'd sat there pretending to work.

Why he'd assigned the fifth-years three feet on shield charms was beyond him. Perhaps he could just pretend he'd lost them or that they were accidentally destroyed in a freak research-related magical accident. If he gave them all good marks just for completing the work, they wouldn't mind. Much.

He contemplated his bed once again. The thick duvet was still pushed to the side from the morning; it would be so easy to slip out of his clothes and into that warm comfort. He pushed the tray that had held his dinner to the side of his desk and yawned again, and with a pop the tray disappeared.

Bed, then. He pulled his shirt over his head and sat on the bed, but just as he was unfastening his trousers there was a knock at the door of his room. He groaned and pulled the shirt back on.

"Yes?" he called through the door. It had better not be that Ravenclaw prefect again. She was abusing her rights to come into the faculty tower.

"Harry, it's me." He opened the door to see Neville Longbottom standing in the corridor and panting as if he'd run all the way up the stairs. His face was pale and before Harry could open his mouth to ask what was wrong he blurted, "You've got to come to the infirmary right now."

Harry grabbed his shoes and his wand and rushed after him.

Neville didn't speak until they reached the entrance of the door of the infirmary, at which point he stopped and put one hand on Harry's shoulder. "I have to warn you, this is going to be a shock. None of us has any idea how it happened or where he came from."

"Who?" Harry's heart was pounding, and not entirely from the jog through the castle.

Neville looked as if he was steeling himself. "Draco Malfoy."

Harry stared at him, sure he'd misunderstood. "That's not possible. Malfoy's dead."

"I know. But an hour ago he suddenly materialized in the Room of Requirement. Scared the shit out of a couple of sixth-years who were making out in there at the time. They ran out screaming, and he burst into the Great Hall in the middle of dinner, shouting about the Dark Lord and--"

"Wait," Harry said, his head spinning now. "Are you telling me that Draco Malfoy just popped into existence tonight? Alive?"

"And that's not all." Neville opened the door and waved him inside.

He led him down through the rows of beds to where a small group of faculty and staff were gathered, talking in hushed tones. The crowd parted as they drew closer, all of them watching Harry as if his reaction was going to be of importance. In the corner of the room a figure huddled on a bed, blankets clutched to his chin.

"Fucking hell," Harry whispered as he drew closer. It was indeed Draco Malfoy, and he looked just as Harry remembered him. In fact, he hadn't aged a day. He was seventeen years old and his hair was singed, and he was staring up at Harry with an expression of disbelief on his pale face.

"And who the hell are you?" he spat, his voice shaking.

Harry's knees felt like they might give way, so he sat on the edge of the bed, unable to stop staring. He'd had so many nightmares about Malfoy's death, had been haunted by the image of his face as he slipped through Harry's fingers and down into the flames. It was one of the deaths he'd thought he could never forgive himself for -- and now here Malfoy was, very much alive. It was all Harry could do not to pull him into a hug.

"It's me, Harry." He reached up and pushed his hair from his forehead and Malfoy's eyes went right to his scar.

Malfoy stared back at him suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. "This is some sort of trick. You've taken an aging potion, or--"

"All of us?" Neville asked, gesturing to the others in the room, all of whom had known Malfoy: Headmistress McGonagall, Madame Pomfrey, Penelope Clearwater, Alice Tolipan.

Malfoy tried to get off the bed, but couldn't -- apparently a binding charm was in place. "I don't understand what's happening or why you're all here when the Dark Lord is--"

"Dead," Harry interjected. "Voldemort died ten years ago. The war is over, has been over for a long time. And you… you fell from my broom into the Fiendfyre. We thought you were dead."

Malfoy wrapped his arms around himself, shaking. "No, I… I asked the Room to change for me, to take me somewhere else, anywhere else." His eyes darted from one person to another, as if looking for anything familiar. "I fell straight through the fire. It was gone by the time I hit the floor. And then I ran out and I..." He stopped.

Harry frowned. "You're saying this just happened?"

"Oh god, Crabbe," Malfoy whispered, his eyes widening in horror. "And Goyle. Did he--"

"Goyle is fine," Neville said. "We'll owl him in the morning. He can come visit you."

"What about my parents? They're here, in the castle."

Harry and Neville exchanged a glance.

"He doesn't understand," Madame Pomfrey said, pushing past them both to hand Malfoy a vial of potion. "Drink this, dear. It will help you rest."

Harry expected Malfoy to refuse, but he didn't. He took the vial almost gratefully and swallowed the contents in one go.

Madame Pomfrey leaned into Harry and lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. "He doesn't understand that he's traveled ahead ten years. He thinks it's still that night, the Battle of Hogwarts."

Harry turned to look at Malfoy again, but he'd settled back into the bed, his eyes closed. The potion worked quickly. Perhaps he thought it was all a bad dream, that it would disappear by morning.

"It's not amnesia, is it?" Neville whispered. "Look at him. He's really come from that night, hasn't he?"

Harry swallowed. "Is that even possible?"

"Do you have a better explanation?"

.:::::.

"We had to restrain him," Madame Pomfrey said as she poured herself a cup of tea the following afternoon. "And it wasn't easy, even though he had no wand. He was so distraught that he was doing wandless magic without even trying. He did a fair amount of damage to that end of the infirmary."

Harry sank into a chair across from her desk and sighed. "It had to be a horrible shock to see Goyle ten years older."

"Ten unkind years, I might add." She winked at him. "And of course, Mr. Goyle was the one to tell him what happened to his parents. I daresay it was the thing that made reality sink in for poor Draco."

"I can't imagine how difficult this must be for him. How long will he be at St. Mungo's, do you think?"

"I've no idea." She stirred a lump of sugar into her tea and looked up at him, her expression thoughtful. "You ought to go visit him."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Have you gone round the bend, Poppy? He hates me. There'll be another incident."

"Oh, I don't know about that." She smiled and brought her cup to her lips for a sip. "I spent some time talking to him while we were waiting for the transport team from St. Mungo's. He asked me about you."

"Did he? What did he want to know?"

"He wanted to know about the end of the war, mostly. How you managed to put an end to You-Know-Who. I lent him my copy of A History of Harry to take with him."

"Mmm, good choice," Harry said, stretching his arms over his head. "That's my favorite of the lot. It's the most accurate, anyway."

"He did seem genuinely curious, though. He has no one, no family. Well, none that can help him through this, at any rate. If you were to reach out to him--"

"He'd likely bite my hand off." At her resigned sigh and shake of the head, he added, "But I suppose it wouldn't hurt to check in on him in a week or two."

"And do tell him I'd like my book back. You autographed it for me. It's quite valuable."

Harry grinned.

.:::::.

It was several weeks before Harry managed to free up an afternoon and apparate to St. Mungo's.

The receptionist smiled fondly at him when he stepped up to her desk. "Here to see Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Ah, no. Her son, actually."

She nodded and pressed a button behind her desk. "Just a moment. I'll have to clear it with his Healer."

Two minutes later a middle-aged wizard in green robes came out to meet him. "Mr. Potter, it's such an honor, I can't tell you. I'm Healer Garrison, at your service."

Harry forced himself to smile; even after ten years, being fawned over still made him uncomfortable. "I don't have an appointment. I hope it's all right for me to pop in and visit Draco Malfoy?"

"Of course, of course," Healer Garrison said, gesturing Harry through the doorway into the main corridor of the ward. "This way. I must admit I'm surprised to see you. But then, you and Mr. Malfoy -- well, everyone knows how your stories intertwined during the war, now don't they?"

"How is he?"

"He's doing remarkably well, considering. He had to be heavily sedated for the first few days, but now he seems to have accepted what happened to him. He's been reading quite a lot. Says he has ten years to make up for."

Harry nodded, mildly impressed. He hadn't been sure what to expect. "Has he had many visitors?"

Garrison paused at a door and gave Harry a small, sad smile. "No, Mr. Potter. You're the first."

Harry frowned. They'd contacted several people they thought might have known Malfoy well, and none of them had come?

Garrison knocked twice and then opened the door. "You have a visitor."

Malfoy was curled up in a chair by the window holding a book, and looking so young that it took Harry's breath away. Had he himself looked that young when he'd finally defeated Voldemort?

Malfoy looked up, and when he saw Harry his eyes widened almost comically before narrowing again. A hard expression set his face and Harry sighed. At least that part was familiar.

Harry put on his best teacher face and gestured to an uncomfortable-looking chair pushed into the corner. "Mind if I sit with you?"

"Suit yourself," Malfoy replied. He watched as Harry pulled the chair closer and settled into it.

"I'll just leave you two to catch up," said Garrison, smiling as he closed the door behind him.

Silence stretched between them for a moment.

"How are you?" Harry asked at last.

Malfoy's expression was stony. "Why are you here?"

"I thought you might appreciate a visitor."

"How charitable of you." He tucked the book he'd been holding down between his thigh and the chair, but not before Harry saw the title on the bind.

"That one's all right. The author got some of the details wrong and seemed a little overly interested in my love life, but otherwise it's not bad."

Malfoy's cheeks tinted, though his tone remained icy. "So the world still revolves around you ten years later. Colour me shocked."

"You're mentioned in there, aren't you?" Harry tilted his head. "Did it surprise you?"

"To learn that besting me enabled you to defeat the Dark Lord? I'm always the foil, aren't I? Even in death."

But there he sat before Harry, very much alive -- snarky and pointy and bitter and jealous. Harry had to resist the urge to hug him again. "You haven't changed a bit."

"You have. You look old."

"A bit older than I should, I suppose. The war was rough on all of us." He didn't think he looked that old, though there were lines around his eyes that hadn't been there ten years ago, certainly.

"Why are you so happy to see me? You hate me."

"I don't hate you. Maybe I did once, but that was a lifetime ago. So much has changed. The world has changed. I think you'll be surprised."

Malfoy looked away, visibly irritated at Harry's cheerful demeanor. It was a teacher trick Harry had picked up along the way. Never let them see you ruffled.

"How much longer will you be in hospital?"

Malfoy shrugged. "No idea. A week, a month. I think they want to make sure I'm not going to go out and start killing Muggleborns the moment they release me."

"You should come back to Hogwarts." Harry wasn't sure where the thought had come from, but now that it was out of his mouth it wasn't half-bad.

Malfoy turned to stare at him. "Are you mad? Why would I ever want to go back to that place again?"

"I looked at your records. You were preparing for half a dozen NEWTs. If you come back now you might be able to pick up where you left off and finish your education. It would give you some time to get settled before you have to figure out what to do with your life. Make some new friends, that sort of thing."

Malfoy laughed, and the sound was hollow. "I take it back. You haven't changed. You're just as fucking naïve as ever, Potter."

Harry had to bite his tongue to suppress his instinct to reprimand a student for language. "I prefer optimistic. Think about it, Malfoy."

Malfoy shrugged and looked out the window. They were silent for a moment.

"Have you seen your mother yet?"

Malfoy's face crumpled before he schooled his features into a cool mask of indifference again. "They won't let me."

"Why not?"

"They don't think I can handle it. They think I'll regress, or blow things up again."

"What do you think?"

Malfoy turned to look at him again, his expression unreadable. "I think they're full of shit, obviously. She's my mother. I don't care if she's as loony as the Longbottoms -- she's the only family I have left."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't patronize me, Potter."

Harry sat back in his chair. "I can talk to them, if you like."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "I don't need you to do me any favors."

Harry barely resisted rolling his eyes. "Who says it'd be a favor to you?"

He stood and left the room, feeling Malfoy's eyes on him all the way to the door. He returned five minutes later, having managed to convince Healer Garrison to let him take Malfoy three floors up to the permanent ward.

"Let's go see your Mother," he said, holding the door open. Malfoy's expression was one of pure shock, but he leapt to his feet.

"I'm still not certain this is a good idea," Garrison muttered as Harry steered a pale-faced Malfoy towards the lifts.

"It'll be fine," Harry replied, keeping one hand on Malfoy's shoulder. Malfoy said nothing, thankfully.

The three of them stepped into a lift and rode in silence. The doors opened to reveal the pale green walls and soft lights of the permanent ward. Harry felt Malfoy's shoulder tense beneath his hand and he gave him a reassuring squeeze. Malfoy shrugged his hand off and walked out of the lift.

Garrison talked quietly with the nurse on shift for a moment before she nodded and led them down the corridor past dozens of doors, none of which bore any markings. She stopped before the last one on the left and knocked, waited a moment, and then opened the door.

"Mrs. Malfoy, you have visitors. Should I let them in?"

Harry turned to Malfoy, and paused at the expression on his face. It was one of near-terror and reminded him sharply of his face in the Room of Requirement all those years ago. Or weeks ago, from Malfoy's perspective. Harry patted Malfoy lightly on the shoulder, earning him a glare.

"Please," the nurse said, opening the door wide.

Narcissa was standing by the room's single small window, her long silver-blond hair streaming past her shoulders. She was wearing a white dressing gown, and with the soft light of the afternoon sun behind her almost appeared ethereal. Malfoy seemed frozen to the spot. After a moment, Harry cleared his throat and gave him a little push.

Malfoy took two steps into the room and stopped. "Mother?" His voice wavered.

Harry pulled the door closed, garnering a sharp glance from Garrison. The nurse gave him a reassuring nod, though, and the three of them made their way back down the corridor.

The nurse grasped Harry's hand and squeezed it. "This will mean so much to her, Harry. It will do wonders, I expect." She hurried ahead of them at that, heading back to her station where a witch was waiting with a large bouquet of flowers.

Garrison cleared his throat roughly. "I'll wait here until he's ready to go. I do hope you were right about this, Mr. Potter."

"I'm sure you'll let me know if I wasn't." He clapped Garrison on the shoulder and headed back to the lift.

.:::::.

"He's coming to Hogwarts?" Harry blinked at McGonagall in astonishment.

"You needn't look so surprised, Mr. Potter. He said you were the one who suggested it."

"Yes, but I had the impression he wouldn't even consider it."

"Well, you must have been convincing, because he'll be here on Sunday. We're having to do some reorganizing to find him a place to sleep on such short notice, but we'll manage." She inclined her head towards the door of the Transfigurations classroom and gave Harry a tight smile. "Was there anything else?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm just surprised he's being released so soon. I saw him a little over a week ago and the Healers were less than optimistic."

"Then he must have made great progress in the days since your visit." She gave him a curt nod before heading into the classroom. A few straggling NEWT-level Transfiguration students hurried in after her, many of them familiar from Harry's NEWT-level Defense class. He didn't know how she found the time to teach even a single lesson in addition to her duties as Headmistress -- he'd wondered on more than one occasion if she was using a Time Turner.

He had an hour before his next lesson began, so he headed to the greenhouses. Neville was just starting a group of third-years planting tarticulumina bulbs; once they were all working he wound his way through the rows of plants towards Harry.

"Did you hear about Malfoy?" Harry asked him when he was within earshot.

Neville nodded. "McGonagall told me. It's going to be strange having him here as a student, isn't it?"

Harry heaved a sigh. "It's going to be utterly bizarre. I hope he's ready."

"It's not him I'm worried about, to be honest. Is he taking Defense?"

"I assume so. He was working towards a NEWT ten years ago."

Neville raised an eyebrow. "Could I borrow your invisibility cloak? I'd love to sit in the back of the room and watch that."

Harry snorted. "It's going to be fine, Neville. He might still be 17, but I'm not."

"But still, you have to admit that Malfoy got under your skin like no one else ever did. Are you going to be able to forget everything that happened ten years ago and think of him as just another student?"

"That was the plan," Harry said, watching a nearby Gryffindor girl struggling to wrestle a tarticulumina bulb into a waiting pot. Its roots were winding their way up her forearms in protest. "You don't think I can do it?"

Neville chuckled. "Do you really want me to answer that question?"

.:::::.

Malfoy's arrival at Hogwarts was kept relatively quiet. Most of the students were aware that something odd had happened the night Malfoy reappeared at the beginning of term, but they seemed to have forgotten about it quickly. Only the faculty of Hogwarts and a handful of Healers at St. Mungo's knew that Draco Malfoy, presumed dead in the Battle of Hogwarts, had somehow been flung forward in time.

"Shouldn't he at least attend under another surname?" Penelope Clearwater had asked at the Friday afternoon staff meeting. "Once the students work out who he is and where he's come from--"

"Mr. Malfoy is of age," McGonagall had said, "and he and I have discussed the potential consequences at length. He insisted upon using a family name, Abraxas, with the students."

Penelope had sniffed at this. "When the press gets wind of it -- and you know they will eventually -- it's going to cause a huge disruption for the school."

"As if that's never happened before," Harry had said quietly, and several people had chuckled.

Malfoy was to be treated as any other seventh year student, McGonagall had gone on to tell them. If he needed extra help to catch up to his peers, his teachers were to provide it to the same extent they would any other NEWT-level student, regardless of their past differences with Malfoy. Her gaze had lingered on Harry as she said this, making his cheeks tinge.

Why did everyone think he and Malfoy were going to pick up right where they'd left off, sniping at and hexing each other at every opportunity? That was a decade ago, and it may as well be a lifetime ago. The circumstances were utterly different now -- everyone had moved on since the war. And Harry had grown up, even if Malfoy hadn't. And furthermore, he'd spent the last five years of his life dealing with surly teenagers. He was ready for this.

Except that he wasn't. When Malfoy walked into the Defense classroom on Tuesday afternoon, Slytherin robes swirling around him and his pointy face already schooled into a sneer, Harry found himself transported back in time.

Malfoy chose a seat in the back corner of the classroom, as far from Harry as he could possibly get. For the first half hour, Harry had the entire class discussing the finer nuances of disillusionment charms and he didn't have to interact with Malfoy at all. Malfoy didn't participate in the discussion and Harry didn't push him. Malfoy sat quietly and seemed to be taking notes, and only looked up occasionally. By the time the practical part of the lesson began, Harry had pulled himself together.

"I'll be pairing you up to disillusion yourselves in turn and I want you to pay careful attention to your partner's technique and the results. Critique them as best you can and be sure you refer to the list of properties of disillusioning that we just discussed. With our new student we have an even number, happily, so let's have you and you--"

He began pairing students off and each pair immediately found a spot along the sides of the classroom to begin work. He paired Malfoy with a Ravenclaw named Flora Whitehall who was both outgoing and patient, and hoped for the best. He soon lost himself in working with the pairs: adjusting a wand angle here, emphasizing the importance of concentration on blending into the background there, and hoping to hell the vast majority of them had no interest in joining the Auror corps, because honestly.

At last he'd made his way the all around the room, save for one pair. He hung back and watched Malfoy with Flora for a minute. She was doing rather well at disillusioning herself, not that Harry was surprised. Flora was one of the most talented witches in the seventh year. Malfoy, however, was struggling. He was able to make his right side transparent, but the left remained in full view. He was pointedly ignoring Harry, and Harry wondered if his presence was making it worse.

"That's good, Flora, just keep working at it," he said. "Mr. Malfoy, try it again." He couldn't bring himself to say Abraxas, somehow.

Malfoy flushed as his eyes flicked to Harry's and away again. He rolled his wand -- a brand new one, Harry noticed -- between his fingers and seemed to take a deep breath, and cast the charm again. The result was the same.

"I see your difficulty," Harry said, crossing to stand right in front of him. "You've got to angle your wand more like this." He wrapped his hand around Malfoy's and tilted his wand slightly higher, towards his sternum. "It's not quite your heart you're aiming for because--"

Malfoy jerked away, his lips pressed into a thin line, and took several steps back, glowering. Harry's mouth fell open, as did Flora's. The students in that corner of the room grew quiet and turned to stare, all clearly surprised.

Malfoy flushed and crossed his arms over his chest, shifting on his feet uncomfortably. "Sorry, Potter."

"Professor," Harry said, willing his voice to remain even. Malfoy looked back up at him, his eyes narrow, and Harry forced a tight smile. "You will refer to me as 'Professor', Mr. Malfoy."

With that he moved on to the next group, hoping to hell he didn't look as tense as he felt. From the looks on the faces of the students around him, he was certain Malfoy was glaring daggers at his back.

Harry had to force himself to concentrate for the remainder of the lesson. Every time he glanced to where Malfoy sat, all he saw was the top of his blond head as he scribbled furiously on the parchment on his desk.

"Two feet summarizing our discussion by next Tuesday, and please practice disillusioning yourselves before the next lesson. There might be something of a competition on Thursday, with a lovely reward for the winner."

The students all grinned at this -- all except Malfoy, who was examining his fingernails as if they were far more interesting than anything Harry had to say.

"Oh, and those of you who volunteered to run Dueling Club this term please plan to meet at the Gryffindor table before dinner tonight. That's all for now." The students began to gather their things, and Harry saw Malfoy stand and dart toward the exit. "Mr. Malfoy," he said, just loud enough to be heard over the chatter and rustling of parchments. The students quieted instantly, many giving each other looks of amusement. "A word, please."

Malfoy turned around and walked back towards the front of the classroom, clearly annoyed. He ignored the pointed looks of the students who filed past him, many of whom whispered to each other and shook their heads as they left the room. He stopped before Harry, shifted his rucksack on his shoulder, and looked up.

"Yes, Professor?" His grey eyes were defiant, not that Harry expected any less. He was also taller than Harry, which was a bit disconcerting.

Harry leaned back against a nearby desk. "We seem to have got off to a rough start."

"Have we?"

"I realize the situation is difficult, but my job is to help you."

"I don't need your help."

"If you plan to take a NEWT in Defense Against the Dark Arts, then yes, you do." Malfoy opened his mouth as if to argue and Harry cut him off with a wave of his hand. "What is expected of NEWT-level students now is far beyond what was expected ten years ago. I rewrote the curriculum myself to include new spells that were developed during and after the war. You're going to find very quickly that you're in over your head and that you need my help. If you don't think you can work with me on this, you'd best reconsider your career options."

Malfoy shifted his gaze to the Hogwarts insignia on Harry's robe. "Fine. Is that all?"

Harry wanted to strangle him for a brief moment. "Yes, that's all."

Malfoy whirled and left the room without another word. Once the door was closed behind him, Harry pounded a fist into the desk.

.:::::.

"For the twelfth time, Neville, you were right." Harry leaned back in the chair and gratefully accepted the uncapped bottle Neville was holding out to him. "It's only been two weeks and I already want to hex him."

Neville plucked a second bottle from the icebox by his desk and opened it with a tap of his wand. "So I've heard."

Harry groaned. "Don't tell me--"

"It was all they wanted to talk about at Brew Club this afternoon. How Professor Potter and the new student from Durmstrang were at each other's throats."

"He told them he came from Durmstrang? I suppose it fits." Harry took a sip of ale and nodded appreciatively. "Oh, this is good. Is it a Club batch?"

"From Christmas. They got to try it this afternoon after we finished bottling the current batch. It's rather nice, isn't it?"

Neville's interest in ale brewing had blossomed into a full-blown operation in Greenhouse 7, with proceeds benefitting Hogwarts' scholarship fund. His course The Herbology of Brewing and the weekly Saturday Brew Club were incredibly popular with the students. Membership in the Brew Club was second only to Harry's Dueling Club, and he suspected it would easily surpass it if Neville hadn't restricted membership to fifth-years and older.

"So what else are they saying?"

"They're mostly outraged that he's being so rude to you, since you're, you know, you. A few said they'd never thought you capable of looking cross at all until Malfoy showed up."

Harry winced. "And here I thought I was doing a good job of hiding it."

"Has he been disruptive or is it just the fact that he's Malfoy?"

"Both." Harry took a long drink from the bottle. "It wouldn't be so bad if he was doing it to everyone else, but I've asked his other teachers and he's being perfectly polite to them. It's just me."

Neville pursed his lips. "Harry, you know I think you're an amazing teacher, but is it possible that you're provoking him, just a bit?"

Harry bit his lip and considered for a moment. "I'd be lying if I said I treated him the way I'd treat any other student. Every time he sneers at me, it brings back memories, none of them good. Maybe I am provoking him, a bit."

"Do you want me to come and watch a lesson? I can get one of the seventh years to teach my first-year lesson on Tuesday and--"

"Thanks, but not yet. It's only been two weeks, after all. I'm sure it'll sort itself out."

The office door opened and a leggy brunette in a short skirt made her way over to Neville's desk. She grinned at him and tugged the bottle from his hand and took a sip from it.

"Hiya, Harry," she said as Neville leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"Hi, Hannah. How's Gringott's?"

"Slow this time of year." She slid an arm around Neville and leaned into him. "It's good to get away for the weekend, actually."

"You two should go somewhere other than Hogwarts on your time off," Harry said with a smirk. "The students think you're having sex in the greenhouses all weekend long."

"Who says we aren't?" Neville replied with a grin. Hannah giggled.

"Charity Parker and her little gang of Slytherin girls are apparently determined to get photographic evidence, so I'd be careful if I were you."

Neville and Hannah exchanged a glance, still grinning at each other. Harry sighed. He'd felt that way, once. Maybe. He wasn't sure now.

"Speaking of bed, I think I'll go find mine. Thanks for the ale. Nice to see you, Hannah."

They went through the motions of begging him to stay and talk, but it was clear their hearts weren't in it. It was Friday night and they hadn't seen each other in weeks, and Harry was sure the clothing would start to come off the moment he closed the door behind him.

He made his way back to the faculty tower through quiet corridors -- it was past curfew for the students. He found himself wondering what Malfoy was doing on a Saturday night. Holding court in the Slytherin common room, most likely. Harry scoffed at the idea.

Come back to Hogwarts, Malfoy. Really, what had he been thinking?

.:::::.

On Tuesday morning, Harry woke up late. He took a quick shower, gulped down the cup of tea that had appeared on his desk as it did every morning -- with just the right amount of sugar mixed in, bless those house elves -- and threw on his robes over jeans and a t-shirt, the only clean clothes he could find. He opened the door and was promptly attacked by several dozen small red heart-shaped envelopes.

Valentine's Day -- he'd forgotten. He plucked them out of the air one by one, opening them as quickly as he could. He'd learned the hard way his first year on the faculty that these valentines, a Weasley product, were not to be ignored. As he opened each and briefly glanced at the note, a shimmering heart floated up from the paper and took residence in the air above his head.

Five minutes later, there was a large pile of crumpled red paper at his feet and a swarm of pink, red, and purple shimmering hearts floating above him. There were 67 in all, most from students, a few from other faculty members, and a handful that had been sent anonymously. He banished the paper with a flick of his wand and dashed to his classroom, already late for the second-years' lesson.

The students giggled at him when he walked in and he grinned. The hearts had become a Valentine's Day tradition at Hogwarts in the years after the war, and being given a large number was a status symbol of sorts. Harry had been flattered in the first few years, but now he just found them a bit embarrassing. He'd once begged George for a counter-spell to get rid of them, but George had just laughed him off, saying it was only for a day and that he should buck up and be a good sport.

Everyone had hearts swimming overhead today, which made the practical part of the lesson more entertaining than usual. Whenever the giver of one of the valentines was nearby, the floating heart made a tinkling sound, like a tiny bell. Of course, this meant that as Harry moved around the classroom there was a din of tinkling.

The second years were learning about polypots this week: small biting creatures that were fairly easily subdued with the proper spell. The polypots seemed so dazzled by the shimmering and tinkling hearts over their attackers' heads that they didn't put up much of a fight, and Harry finally resigned himself to having to repeat the practical another time.

The NEWT class was his last of the day, and it was as tense as always. Malfoy was typically rude and avoided any form of participation, having apparently figured out that Harry's teaching style was centered on getting the students to be as active as possible and that this would be the best way to annoy him. This had been his favorite class only a few short weeks ago, but Malfoy had changed that.

Harry set the students to working on remote shielding charms and walked among them, but it soon became clear that everyone was having difficulty concentrating with all the tinkling of hearts going on, so Harry stopped them and gathered them all in a circle.

"We'll work on those again next time, when it's quieter." They giggled at this, as Harry's hearts had been the loudest of all. "For now, let's do something that should be fairly easy for you, something from fourth year -- patronus charms. Who wants to go first?"

The students grinned eagerly and many raised their hands to volunteer. Harry called on them one by one, and they all laughed and cheered for each other. Several of the students had mastered the spell to make the patronus speak and more than one silvery image told an off-colour joke that had everyone roaring with laughter.

Or nearly everyone. Harry caught a glimpse of Malfoy's face when they were halfway around the room: he looked pale and withdrawn, almost frightened. He had positioned himself to go last, Harry noticed.

Finally it was Malfoy's turn and everyone looked at him expectantly. He stared down at his wand, his face tense.

"Abraxas," Harry said at last. "It's down to you."

"No thanks," he replied, looking up. The class went stone silent.

"Sorry?" Harry couldn't remember a single instance in five years of teaching when a student had refused to participate in a practical.

"You heard me. No thanks." He raised his chin defiantly.

Harry paused. Backing Malfoy into a corner would accomplish nothing, but there was something more going on here. "Malfoy--"

"I don't want to cast a fucking patronus, all right?" Malfoy glared at him, as if daring him to ask again.

The students burst into whispers, their eyes darting back and forth between Harry and Malfoy.

Harry clenched his jaw. This couldn't go on, not another minute. "Class dismissed," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on Malfoy's. "Except for you, Mr. Malfoy. We're going to have a little talk."

They continued to glare at each other as the class filed out. Harry knew the gossip would be flying around the school in ten minutes, but at the moment he didn't care. He was going to get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

At last the door closed and they were alone.

"My office," Harry said, his voice automatically taking on an authoritative tone. He nodded toward the stairs behind him. "Now."

He waited for Malfoy to gather his things and start climbing the stairs before he moved from the spot. He had to reach back into his Auror training for some calming techniques, lest he hex Malfoy before this was over.

He's a teenager, he reminded himself as he climbed the stairs. You are an adult and he is a teenager. An obnoxious, irritating shit of a teenager.

Malfoy sat in a chair across from Harry's desk, looking as defiant as ever. Harry sat behind his desk and let the silence string out between them for a moment.

"Well?" he said at last.

"Wednesday night is good for me," Malfoy said, almost airily. "Well, any night, really, but--"

"What are you talking about?"

"Detention, of course. It's the least I deserve, isn't it?"

Harry gaped at him. "I've never given detention to a seventh year student in the five years I've been on the faculty here."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "No time like the present, then."

"The only reason for anyone to be sitting this particular course is to prepare for a NEWT. It's a select group, Malfoy, a select group of witches and wizards who are legally of age and therefore considered adults. Adults who take their studies very seriously. It's painfully clear you don't belong among them."

Harry had expected more defiance, but instead saw a flicker of something like panic on Malfoy's face. "I do take this seriously!"

"That's complete shit and you know it." It felt oddly good to swear at a student. "You've done nothing to show me you have the slightest interest in learning."

"I'm interested, Potter! Why else would I sit in a class with you if I weren't desperate to get this NEWT?"

"I haven't a clue, Malfoy. But I'm done. I want you out of my class. You can get your damned NEWT by correspondence for all I care."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, just give me a damn detention and let it go!"

It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to tell him to get out, but something about Malfoy's face made him pause. He looked as if he was trying very hard to remain aloof, but then, for just a second, he almost looked terrified.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You want me to give you detention? Is that what this is all about?"

Malfoy pressed his lips into a firm line and looked away. Harry exhaled and sat back in his chair. Why would Malfoy, who gave none of his other teachers any trouble, want Harry to give him detention? It made no sense. Malfoy reached up to run a hand through his hair, and Harry realized there were no hearts floating above his head.

No one had sent him a valentine, no one at all, and that was unusual. The valentine hearts were very cheap at one knut apiece, and many students sent them to everyone in their house, just for fun. It was hard to believe that not a single Slytherin student had included Malfoy in this tradition, even though he'd only been there for a couple of weeks.

He was lonely, Harry realized with a stab of guilt. He was so lonely that spending detention with Harry Potter was preferable to spending another evening alone.

"Fine," Harry said at last, his anger gone now. "You will report here at eight o'clock sharp tomorrow night and for the next four Wednesdays thereafter. You owe me one detention for each lesson in which you were an obnoxious twat."

Malfoy nodded and stood, and had the decency to look chagrined.

"And so help me, Malfoy, you had better be a model student from here on out. One more display like the one today and you're out of my class. Understood?"

Malfoy blinked at him for a moment and then nodded. "All right, Po-- Professor."

Harry sat at his desk for a long time after Malfoy left, wondering if this would make a difference -- and why he cared so much about what happened to Malfoy in the first place.

.:::::.