One

It began with what Malfoy would later explain as "an academic difference of opinion." Potter, who had the split lip understandably disagreed.

"You see what happened was…"

What happened was that on the morning of October 2nd, a student in Malfoy's research course asked him whether he believed that Dr Potter's research was valid. D. Lucius Malfoy was the Chair of the Psychology Department, recipient of many lucrative grants, and in the words of the marketing department, "a great asset to Durmstrang College." All by the age of 35. He was a fastidious man, well-dressed if not well-liked, and had a reputation for being a very hard instructor. He also had a reputation for disliking, intensely, the professor whose office neighbored his own. This being Dr. H. Potter. Potter was also 35, had just attained faculty status after a protracted struggle with his faculty committee (upon which Malfoy sat), was extremely well-liked if not well-dressed, and was currently the only Parapsychologist at Durmstrang College after the retirement of Petunia Dursley. His courses were challenging but interesting. He was a very fair grader.

The student who posited the question, George Weasley, 20, knew exactly what he was doing.

Malfoy, who had been in the process of going over the deplorable state of the bibliographies his students had handed in, was momentarily flummoxed. Papers in hand - Weasley's twin brother, Frederick's, in fact - Malfoy had stared at Weasley as if he had suddenly grown a second head. As Frederick was sitting beside him perhaps it seemed to Malfoy as if he had. "I don't understand how that pertains to our lesson," Malfoy had said with his usual snappishness, buying time. In his defense, Malfoy did not want to castigate the work of a colleague. Even though he personally thought Potter was wasting his life, it was Potter's to waste. He just wished it wasn't at Durmstrang College in the office next to his own.

Their relationship had always been acrimonious. But it had been tacitly acrimonious, never overt. Malfoy had never put a foot out of line. He had been professional in trying to deny Potter's tenure. He was polite at faculty parties. He could even find it in himself to say hello to Potter if they happened to meet outside their offices - although Malfoy had shifted his office hours so they did not coincide with Potter's.

"I think it's a valid question," this from Angelina Johnson, 20, a very promising student who had unfortunately fallen under the sway of the less studious George. Malfoy was certain he would be asked to supply her a reference for graduate school. Before October 2nd he would have extolled her numerous virtues. After the events that followed, he was not certain he could do so.

"I…" It was well-known that Malfoy had strong opinions. Many of which revolved around Potter. The moment he opened his mouth, he knew he was going to say something he would later regret. He couldn't, however, stop the train once it had left the station. "I think that someone thinks it does."

There was a general susurrus amongst the thirty or so students in the course. Malfoy was able to calm them although he had a feeling that he had lost control of the situation somehow. He had been completely honest. Someone thought Potter's research was valid. It just wasn't Malfoy.

When he returned to his office, it was at the head of a line of students who - possibly for the first time in their college careers - had decided to take Malfoy up on his office hours. They did not want to discuss the abysmal quality of their assignments. They wanted to discuss Potter.

Of course, Potter had stepped out of his office. Most of the professors and administrative staff had as something of this magnitude had never happened in the department before. It could have gone another way. Except that Potter was wearing some sort of a shower cap with soldered machinery affixed in such a fashion as to be completely ridiculous. Potter did not seemed to be much fazed by his headgear. "Dr Potter," one of the students said, "is it true that your research has no basis in reality?"

"I did not say that," Malfoy said, trying to be heard over the hubbub. Potter had very expressive eyes, green and open, and they had fallen on Malfoy to the exclusion of all others in the department.

"What did you say, then?" There was a deceptive calmness that fooled Malfoy into thinking that he would walk away unscathed. Potter was a very good-natured person and if he didn't collect data from conspiracy theorists Malfoy would have been pleased to be considered a friend. He laughed often and genuinely. If a colleague needed someone to cover a class, he would. Potter had a doctorate in Psychology with the para added after a number of post-graduate positions. If a student called in the middle of the night and he was home, Potter would talk them through whatever educational quandary they found themselves in. Until he opened his mouth (and probably before he tried to sink Potter's faculty appointment), Malfoy was certain Potter would have come out to change his tire in the pouring rain. He was just that sort of person. Potter had a textbook example of a savior complex.

"I merely stated that your research was valued by a select population of constituents who…"

"Who...what?" Potter's eyes had narrowed.

"...who appreciate your body of work?" It ended on a raised note as Malfoy was certain he had just evaded disaster by … stating nothing.

"So you're saying my research is bullshit."

Malfoy did, indeed, think this. He had somehow backed himself into a yes or no situation. If he said no, he would be lying to himself and ruin his academic credibility. If he said yes, he would be telling the truth and ruin his intercollegial credibility. How was it that the entire department was in today? There wasn't even a department meeting. "Yes."

The room became unnaturally quiet. The sort of quiet that belonged to Fridays after four when all of the student body and most of the department had fled for the weekend. The sort of quiet that Malfoy enjoyed listening to Wagner on his DVD player while grading papers.

The silence only relieved when Potter started moving towards him. Malfoy thought it had finally come to fisticuffs. So he closed his eyes before extending his fisted hand.

"It was more of a walking into my hand sort of thing," H. Potter - Harry to his friends and most colleagues - listened to Malfoy's explanation. He didn't doubt for a moment that the Department Head actually believed it. To tell the truth, Harry didn't even think Malfoy had it in him.

Harry sighed.

The Spectralmeter he had loaned from Stanford had been damaged. His lip stung where Malfoy's fist had broken the skin. And Malfoy had a black eye. He had not meant to hit Malfoy, but the crowd of students had closed up around them and the momentum had brought Harry's fist in very tight proximity to the Department Head's eye. It looked far worse than it was. And, although the ink had dried on his faculty approval, he knew that Malfoy would somehow end up ahead here. He always did.

"So you're saying that you did not throw the first punch?" Dean McGonagall asked in the firm way she had when interrogating students, staff, or faculty. It was accentuated by her clipped Scottish brogue.

"Not exactly."

"Yes or no, Dr Malfoy."

"Y-yes."

"This is simply outrageous. Two faculty members resorting to physical violence in the halls of Durmstrang College." Harry thought it wise not to point out that they had kept it to their offices and not the halls. Not helpful, Harry. He stared at Malfoy through his lashes. Malfoy had very arresting eyes: a blue so pale that they appeared grey. He was certain they were grey and not just a product of his colorblindness.

As Malfoy was the only person he could see in color.

Harry had been born without the ability to see anything but absolutes: black, white, and grey. He suffered from severe achromatopsia, an inherited condition on his father's side. Until fairly recently, the concept of 'blue' or 'orange' were abstract ones. They were simply words without explanation. Harry knew black, white, and grey very well. It was one of the reasons he was fond of old movies and had a black Labrador named Padfoot. And one of the reasons he had followed rather closely the idea that humans had once not known the color blue.

It had been rather startling when he met him for the first time.

Petunia Dursley had been the long time Parapsychologist on staff. She helmed a phantom department consisted of two endowed positions still funded from a generous gift made by an Elphias Doge in 1902. He had been an eccentric and had made his money in spark plugs. During his interview, Dr Dursley had taken him around to meet other members of the Psychology Department where they had been tucked since the 1930s. The College had not known where else to put them. They weren't tied budgetarily to or governed by the Psych department, but they sat with them at graduation and were responsible for three Intro to Psch courses every semester. Most of the department had been lovely. Gentle Flitwick the Developmentalist, a rather owl-eyed Clinical Psychologist named Trelawney, Slughorn the Behaviorist, and a host of other characters. And then Harry was introduced to D. Lucius Malfoy.

It had not gone well.

The blacks and greys and whites had given way to a brilliant - and migraine inducing - rictus of searing color. Or what he assumed was color. Harry thought for a moment that he had stumbled into a rip in the seam of reality and seeing the supernatural spectrum. Or having a schizophrenic episode.

Malfoy's hair was what Harry discovered later was blond. He asked Hagrid, a groundskeeper at Durmstrang, offhandedly: What color do you suppose Malfoy's hair is? It was almost white, but not exactly. His eyes were a color he had never seen before. Grey, but also something else. His brows were darker, matching his lashes. His lips were quite lovely, light but not as light as his skin. Most of this he had ascertained over the years they had known each other. At the time, his entire world had shifted on it's axis. His eyes had filled with tears while his body started shaking.

He stared far too long at Malfoy, drinking in his colors. It was far too much to absorb. Malfoy had given a curt greeting and then stared at Harry as if he were an imbecile. Harry had then excused himself to the restroom. In one of the grey and white stalls, he had broken down in tears.

He had been certain he would not get the job.

However, Petunia Dursley had called right away. "HR will be in touch, but I wanted to let you know that I was very impressed with your reception. Welcome to our Department." It turned out that Petunia completely abhorred Malfoy. She had mistaken Harry's headache for dislike and immediately decided to hire him.

Harry was certain that Malfoy thought he was touched in the head. The shock, the jolt of seeing Malfoy never ceased to startle and delight him. Through the assistance of his best friend (and City Councilwoman), Hermione Granger, he had been able to ascertain that Malfoy's eyes were blue. Not all blues are that shade, but they are blue. His lips were a very light pink (Hermione had blushed furiously after he asked her about them). And his skin was not white. It's sort of a peachy color, she'd tried to explain. Harry reminded her that he had no idea what color a peach was. Well, it's that color, Harry. You should have brought an artist to this thing, she'd then reprimanded while picking at the cheese board. Hermione was his default for faculty related things. She referred to herself as his beard. But am I technically a beard if the person I'm bearding for hasn't been with anyone for five years? And it's 2017?

Unfortunately (fortunately?) she had started a minor flirtation with a gentleman in the mechanical engineering department. Harry thought it was very sweet although Hermione noted once His hair is rather red isn't it? He'd had to remind her that he had no idea what red was. But Harry thought he was a not unattractive and interesting man who always had a magic trick or two up his sleeve.

After Petunia's retirement, it had only gotten worse. Malfoy had been elevated to the Head of the Psychology Department. Harry had become the head - maybe? - of the the Parapsychology branch by dint of his being the only one in his department. The College was dragging its heels on finding a replacement for Petunia. Harry found Malfoy rather amusing, if particular, and had tried to treat him with professional courtesy. He had an infinite well of patience for Malfoy. He was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen in his life. He just couldn't look directly at him.

Malfoy had then been put on Harry's faculty committee. And while he had been warned by Trelawney that the omens were ill for him, he had managed it by the skin of his teeth. Everyone liked Harry Potter. Except Malfoy.

And so he was sitting in one of the stiff-backed chairs in Dean McGonagall's office, eating a stale cookie, and wondering if he needed stitches. He had bled on his shirt, the black spots fanning across his collar and shoulder. "And you?" She had turned to Harry then.

"Although it was not my intention, I take full responsibility for my actions." Malfoy scowled at him and then winced.

"Very well." McGonagall sat across from them, a wide desk separating them, and just stared. "While I should enact an academic penalty on this matter, I am not going to do so." Malfoy visibly relaxed, Harry took in a breath himself. "However, this internecine warfare between the two of you has got to stop. And it stops today. I am thus highly recommending," her voice said ordering, "that the two of you participate in an anger management course. Thankfully, Durmstrang does offer one."

She handed them both a brochure. Last printed in 1983. The student on the cover was wearing a pair of shorts that left little to the imagination. "If you do not attend and complete the course, I will have to seriously consider your relationship with Durmstrang. And I refer to Clause 394." Otherwise known as the silver bullet. Their faculty status made them immune to pretty much anything at Durmstrang, but the Dean had the discretion to terminate their employment if they a case could be argued that they posed a threat to students, faculty, administration, or staff.

And engaging in a fight certainly fulfilled that prerequisite.