Disclaimer: Characters in this story are creative property of JK Rowlings. Any OCs and this plotline are mine, however. The Title of this story, and each chapter are taken from "Already Over" by Red. No copyright infringement is intended in any way, shape or form.

Rating: M for language, some blood, adult situation (including some smut), heavy angst and character death.

Pairings: Harry Potter/ Draco Malfoy; Ron/Hermione (nothing graphic there, though.) Mentions of HP/GW and DM/AG(past)

Inspiration: "Already Over" by Red.

Summary: What if you were given a second chance at life, to do anything you wanted to? Would you take it? When tragedy strikes, Harry is offered just that- a second chance. Hoping to right some wrongs and d things right, he takes it. Only to find there is a catch. A big one. With time running out and fate against him, can he do all he wants with the time he has left? And how will Draco feel when he learns the one man he despised may just be the key to his happiness?

A/N: This turned out to be my NaNo project this year. I personally love this story line. I haven't read one like this so far, so I hope it is unique in that form. It's pretty intense and will remain so throughout the fict. Not much fluff, I'm sorry. If you have read either of my latest ficts -Foolish Games, or Shattered, you will find that Draco in this one is very different than in the other two. Once again, I find him to be a deep character, even more so after seeing interviews and footage from DHPt1. So this will explore another side of both his, and Harry's characters. It is DH compliant, even the epilogue, up to a point.

I will be updating this one once a week. The final three chapters are all that is left to be written. FG and Shattered will be updated once every other week.

I hope you enjoy this whirlwind of a ride.

Fading Slowly

Chapter 1 - You're Always Here Suffocating Me

July 2005

"The term starts September 1st, of course. I ask that you be here no later than August 25th. As you will be taking over Slytherlin's house duties, it is imperative that you be settled completely before the students arrive." Minerva McGonagall's hearty voice floated throughout her office. Draco Malfoy nodded robotically. It wasn't as if he was unaware of Hogwart's stipulations. He had been a student here not too long ago. He mentally rolled his eyes, but remained a respectful silence. Malfoys, no matter how bored they might be, always maintained proper manners.

Sometimes Draco wished he wasn't a Malfoy. He wondered briefly what the Headmistress would do if he called her an old furball. He allowed himself a small smirk before refocusing his attention back on his 'boss.'

"Now, I believe you know most of our professors here. However, we do have one newcomer in addition to yourself. He too is Hogwart's alumni. I know in the past you have not seen eye to eye," she paused and Draco's mind spun. "But I ask that you now practice maturity and work together as professionals. He will be taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position for the year. He'll also be our assistant Quiddich coach."

Draco cringed. There was only one man in all of the Wizarding world that would fit that description. "Shite," he thought harshly. "It's got to be Potter." Unable to stop a sneer from marring his pointy features, he nodded once again.

"Don't worry, Headmistress. Potter and I should be fine, as long as he stays out of my way. After all, we are adults now."

Minerva lifted an eyebrow and smiled grimly. "Exactly. I expect you two to act as such. The war is long over, and our school is striving to promote peace and unity. The professors are essential in setting the right example. I think you will find the attitudes around here vastly improved over when you attended."

"I'm glad to hear it, Headmistress. And thank you for extending this opportunity to me. It is most appreciated," Draco said politely. He pasted on a small smile and stood. Holding out his hand, he waited for Minerva to take it in an obligatory shake. She did so with an answering smile.

"Well, from what I hear, we are quite lucky to have you as Potions Master. I understand you rival your late mentor in your craft." Her eyes briefly dimmed, touching the portrait of the late Professor Snape hanging on the wall. He was watching the interactions with his usual sneer. Draco followed her gaze and dipped his head.

"I'm not sure about that, truly. However, I strive to do my best," he answered in acknowledgement. Minerva turned back to him, releasing his hand and smoothing down her robes.

"That's all I ask, Professor Malfoy. Welcome to Hogwarts. I'll see you in a few weeks."

Draco sank into his chair with a groan. Leaning his head against the back of the chair, he swirled his glass of well aged Firewhisky before lifting it to his lips and taking a sip. He heard his fireplace sputter and closed his eyes.

"Explain to me again how I let you convince me this was a good idea," he said tiredly.

"It will get you out of this depressing place and add a little life back into you," a sweet voice answered. "Besides, you have to admit, you have been rather mopey since the divorce."

Draco rolled his head and opened his eyes. "But Pansy, I don't even like kids. I recall how horrible we all were, and I don't suppose this new generation will be any better."

Pansy sank into a chair and pulled off her gloves. She gave him a short smirk. "This generation isn't too far from our own, you know. You act as if you're an old man. We've barely touched twenty-five," she rolled her eyes at him. "You've lost your spark, love. It's simply depressing to see."

Draco looked around him, his gaze sweeping the entirety of the living room. He had to admit, she was right. He had fallen into a rut. A boring existence filled with nothingness. He'd scream if he had to continue on this road. Perhaps, this change of pace would be good for him, in all reality. Besides, how hard could teaching the little brats not to blow themselves up actually be?

He allowed a small smile to touch his lips. "You will never guess who else has been dragged into this mess of Professor-ship," he said, leaning forward.

Pansy leaned forward as well, her eyes glittering with curiosity. "Two new professors? Must be someone interesting, by the look on your face, dear."

Draco nodded, his smile turning feral. "Oh yes, most interesting. Somehow, McGonagall managed to rope in Potter of all people." He waited for the expected reaction. Pansy's eyes widened and she gave a horrified gasp. Draco only smiled harder. However, the next words out of her mouth were not what he expected.

"That's impossible, Draco." She shook her head as if to confirm her words. "Potter's dead. He can't possibly be teaching."

Draco's pinched features grew dark, his eyes widening in rival of Pansy's own. "What?" he exclaimed.

Pansy sat back quickly. "Or at least missing. Has been for over a year. How could you not know this, Dray? It was in all the papers."

Draco rubbed a hand over his face and then shoved it into his hair. He tugged at the light strains for a second in a very uncharacteristic fashion. He bit his lip and frowned. "Dead or missing, which is it, Pans?"

"Missing, presumed dead. At least that's what Granger said the last time we had tea," she replied.

Again, Draco's expression turned shocked. "Tea? With the Mud… er…Granger?"

Her lips lifting in a comical grin, Pansy gave Draco a look of annoyance. "Yes, Draco. Tea. With Granger. She's not half bad, you know. We work together after all. It's nice to have another woman to talk to once in a while." She waved her hand around, as if to clear the next remark Draco moved to make. "Anyway, the point it, Potter disappeared almost a year ago, and every attempt to find him has come up empty."

Clasping his hands and leaning his chin on them Draco scowled. "Perhaps the bloody Boy-Who-Lived decided to run away. Maybe he doesn't want to be found."

Pansy gave him a look that said he was just this side of insane. "Have you forgotten Potter is the epitome of Gryffindor loyalty and goodness? He wouldn't do that to his friends; he hasn't a selfish bone in his body."

Draco shrugged. He thought about all the things Harry had done over the years, especially during the final battle. No, Potter could be very Slytherlin, in fact, when the situation called for it. He smirked knowingly.

"Well," he said, "I guess we are about to find out, are we not?"

Pansy returned his look. "It appears so." She stood, brushing her hand across her skirt and retrieving her gloves. "Well, I'm off. There is a luncheon at the Palace today, and I'm part of the delegation selected to represent."

Draco yawned. "Sounds tedious," he responded.

Playfully smacking his arm, Pansy stuck out her tongue. "Yes, yes. Not all of us mind playing nice once in awhile." She took a few steps towards the floo. "Draco, do try to get out this weekend. Go to a club or something."

Draco waved his hand at her non-committally. "If I feel the need for such atrocious company, I will floo you, dear," he taunted. Pansy looked horrified before shaking her head.

"Ta, darling. Try not to kill your staff, alright?" she shot back before stepping into the floo. With a rushing noise and burst of green flame, the witch was gone, her laughter echoing after her.

Draco sat there a moment longer, pondering the reasons he allowed such a woman to have so much sway in his life. True, they had been friends since childhood, a relationship that had obviously stood the test of time. Pansy had been with him through thick and thin, taking his side when he had separated himself from his father's death grip. She had seen him at his lowest, or near that.

He shivered slightly, recalling the night of Dumbledore's death. That certainly was his lowest point. Not, he reflected, because of his failure to complete the act, but for even considering it in the first place. He had been so starved for a place to belong, for acknowledgement from the hard man he called "Father," that he willing compromised his own principles, bending his will to that of an even bigger coward.

For Voldemort could not be considered anything less. A maniacal, deranged coward. Hiding behind out-dated ideals and using a silver like tongue to whip his followers into a frenzy, he sought revenge on a child more than half his age for decimating his body out of sheer luck. The entirety of the plot was ludicrous and spoke of an idiocy not seen before or since. At least Grindelwald had some sort of purpose, beyond assassinating little boys.

Draco sighed. Life after the war hadn't been what he had thought. Married almost directly after graduation from Hogwarts, to a witch a few years younger and just as stuck-up as he used to be, all for the sake of family and propriety, was not all it was cracked up to be. The tension between the two was easy to see from the beginning. They had relatively nothing in common, unless their 'blood purity' could be counted. Personally, Draco had lost his taste for the word, and subsequently his interest in maintaining the attitude that came thus.

Old habits die hard however, and Draco, after a rather distressful lecture from his broken mother, caved into her demands. Allowing himself to be tethered to Astoria Greengrass was hell, pure and simple. A waspish woman with an angelic face, she was just as good at acting her part in public as she was denying it in private. It wasn't long before Draco found himself frustrated with his situation.

The monumental problem arose when the disastrous couple was informed of their requirement to produce the next Malfoy heir. Neither were keen on performing the act with each other. Draco for one, did not find Astoria comely in the least, while his wife had long since sought attentions elsewhere. The argument that ensued as a result was catastrophic for both their marriage and their residence.

Astoria, having undeniable murderous intentions, and more than a few marbles loose, was declared mental, and promptly installed as an inpatient at St Mungo's long term care ward. Last he had heard, she was neighbors to Neville Longbottom's mum and dad. Draco filed for divorce the next day.

Ironically, he almost felt sorry for her. He understood the pressure being considered a pure blood brought, the rules and endless expectations parents either knowingly or inadvertently placed upon their children. As the Malfoy heir, he was of no exception. And he had suffered under such social conformities.

Which brought him back around to his sixth year, and the task that was set before him. Later, much later, he discovered that Voldemort had hoped for his failure, anticipating the complete crushing weight of Draco's guilt to overwhelm the boy, rendering him that much more pliable in the Dark Lord's hands. He was simply a means to an end, specifically Lucius' end. If he succeeded, well that was certainly a plus.

What Voldemort had not foreseen was the loyalty and care Draco's godfather felt towards him. Severus Snape became the young Malfoy's saving grace, finishing the job, and facilitating his escape from Hogwarts that night. They had not counted on Harry Potter's mad dash after them, his rage and distress whipping around him in a palatable display. Draco had never seen anything quite like the fire Harry held inside him. It had terrified, intrigued and attracted him.

Walking towards the balcony window, he stood, gazing down into the garden his mother had so lovingly tended. He shook his head at the direction his thoughts had taken him. He was ultimately glad Harry's anger was directed at Snape that night. While untrained, Harry was still a force to be reckoned with. Somehow, their group of ragtag Death Eaters managed to escape, Snape taking the brunt of the boy's grief stricken rage. Severus, thereafter, refused to speak of that night. There was a grave sadness, however, that filled the harsh man's eyes.

Understanding dawned on Draco during the final battle, when Harry once again saved his pretty pale skin. The haunted look in those lovely green orbs spoke of a boy who had grown up far too fast, and was charged with the task of becoming a killer. Not unlike Draco himself. A sense of camaraderie filled Draco as he clung to Harry's back on the whizzing broom high above the dangerous fiendfyre.

He may not like the heroic Gryffindor, but he held a grudging respect for him. Standing in the relative safety of Hogwarts, he observed the fierce battle waged around him, saw those he knew well fall to their bloody deaths, some warranted, others not. A shock rolled over him when his eyes lit on the bloodied body of Harry Potter in the arms of that oaf Hagrid. The giant was actually crying. It should have been ridiculous.

It was heartbreaking instead.

Draco realized then that he put as much stock in Harry's victory as everyone else on the 'light side' did. The idea of Harry's defeat was insurmountable, completely unfathomable. Therefore, he felt nothing short of blissful relief when the proud boy showed up soon after, alive and determined to finish his task.

And finish he did. Brilliantly so. The bright flashes of light given off by two of the strongest wizards of their time were nothing compared to the passion radiating from his eyes. If looks could kill…Shaking his head, Draco smiled slightly.

Another realization came swiftly on the heels of victory. From the sidelines, in the direct aftermath of the battle, Draco had observed the Savior's reactions to everything surrounding him. He saw how his smile waned, his eyes dark and pained. The droop of his shoulders, as if he felt each death that had been committed that dark day personally. Even though his job was done, Harry Potter could not find peace.

But he strove to, for the sake of the others around him. It was this, and not the hero complex Draco had taunted him about so often, that brought Harry to the trials of his school days enemy. To say that Draco was surprised to see Harry there would be an understatement. And to hear his testimony, something that could have been damning, had he been a lesser man, it shattered a few shards of Draco's mirror-like depiction of the Golden Boy.

Still, he clung to the idea that Harry was spoiled and rather arrogant in his own way. It helped him feel justified when he did not offer his thanks later, after he and his mother had been cleared of all charges brought against them. He knew his mother had given her apologies and gratitude. But he had stubbornly refused to even look at Harry in a friendly manner. A quick nod and sneer was all he could afford.

If it bothered the young man, he did not show it. Which only served to fuel Draco's half cocked ideas of Potter's real self. Once again, he found himself shocked to his core.

Severus Snape, his beloved godfather, a brave and dangerous man, had been awarded the Order of Merlin for his efforts in the war. This was due almost solely to the demands made by the student who had hated him the most. Perhaps, Draco now reflected with a slight smile, Potter was a saint after all. No human could possibly put aside so much animosity, such long devoted hatred to obtain something so high as an award for their enemy. Especially considering what Snape's own behaviors had been towards Harry.

Sure, the snarky man was dead when all was said and done. But in this case, it was most obviously the thought that counted. And Harry's thoughts had counted for a lot. Again, Draco could only presume some things, having not actually talked to Harry about any of the events following their final departure from Hogwarts.

Last he had heard of the man, Harry was well on his way to making Head Auror. The papers both sang and criticized his actions, calling him an unfailingly noble, but deadly harsh man. It appeared the war had left more than its fair share of scars on the goody goody Gryffindor. His ruthlessness on cases had become somewhat legendary, and controversial. Especially after the Mclain case.

Draco shivered, and picked up his cup of coffee. His eyes glanced over the paper laying on the table.

That had been months ago. How could he have missed the disappearance of the Bloody Man Who Conquered? Surely the papers had reported it. Had he been so wrapped up in his own drama that he had failed to see what was happening right outside his own front door? Sighing, he knew he had.

"Pansy's right, damn her," he said with a self deprecating laugh. This new job would be good for him, in all its oddity. And perhaps, he just might figure out the mystery that was once again a man named Harry Potter.

The next few weeks flew by as Draco prepared himself for the daunting task of returning to Hogwarts. Professorship or no, the castle held memories that were both painful and bittersweet. Returning there brought them home. Taking over his godfather's place as the Head of the House of Slytherin, which had remained vacant since the man's death; it seemed like such an honor. And yet, staring up at the castle on the evening of August 24th, he could honestly say his heart broke just a bit.

Steeling his nerves and strengthening his impenetrable mask, a trademark sneer angled his lips, his eyes glinting a hard silver. His emotions were not welcome in this situation, and would remained locked away. He had a task to do, and unlike other times, he would not fail it. His name, reputation and even his self worth relied on his success.

Not to mention the moldable little minds he would soon impart his knowledge to. He snorted. How parents would react to the news of his position, he certainly had to wonder about. "Reformed Death Eater Teaches Next Generation." Oh he could see the headlines now.

Although…if what Pansy said was true, and Potter was actually missing, only to turn up here as a Professor, his moment in the spotlight would be severely minimized.

Pity, that.

Adjusting his satchel strap on his shoulder, he passed through the main gates, their dark iron design still as awe-inspiring and intimidating as the last time he had passed through them. Although, the proud stone statues had been replaced, he noted offhandedly. Reconstruction of Hogwarts had only been completed the winter before, the castle having taken heavy damage. He kept his eyes on the looming forms of the towers as he made his way to the front steps. Memories of the burning rubble and screaming cries filled the air. He had to blink several times, trying to dissipate the ghostly figures of his classmates and professors battling against domineering black fiends.

Trudging up the front steps, he could almost make out the bloodied prone bodies scattered along the stony courtyards. He carefully picked his way around the pools of darkening blood he saw, his face turning an unattractive green. His heart hammered an erratic tattoo in his chest and he could feel the cold trails sweat had begun to leave beneath his light summer robes. His hand clenched around his wand, the trembling of his hand quite noticeable. His eyes scanned the area quickly as he hurriedly made his way to the tall carved steps.

He had almost succeeded in stumbling to the first step, his mind working overtime in a panicked state, when the deep sound of a throat being cleared caused him to come to a halt. His eyes, wild and flashing shot up to the dark figure on the top of the steps. Glowing green eyes, unfettered by glasses, met his. A smirk crossed the full lips of the man before him, his arms folded across his broad chest.

"So, it's true," his deep voice called out, sending more than one type of shiver over Draco's skin.

"Draco Malfoy has come back to Hogwarts."

The words, clear and challenging, reminded Draco sharply of his own statements along those lines so many years before. He stood there, looking up at his old school nemesis, much as Harry had been looking up at him. Even in his chaotic state, the irony was not lost on him.

His lips pulled back into a feral snarl, his eyes still held by those green orbs. Harry met him stare for stare, seemingly enjoying the challenge he presented. His hand, which had raised his wand at the sound of Harry's comment, dropped to his side. Quickly, he ascended the stairs, thankful for the break in his panic attack. He paused for but a moment, his glare deepening. Harry appeared unfazed.

"Potter," he bit out. "Sure you can handle being here without all your adoring fans?"

Harry's smirk grew until he threw back his dark unruly head in a laugh. His sun kissed neck stretched gracefully as he indulged in his merriment. The sound vibrated around them, bouncing off the walls of the great archway. Draco stood, confused and not more than a little irritated. His fist clenched around his wand, his knuckles white.

Then, as quickly as he had started, Harry snapped his mouth shut, his lips forming a firm line as his eyes darkened dangerously. "From the looks of it, Malfoy, you seem to be the one out of his league here," he said. "Fair warning: McGonagall wants us to play nice, and I'm willing to pretend. So stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours. And we won't have any problems. Yeah?"

Draco, frozen in shock at the change in the man before him, said nothing at first. Finally, his eyes narrowed and he shoved past Harry, his shoulder hitting the other man's hard. "If anyone starts any trouble, Potter, it won't be me. Just remember- we aren't little kids any more," he warned.

Harry's smirk was back with a vengeance, accompanied by a look that make Draco's skin crawl. His eyes tore over Draco's lithe body, his white teeth flashing from behind his lips. He looked rather predatory. "No, Malfoy. I won't soon forget that." He licked his lips then spun on his heel. "Headmistress expects you in her office," he called over his shoulder, heading back down the entryway corridor.

Draco watched him go, his Muggle attire doing nothing to detract from his overall presence. Stunned, he felt as though a gauntlet had been thrown, and he had lost the first round. Thrown off his guard, he realized that this Harry was nothing like what he had expected. The man who had just … checked him out?

No, that couldn't be right. The ex-Gryffindor Golden Boy was just that-golden. The idea that he might be playing for his own team seemed too far fetched, even in Draco's eyes. He had to admit, the years had been incredibly kind to the dark haired man. His body, encased in his denims and button up shirt, looked well toned, with just the right kind of muscles in the right kind of places. His arse, which Draco had not been looking at, was perfect, his legs long, giving him a grace that he had never had during their school years. His hair had grown longer, the waves still giving him that just shagged look, framing his masculine face just so.

Draco shook his head harshly. It would do him no good at all to even grant the slighted bit of leeway into those thoughts. Harry had plainly made it clear there was nothing remotely friendly between them. And that was the way it would stay. His shoulders set in determination, Draco began his journey to McGonagall's office. He made it about halfway there when the witch herself met him. She gave him a small smile, adding wrinkles to her already wizened face. She had aged somewhat dramatically since the war. Draco supposed they all had in some ways.

"I see Potter found you," she said. Draco dipped his head. "Good. Now please follow me, I will lead you to your rooms." She turned away, heading toward the dungeons. Draco followed with a roll of his eyes. He had spent the latter part of his childhood and teenage years in this part of the castle and knew it like the back of his fine pale hand. He smirked. There probably wasn't a soul alive who knew them better.

The cold bite in the air that flowed around them as they walked along was a welcome relief to the blond. Here…this was home. He had heard Potter describe the school as his home once, and thought him emotional and idiotic. But, as they stopped before the portrait hiding the door to his quarters, his lips slipped into a small smile.

"Your quarters are right through there, although, I suppose you know that. Once inside, it would be wise of you to set your password. The rest of your belongings have already been brought up by the elves. Settle in, and I will see you at dinner," McGonagall said.

Draco nodded politely, waiting until she had walked away before looking up at the portrait. "We haven't seen you around here lately, little Master. Your godfather was the last to darken my doors," the dark wizard said with a slight bow. Draco's nostrils flared as he smirked.

" Falco. I should hope so. He was the only the real Potions Master in our time. Slughorn was a bumbling fool," he replied.

The portrait laughed heartedly. He nodded. "No arguments from me." Then he cocked his head to the side. "I've heard that you are sharing the lamplight as the novelties around here."

Draco's lips pulled back in an unkind snarl. "Potter. Yes, it seems I'm doomed to be left in his dust yet again."

Flaco gave Draco a strange look. "Trust me, I think that is the least of his worries right now." Then he snapped his mouth shut and swung open the door. "Just call out your password before you leave, yeah? I'll set it then."

Thrown off by the odd words and abrupt change of topic, Draco nodded, briskly entering his chambers. He looked around for a moment, lost in the memories of tea times spent with his godfather. It was with a sigh of relief when he saw that none of Severus personal effects were still inhabiting the softly lit room. He wasn't sure he could stand the sight of the older man's favorite goblet sitting upon the old end tables, or his dressing robe hanging over the end of the bed.

With a flourish of his wand, his satchel began unpacking. He sat down on the bed, watching his hands shake for a moment. It sickened him to think how badly coming back here was affecting him. How much more Gryffindor could he get? He shook his blond head with a dark chuckle.

The clock on the fireplace mantel in the living room chimed, and he realized he had better get to the Great Hall if he wanted to be on time for dinner. Not that he was hungry, or even particularly thrilled about being there. But courtesy demanded it. And he felt the tiniest bit of curiosity. Potter would no doubt be there. At least he would have some sort of entertainment, if nothing else.

The Great Hall lacked the sheer roaring of young voices. It had an almost empty feel to it, considering it held only a handful of adults. The long Head Table was arranged in a semi circle, allowing for the flow of conversations to take place uniformly. Draco hesitated for a moment, scanning the faces present. McGonagall had mentioned there were several he already knew. From his position in the entryway, he could make out, among the unfamiliar faces, the forms of Hagrid the great oaf, the small Charms Professor Flitwick, and Professor Sprout, her rotund body seemingly wider than when he had last seen her. They were all engaged in conversation with Neville Longbottom.

Draco had to pause. Longbottom? The disastrously idiotic Longbottom was a Professor here? He shook his head in surprise. He really had lost touch. Either that, of McGonagall was completely daft. Currently, he wasn't sure which was the more likely excuse.

He wandered closer to the table, noting right off the obvious absence of Potter. He scoffed. Of course Potter would feel he was too good for the time constricted rules.

Sashaying past the rest of the Professors, he sat gracefully in a seat just to the right of McGonagall. She dipped her head with an acknowledging nod and a slight smile. "I trust your accommodations are to your liking?" she inquired.

Draco placed a few items on his plate before returning her nod. "Yes, of course." He returned his attention to his plate, eating politely, while watching the entryway for any sign of Potter. Conversations ebbed and flowed around him, touching his ears, but not really sinking in. He chewed distractedly until he heard his name called. Eyes snapping into focus, he turned his head toward Longbottom and Sprout.

"Pardon?" he asked, resisting the urge to glare. He knew he need to play nice, not only with Potter, but with the rest of his colleagues, despite their constant nonsensical dribble.

Longbottom's eyes held his a moment before skittering away. Like most of his year mates, he too had grown up quickly, taking his place in the war. Surprisingly, Longbottom had proved himself to be formidable and brave, the cowering stammering little boy gone in the face of true evil. Draco had heard tales that it was the inept Gryffindor who had decapitated Voldemort's vicious snake after she delivered her killing blow to his godfather. In some ways, he was a bit grateful, and jealous. He would have liked to rip the snake asunder himself.

Yet, he had done nothing, really. Cowered in the castle, safe while the people he had bullied and berated showed more spine than any he had seen before. And it wasn't just the Gryffindors. No, even useless Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws like Looney Luna had shown their mettle. When it came down to it, they had proved they were the true heroes of the war.

He mentally shook his head, bring himself back to the present. Coming back here was serving to be one long trip down memory lane.

"I simply said hello, Malfoy," Longbottom repeated, redirecting his gaze to Draco's, his eyes not faltering for a minute. Here they were on common ground. And Draco could see that the man was not about to be intimidated again by the blond.

So he inclined his head. "Hello, Longbottom," he replied. "I was unaware you were a Professor here." He flashed a glance over to the Headmistress, communicating his annoyance at this tidbit being left out. She, however, was completely unimpressed.

Longbottom flushed slightly, then smiled. "Yeah, took the apprenticeship with Professor Sprout here two years ago. I'm teaching her first through third years."

Draco nodded absently. He really couldn't care less. "That's nice," he intoned, taking a bite of his bread. He was caught off guard when the younger man leaned towards him. He sat back a bit, a frown sitting on his peaked brow.

"Have you seen Harry yet?" Longbottom asked lowly.

Draco dropped his bread rather quickly and frowned. "I have. He escorted me into the castle when I arrived. I must say, I was a bit surprised. I've heard he was missing."

Longbottom's eyes shuttered, his face suddenly slightly paler. "Y-yes. Something like that," he mumbled, then quickly turned back to Sprout.

Draco's frown grew deeper, his brow lined. What in the bloody hell was that all about?

The rest of dinner was silent for Draco. No one tried to engage him in conversation, and he made no attempts to rectify the situation. Quietly, he rose, throwing down his napkin. Nodding to those still lingering, he made his way out of the Great Hall and into the corridor. He paused there, wondering if he should simply head back to his chamber, or take a tour of the newly refurbished castle. Internally, he tangled with his curiosity, glancing down the empty halls.

A sudden cry and thud stole the decision out from underneath him. Quickly, he spun on his heel, wandering down the hall in the direction of the noise. He stopped sharply when he caught sight of a mop of unruly black hair and the toned body it belonged to, leaning against the wall. Potter stood there, his arm wrapped around his middle, his sun kissed skin paling. Even in the torchlight, Draco could see a light film of sweat shining on his skin. Potter's eyes were closed, his breathing a bit labored as if he had been running. His other hand raised, trembling as he shoved it through his mass of curls. A groan came from his lips.

Draco had no idea what to do. On the one hand, it would be all too easy to simply turn away, or better yet, deliver a scalding comment about Potter's weakness. It was almost expected of him, considering their history.

And yet, Longbottom's pinched expression when they had spoke of the man at dinner made him rethink things. There was something strange afoot, something to do with Potter's disappearance and his current position, Draco was sure. Besides, he had agreed to play nice.

So brushing his hair out of his eyes, he walked haughtily over to Potter's gasping form. His foot scraped across the stones, the sound echoing loudly down the hall. Potter's incredibly green eyes shot open and his was suddenly pinned with a deeply pained expression.

Harry jerked his body upwards, straightening his spine swiftly. His hands dropped down to his side and he sneered. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he snarled.

Draco almost took a step back, hearing the panicked, almost animalistic tone in Harry's voice. Then, his lip curled upwards into a smirk. "I thought I heard an animal of some sort sneaking around. Turns out I was right."

If his statement had any effect on the still shaking man before him, Harry didn't show it. Instead, he drew himself up, pushing away from the wall with a shake of his head.

"Whatever, Malfoy. Just stay out of my way," he growled.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Gladly, Potter. But you are in mine right now. Pretty brave of you to enter Slytherin territory, isn't it?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "As you so graciously reminded me earlier, we aren't students anymore. Don't you think that line is a little old? I was sure you could do better. You've had several years to think up new material after all."

Draco's face grew red with anger, making his pointy features stand out that much more. His silver eyes heated to twin pools of liquid steel. "And just what are you implying, Potter?" he ground out through his clenched teeth.

Harry shrugged. "I'm implying nothing, Malfoy. Only making an observation. After all, it must have been nice to not have any responsibilities for so long. Nothing to do but lounge around your house and play the spoiled little prat you always have been."

Draco's wand was out and directed at Harry's throat instantly. "You know nothing of me, Potter. Nor of my life. Don't you dare pretend to."

Harry batted his hand away. "You're right, Malfoy. I don't. Let's keep it that way, yeah?" He turned, and began to walk away. His arm snaked back around his middle as he clutched at the fabric of his shirt. Draco could see his shoulders tense as he moved slowly, much too slowly, the opposite direction.

Once again, Draco was left, feeling he was playing a game he didn't know the rules to. His hand dropped down to the side, his eyes narrowing on the swaying body of his rival. Despite it all, he knew something wasn't right here. However, he couldn't bring himself to care enough to make pursuit. It wasn't his business after all.

"Stupid prat," he mumbled, heading off down the halls to the dungeons.

Draco didn't see Harry again for the rest of August. The man was either in hiding, or simply very good at avoiding all human contact. Despite the requirements that the Professors congregate in the Hall for dinner, Harry was continuously absent. If anyone noticed, they gave no indication. That and the strange looks Longbottom sometimes shot him, brought Draco's irritation to a peak. It was like their school days all over again. Potter got away with whatever he wanted, while the rest of them simply looked the other way.

Well, that may be fine for your everyday Joe. But for Draco, who had been squeezed and pressed into a mould of refinement and decorum, this lack of propriety rankled his sensibilities. If the rest of the staff had to be present for meals, Harry would be too.

By the end of his first week at Hogwarts, Draco had taken to roaming the halls in his spare time He told himself it was simply to relearn the lay of the land. But, in the very deepest part of his mind, he knew he was itching for another fight with the green eyed Savior.

There was something about Harry that could illicit the deepest of emotions in the blond, whether it be anger when he was shown up, or pride at besting him. Even in all the mess that was his marriage, his wife could not draw out such reactions. It infuriated him, that after all this time, he was not as immune to Harry sodden Potter as he should be. He was a Malfoy, a fact he had to keep reminding himself regularly lately. He had made a promise to himself, and he was in a good way of breaking it, he thought as he looked over at the empty chair on the left hand side of McGonagall.

His hand clenched around the stem of his wine goblet, the liquid delivering a slight burn to his throat as he drank it. The temptation to demand the reasons behind Harry's absences was great. So great that he found himself physically biting his tongue to curb the desire. His goblet slammed down on the table top with more force than he intended, drawing all eyes at the Head Table to him.

Lifting his head in a haughty manner, he moved to stand, intending to stride from the room with the surest of steps. His chair scraped across the stone floor, a loud screech sounding throughout the room. "Excuse me," he said, irritation lacing his voice. McGonagall's look was searching, but she said nothing, only nodding the briefest of nods. He didn't return it. For once he was in no mood to pretend pleasantries. He whirled around, only to bump chest to side into Potter. Potter angled a bit to the side, grabbing Draco's arm to keep them both balanced.

They stood there for a split second, Draco looking up at Harry with eyes that were wide in surprise. Harry's were strangely empty, the green so dark they were almost black. "You really should watch where you're going, Malfoy," Harry said.

Draco felt a shiver travel throughout his body, his eyes still locked on Harry's. Harry looked away, releasing his arm as he took a step back. His gaze drifted over to the Headmistress, an unspoken message traveling between them. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and nodded to the rest of the staff.

"I'll just be going then. See you all in the morning," he said, his tone as emotionless as his eyes. Draco watched as he fled the room, waiting for only a moment before hurrying after him. It was about time the bloody git had a dressing down. And Draco was more than happy to deliver it.

The huge wooden doors swung open as he moved rapidly down the middle of the tables and out into the corridor. There he paused, looking around for the tale-tell black head. His heart hammered in anticipation of their fight, his hand already moving towards his wand.

He was to be disappointed, however. The hallway was empty, not a single sign of his prey anywhere. "Potter," he called, resorting to something he usually found to be barbaric. "I know you're still here. I have something I'd like to say to you." His voice traveled along the stone walls, echoing mockingly as no answer was forth coming. Frustrated, he yelled out again "Potter! Come out, you sodding coward." He knew it was a taunt that he would respond to. Harry hated being called a coward, it went against his Gryffindor grain.

He heard the shuffling of feet not more than a hundred feet away from him and smiled. Oh yes. He still knew how to get under his skin. His eyes scanned the dimly lit areas, waiting for the attack, verbal or magical that was sure to come. And waited…and waited. His ears strained for any sound that Harry was still there, finally zeroing in on the hiss of his breathing.

He advanced, ready to hurl another insult, anything to get a reaction from the once Golden Boy. His foot slipped slightly in something on the floor. With a quick scramble, he moved back, looking down. A dark puddle reflected the fiery torches lining the walls. The black liquid glowed with crimson highlights.

Blood. And from the looks of it, a fair amount had been spilt. His stomach turned sharply, his face a bit green.

"Potter?" he called once more. For the deep life force could have only come from one person. "Potter," he yelled a little louder. Silence was the only thing answering him. He gingerly stepped round the puddle, noticing the small drops that followed. Heading in the direction he had last head Harry's hiss of breath, his inclination to fight was suddenly forgotten. His footsteps echoed along the floor, his breathing harsh. He muttered a quick Lumos, waving his wand around to dispel the shadows. He found them to be empty. Frowning with annoyance, and perhaps a small amount of worry, he reached out his hand.

"Stop," he heard a whisper right beside him. He froze, his eyes suddenly wide with fear. A hand clamped down on his shoulder and he spun around, the lighted tip of his wand directly in the face of one Neville Longbottom.

The young man's face was drawn into a tightly formed frown, making him look years older. Draco jerked away, wrenching his shoulder out of Longbottom's hold.

"What in the bloody hell was that?" he yelled, furious. Longbottom cast him a quick look before training his eyes on the trail of blood. As quickly as he was there, he was walking away, following Harry's blood.

"Wait," Draco cried, his long legs keeping in stride with Longbottom's. "What's going on?"

Neville threw him a dark look. "Sod off Malfoy, this doesn't concern you," he replied.

Draco came to a halt. He was right. What in the world was he thinking, acting like he actually wanted to know what was wrong with Potter? A smirk marred his face and he backpedaled. "So you've become Potter's nursemaid, have you? Figures. Bloody pair of ponces." Neville said nothing, instead walking farther ahead. Draco whirled around, ready to flounce off.

He had made it a few steps away when he heard Neville's low voice. He paused, listening.

"Harry? Harry, are you there?"

There was a hissing sound again, causing Draco to melt into the shadows, his eyes glued to Longbottom's back and the area around him. He had to wonder if Harry was speaking in parseltounge. Mind warring again, he reasoned that he wasn't a Slytherin for nothing. They knew a thing or two about sneaking around. His sixth year had proven that aptly. And wasn't it a good thing to know as much as you could about your enemy? Potter's weaknesses could only serve to give Draco the upper hand.

It had nothing to do with that little piercing feeling of worry striking his chest. Malfoys most certainly didn't worry about anyone who wasn't their own. And Potter was by no means a Malfoy, or a friend. No, this was purely for selfish reasons.

Satisfied that he had managed to quell the pang in his chest, he quieted his breathing, intent on eavesdropping on the two ex-Gryffindors.

"Harry?" Neville called again.

"I'm here, Nev," came the quiet reply. Draco growled in his throat. So the stupid man had been there the whole time! He was merely ignoring Draco.

"What did you do, Harry? All the blood; it's happened again, hasn't it?" Neville asked, the concern apparent in his tone.

Draco raised a brow. Again? He remained silent as Neville took a few steps forward, his hand reaching out in front of him. He heard a wet cough and then the sound of something being spat on the floor. He grimaced. Merlin, what manners.

"I'll be okay, Nev. Just get me out of here," Harry said. He sounded exhausted, his tone horribly raspy.

"Harry, you promised you wouldn't," Neville admonished.

Harry let out a wet sigh. "I know," he replied.

"You know it will only shorten…"

"I know!" Harry said harshly, his voice sharp. "Don't you think I don't know that? I didn't mean to. It's reflexive."

"But…" Neville began.

"No."

"There's that potion…"

"I said no. Just…please Nev. Just help me get back to my rooms, alright," Harry's voice had dropped off to a whisper and Draco saw the flash of a pale thin hand. It looked almost transparent. His eyes narrowed. It was quite a contrast compared to earlier that evening.

Neville took a deep breath and disappeared into the dark shadows surrounding Harry. "Alright, Harry. Alright." He sounded so defeated, and Draco knew instantly this wasn't something new to him; they had had this discussion before. Curiosity was gnawing at his belly. He shifted slightly, determined to pursue the duo.

A flash of light and the white hot pain of a Stinging hex whipped through his body. He froze, his body trembling slightly.

"I thought I told you to sod off, Malfoy," Longbottom called out from the darkness. "I meant it. Get on with you. Now."

Draco had never heard Neville sound like that, so deadly serious, and in his shock, he stepped backwards, tripping in his haste to get away. He stumbled, spinning ungracefully on his heels before taking off in the opposite direction. His legs shook a bit from the nettle-like stings still rippling over his nerve endings. It wasn't until he was safe inside his own chambers, did he realize he had obeyed the command of Longbottom, the witless wonder.

Oh how far the mighty had fallen.