Better Than Our Yesterday

by germankitty aka Dagmar Buse

It starts at the end. Right after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry asks Draco to help him retrieve Snape's body. But the man isn't as dead as they thought - and how do they all end up back at Hogwarts together? H/D relationship, EWE

A/N: Written for the HDS_Beltane Fic Exchange 2014 on LiveJournal, to a prompt by Twistedm. Regarding some details witin the story: Firstly, the location of Spinner's End was taken (with permission) from Wemyss' meta essay over at FictionAlley. Secondly, the name for Minerva's school was coined in a hd_writers chat by Tryslora; many thanks to her and the community!

Last, but not least, the legalities: Not mine. I'm just playing in the HP sandbox; all toys still belong to their original creator(s)/owner(s). I promise to use them gently and put them back where they belong once I'm done with them. Any readers - please pass by the feedback box on your way out?

Better Than Our Yesterday

We can have a better Tomorrow only if our Today is better than our Yesterday. (quote by 'Unknown')

1.Yesterday is dead and gone

(from Help Me Make It Through the Night by Kris Kristofferson)

Although he didn't know it at the time, Draco Malfoy's Tomorrow began on a Thursday.

In the grand scheme of things, the day of the week was completely irrelevant; so was the actual date – May 2, 1998. What was slightly more significant – or at least fitting – was the fact that it was just a day after Beltane, which according to the Pureblood traditions Draco had grown up with, signified new growth for the land and its inhabitants. Draco vowed silently that from this day onward, it was going to mean a time of rebirth, of new beginnings for himself. The Dark Lord – no, Voldemort – was gone, and with him all the strictures, prohibitions and expectations that had been heaped upon him, his family and friends.

Yesterday, there had been no observation of any of the rituals his family, along with most other Purebloods they knew, usually performed this time of year. Voldemort had scoffed at many traditions, dismissing them as obsolete and mere superstition – and that right there should've told all of them something, really, Draco thought. And while there hadn't been a purifying bonfire to celebrate the festival during the past two years from hell, surely having come alive out of Fiendfyre counted? He decided then and there that, for him at least, it did.

And it was all due to sodding bloody Potter.

A year ago, the thought would've made him sneer; today, all he could feel was gratitude and overwhelming relief that the nightmare was finally behind them. And if the murmurings he could hear around the Great Hall could be believed, for good this time.

Bloody, victorious Potter.

Draco half-heartedly tried summoning the old feelings of resentment towards the Gryffindor, but couldn't even muster a smidgen of energy towards that goal, he was that exhausted. What mattered was that he was alive, so were his parents, and Voldemort wasn't. Neither was his mad aunt, thanks to Molly Weasley. And who would've thought that Draco would ever be thankful to a member of that family?

Oh, sod it. Who cares, anyway?

Certainly not Draco. He just was glad to be alive. All he could care about today was that his family was safe. He was done with the bad Yesterday, he lived, and right now, today, that was enough.

Wearily, Draco raised his head from where it rested on his mother's shoulder and ventured to look around. He was hampered a little by the death grip Narcissa still had on his hand, but if he turned just so, he still had a pretty good vantage point to observe their surroundings.

The Great Hall, where all the survivors – friend and foe alike – were gathered in the aftermath of Potter's final encounter with the Dark Lord, had lost its splendor; the magics reflecting the sky outside had ceased to function, windows were broken, there was rubble and debris wherever he looked, and at the far wall lay row upon row of wounded … and dead. Draco shied away from the thought, aware that many of the bodies were not faceless strangers, but people he'd actually known – schoolmates, teachers, Hogsmeade villagers … even some of his friends.

The house-elves had set food on the tables, but he wasn't hungry … even though it had been quite some time since his last meal. Some people dug in as if eating would go out of fashion soon, others were nibbling half-heartedly at morsels held in listless, tired hands, and not a few seemed to feel like him – too exhausted and numb to even think about replenishing their energy.

Draco couldn't help wondering if the latter group acted out of defeat … or maybe grief.

Probably a more or less even mix of both.

Shying away from that particular train of thought for the moment, he let his eyes wander some more. The teachers were scattered around, McGonagall was talking to a group of people in scarlet and lime-green uniforms – Aurors and Healers. Families huddled together, friends held each other up, and in a far corner, half-hidden from view, he caught a glimpse of sleek, dark hair tucked against a broad shoulder and café au lait skin … Blaise and Pansy. Draco felt briefly relieved that they'd made it, but more than that was out of the question.

He couldn't deal with others right now. Later, he would; maybe even as soon as tomorrow, but for now it was all he could do to be grateful that his father, his mother and himself had walked into Hell and come out on the other side more or less intact.

Defeated, yes; but alive. Nothing else counts.

He shifted in his seat, trying to see more. Fleetingly, he noted that It was passing strange to be sitting on one of the familiar benches at what used to be the Slytherin table; there was a noticeable space around them, separating the three of them and a few others from the rest of the people sharing the benches. Here and there, someone came up to exchange a quiet word with someone, but really very few people were milling around; mainly it was just Madam Pomfrey and her helpers who tended quietly to those in immediate need. Almost everyone, winners and losers, were sitting quietly, looking just as exhausted as Draco felt.

With good reason. We've all been through a war.

Next to him, Draco heard his parents murmur softly to each other; he was too weary to listen in, but a few words snatched here and there told him that they were quietly conferring about the future. A part of him knew there'd be repercussions for the role the Malfoys had played in the War, but he was able to push the thought aside for now. Not that he cared; that was tomorrow, and today was far more important. Today, they lived. As of today, he just might have a future – one that no longer involved having to bow to a megalomaniacal, half-human monster bent on wholesale destruction.

No more torture, either – to endure, or to administer, no matter how reluctantly. What a concept! And what a relief. Anything beyond that, he could live with. Draco was under no illusion that the Malfoys would emerge unscathed from this situation; they'd lost, after all – and their fate was in the hands of the victors.

Like Potter.

Draco couldn't even muster enough energy to be chagrined at how his thoughts were running in circles, coming back time and again to his erstwhile nemesis. Purely out of habit – or so he tried to convince himself – he let his eyes swerve across the Hall, to where the Gryffindor table used to be. And as had happened so often in the past, met an emerald stare that was no less compelling for coming from behind smudged and slightly cracked glasses. As usual, he was unable to look away; the only difference being that today, in this moment, he didn't have it in him to muster the kind of antagonism/challenge/disdain that had marked both young men's relationship for the past seven years.

And for the first time ever, it was Draco who broke the contact first and looked away.

Strangely enough, though, this time he continued to feel the weight of Potter's gaze on him; it used to be that whoever won their staring contests would then turn away to ignore the other until the next time their eyes met across a room. Today, something made Draco look back.

The familiar green eyes searched his own for a small eternity that lasted a few seconds only in reality. Both curiosity and habit made Draco raise an eyebrow in both challenge and question, and he was rewarded with an almost imperceptible jerk of that messy head towards the Great Hall's doors, and the sight of Potter getting up from his seat, slowly making his way outside.

There never was any doubt in Draco's mind of not following that silent summons. However, extracting himself from his mother's hold wasn't quite that easy.

"Draco?" Narcissa murmured, tightening her grip around her son's fingers. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, mum," he replied just as quietly, gently withdrawing his hand. "I just need to step out for a minute."

"No!" There was unexpected panic in Mrs Malfoy's eyes, for once not masked quickly enough. She breathed deeply. "Surely it can wait until we all …"

The lie came easily. "Not where I have to go, Mother." Subtle emphasis on the verb conveyed a meaning that was at least plausible. "Not since I turned five, anyway," he added with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Narcissa's fair brow wrinkled. "What do you me- oh. Oh!" A faint blush rose, and she let Draco go with a tiny, rueful smile. "Don't be long."

"I'll try not to," he promised, and left unobtrusively, a skill born and honed during the last two years of misery.

Once outside of the Great Hall and the heavy doors closed behind him, Draco looked around until he saw Potter next to the exit. Slowly, he made his way over to the other young man.

"Potter," he greeted quietly, with due caution. After all, they'd never been friends.

"Malfoy," Potter replied, voice just as low and tinged with understandable exhaustion. If Draco felt he could sleep for a week, Potter must be dead on his feet, to judge by the greyish cast of his skin, the dark smudges under his eyes and a faint tremor in his hands.

At least he's not *really* dead!

Draco didn't stop to wonder how he was able to judge Potter's state so accurately; he only knew that there were few who could. Before Draco could follow that train of thought further, it was thoroughly derailed by what Potter said next.

"I need your help."

"What? Why?"

"There's nobody else I can ask."

Somehow, Draco couldn't believe that. "What about Granger, or Weasley? Or Longbottom, even?"

Harry shook his head. "Can't. Ron's lost a brother, and his family need him to be there. Hermione won't leave him, and Neville … well." For a second, the grin that had always infuriated Draco in the past – mainly because it was never directed at, or shared with, him – flashed across the tired features. "He deserves every bit of attention he's getting just now for killing that snake. I'm not going to take that away from him."

A gust of wind to his face alerted Draco to the fact that, all unwittingly, he'd followed Potter outside. He shook his head briefly, but didn't protest; no matter that he'd never got along with Potter for years, he knew that he could trust him not to hurt him.

"Whatever," he muttered, carefully negotiating the rubble littering Hogwarts' courtyard. "What kind of help do you want from me, anyway?" Not that he really cared; he'd do whatever it was that Potter wanted and apparently couldn't wait until later, and then return to his parents. No matter what anyone else might think, he owed them more than Potter.

Potter's next words, though, thoroughly disabused him of that notion.

"I need to retrieve Snape."

It was as if someone had doused Draco with an Aguamenti frigidi spell; suddenly, all his senses went on alert as he realized he hadn't seen his former Head of House for several hours.

"Severus? Where is he?"

Potter sighed. "At the Shrieking Shack."

The tone of voice and bleak expression Potter displayed opened a deep pit in Draco's belly – one he'd thought he was incapable of feeling anymore. "Is … is he okay?"

Another sigh, accompanied by a slow headshake. "No. The Dark Bastard set his snake on him; he had his throat ripped out."

Draco winced and shuddered. He'd been forced way too often to watch Nagini kill at her late, unlamented master's behest during the last year and knew all too well that Severus would have had no chance at all against the vicious beast.

"So he's dead," Draco whispered. One more death to lay at the Dark Lord's doorstep.

"Yes. Ron, Hermione and I followed him, and got to witness the whole thing. As you've no doubt heard earlier, it was especially senseless and, well … unnecessary."

Vaguely, Draco remembered something about Dumbledore, and wands, and mastery. Before he could hunt down and make sense of the memory – he'd been too terrified to understand everything at the time – Potter continued, his voice subdued and … sad?

"Anyway, even as he was dying, Snape gave me information I needed – if he hadn't, Voldemort might yet have won." Potter turned grimly-determined eyes on Draco. "When it comes down to it, Snape was just as important in bringing him down as were all that died today, and those who helped – my friends, Remus … even your mother."

What?!

Before Draco could react to that piece of unexpected information, Potter went on.

"There's no way I'm letting him … his body … lie there, to rot or worse until someone else gets around to it. He deserves better, and I'm going to see he gets it. It's the last piece of crap the bastard did that I need to take care of, and frankly, I don't trust many people to do it right. That's why I'm asking for your help."

There was no question that Draco would refuse. "Fine. You have it."

"Great. Let's go."

As Draco followed Potter across the grounds with slightly more energy than before and watched in wonder as he threw a small rock with astounding precision at a knot in the trunk of the Whomping Willow, stilling the agitated branches, he couldn't help another question as they sought out the entrance to the tunnel leading to the Shack.

"Why me, though?" He really wanted to ask a host of other questions – how did Potter know this passage, why had he witnessed Snape's death, what exactly had the Potions Master done to help Potter that was so important, and more – but those would have to wait for another day. Somehow, Draco was certain there would come a day when he could ask … and get answers. He'd just blurted out the first that had sprung to mind.

"Because I think that you, of all who're still here and in reasonable shape, would be the most likely to actually want to do something for Snape. Without me having to go through a ton of explanations, anyway."

That … actually makes sense.

"And … why now? I mean, you could've waited until tomorrow … couldn't you?"

Potter actually laughed, a short, raspy sound. "Malfoy, within the last two days, give or take a few hours, I've broken into Gringotts, rode a dragon, flew through Fiendfyre and walked to my death," he said drily. "Never mind going losing the last members of my family, too many friends to count and duelling the biggest, darkest moron that has been after me for the past seventeen years. I'm beat. If I don't bring Snape's body back today, now, I'll collapse as soon as I even see a bed. Or anything halfway soft and comfortable-looking, really. And if I do, I'll likely sleep for a week, if not longer."

Oh. "I … I can relate to that, I think," Draco admitted, earning another fleeting grin.

"Who couldn't, after today?" The grin was wiped off again when they arrived at a dilapidated door. "Okay, here we are. Ready?"

"No."

"Me neither. C'mon, let's do this."

"Right." Drawing a deep breath to steel himself against the likely sight, Draco just barely swallowed the exasperated "How Gryffindor!" exclamation that lay on his tongue. This was not the moment to dig up old rivalries that meant nothing anymore. Even if he had to wonder how this surge of familiarity could make him feel inexplicably better despite the grim task ahead of them. "Lead on."

It was every bit as bad as he'd expected, and the smell of blood was nigh overpowering. Small wonder, as there was a lot of it – and it seemed to be everywhere. Snape lay as Harry and his friends had left him, in a glistening pool of red, his black robes making his sallow skin appear positively waxen. Harry paled, as did Draco; both had seen their share of death and dying, but somehow seeing Snape like this was the worst.

"I can't believe he's gone," Draco croaked, a step behind Harry as the other young man sank to his knees near Snape's shoulders. Both tried with all their might to avoid looking at the great bloody gash Nagini's fangs had torn into the man's throat.

"I know," Harry murmured. "He always seemed so … invincible."

Draco nodded, his own throat dry. "Indestructible, even."

"Yeah."

Both contemplated their erstwhile teacher, each lost in their own memories of the man for a few seconds. Then Harry sighed.

"Let's get it over with."

With a flick of his wand, he conjured a stretcher – a primitive affair of two poles with a bit of canvas stretched between them – and directed Draco to manoeuvre the motionless figure on it after casting a careful Wingardium Leviosa.

Draco stared even as he complied.

"Are we to carry Severus back to the castle, then? We'll be exhausted – well, even more exhausted – before we even make it to the front lawn. And then the climb up, through all that rubble … why not float him?"

Potter sighed. "Because I'm too done in to keep him aloft all the way back without dropping him, and because you have no wand on you. I can cast a Featherlight Charm on him, no worries, so he won't be too heavy, but that's it."

With a sigh of his own, Draco conceded the point. Together, they arranged the Potion Master's long limbs on the very basic stretcher, then he tried hefting the poles. The body tilted alarmingly to one side, and they lowered their burden back to the ground.

"We'll have to tie him down," Potter decided, and cut several cloth ribbons from the hem of Snape's cloak. "Here, that'll do."

"Right." Carefully, they wrapped the strips around both stretcher and body. As they strove to lift both ends of their load simultaneously, though, Snape's head lolled once more, fully exposing the gruesome wound. Draco swallowed down bile.

"Can … can we switch ends?" he muttered weakly. "Please? I … I don't think I can look at that all the way and not lose it."

Potter threw him a disgruntled glance. "And you think I can? Bloody hell, Malfoy," he grumbled, but gave in when he saw the pasty tone of Draco's already-pale skin. Once again, he let go of the stretcher. "Come on then, let's get this over with."

Mutely, Draco nodded and they exchanged positions.

"Thanks," he whispered, barely able to watch as Potter tried to arrange Snape's head in a more decorous position and thereby hiding the wound. Despite being careful, though, Potter's fingers inadvertently brushed the torn flesh.

That was when Draco saw Potter stiffen, his whole bearing suddenly infused with a surge of fresh energy.

"What's wrong?"

Potter swallowed hard, staring at his red-stained fingertips. The blood from Snape's wound glistened in the gathering darkness.

"Malfoy … how long does it take for blood to coagulate?"

It took serious effort to kick his brain into gear, especially with the whirlwind suddenly blasting through his brain, but somehow, Draco managed to dredge up the information.

"Normal human blood, anywhere between three and seven minutes," he whispered hoarsely. "That is without any external influences, like curses." He would not let himself remember that night, almost a year ago, when his own blood had flown freely after an unknown curse cast by the man staring intently at their teacher. "That time may also differ when an external agent is added. Like snake venom."

The green eyes flitted back and forth between Draco's and Snape's faces.

"Right. But … how long would such an agent delay coagulation?"

"I don't know," Draco admitted. "Fifteen, twenty minutes … maybe somewhat longer. It'd depend on the species of snake, I guess." Unspoken was that Nagini's venom had been incredibly potent.

"Minutes. Not hours?" There was a wildness creeping into Potter's voice that Draco refused to term hope.

"Maybe up to one hour," Draco conceded cautiously. "Any longer … I just don't know." He fought the temptation to press a hand against his suddenly-racing heart. "Why?"

"Because if I'm not mistaken, Snape's still bleeding," Potter whispered. "Not a lot, obviously – he's lost an awful lot already, and I dare not touch the wound to take a closer look. But there's definitely what looks like fresh blood … no clots, or scabs, or anything … that's not right, is it?"

"How long has it been exactly since he was bitten?" Draco asked sharply, ignoring Potter's question. His heart felt as if it would hammer a hole in his chest with sudden excitement. Severus mentioned once he'd brewed an antidote … maybe there's still time … IF he's still alive … "Think, Potter, this may be crucial!"

Potter shrugged, visibly struggling to recreate the sequence of the day's events in his mind. "Dunno exactly – it was shortly after we'd got out of the Room of Requirement, and after Voldemort had set his ultimatum to make me come to him. That was around midnight, right?"

Draco nodded. "Go on."

"So Ron, Hermione and I saw what happened, Snape gave me his final message, and er, I … I had some stuff to do in the Headmaster's office, Right after that, I went into the Forest, he cursed me … and I honestly don't know how much time passed until Hagrid carried me back. Definitely a few hours, I'd say," Harry concluded rather weakly. He knew there were holes in his story big enough for a dragon to fly through, but this was hardly the time or the place to go into detail … especially not for Malfoy.

"Damn. An antidote – if there is some – should best be administered as soon as possible after a snake bite …"

"Well, excuse me, but I was kind of busy with other stuff – like finishing Voldemort?"

"Yeah, yeah …" Draco muttered absently, mind racing in a dozen different directions. Stop this, he admonished himself silently. First things first! He steeled himself for what needed to be done.

"Okay, we need to determine whether Severus is still alive." Squeamishness forgotten, Draco leaned over Snape's throat, once more cursing his lack of a wand. "Give me some light," he ordered, all focus on the injured man lying before them.

"Right. Lumos."

The pinprick of white light from Potter's wandtip illuminated the gory area in minute detail. And as he strained to take in even the tiniest detail, yet refusing to hope, a small drop formed in the depth of the wound, oozing mere millimetres over torn flesh.

"Merlin," Draco breathed. "Did you see that?"

"I'm not sure," Potter murmured. "Let me check for a pulse …" Carefully, he pressed two fingertips against Snape's jawbone, just below his ear on the other side of his neck … and waited.

"Well?"

"I don't … damnit, I'm too exhausted to feel anything, much less the pulse of someone who's all but bled out already. But I don't think he's as … as cold as he should be. Here, you try it!"

Gingerly, Draco slid his own fingertips against Potter's, letting the other's touch guide him into place. Both young men stilled, barely able to breathe as they waited.

There!

It was the merest flutter, but it was enough to make Draco continue, pressing just a smidgen harder, willing himself to feel what they both were almost too afraid to hope for.

It came again. As weak as, if not weaker than, before, but there – Draco was sure of it. He raised suddenly-blazing eyes to Potter's.

"I feel a heartbeat."

Time was now of the essence; Together, they made quick work of securing Snape to the makeshift stretcher. As they lifted their burden as carefully as they could, a barely-inaudible moan emerged from the injured man's throat, simultaneously bolstering their hope and increasing their anxiety to find help.

With Draco in the lead, they picked their way cautiously back up to the Castle, mindful of not stumbling over various debris. Both were sweating and trembling with exhaustion when they reached the doors and the entrance hall.

"Where to?" Draco gasped, wishing desperately to put the stretcher down for just a minute, but not daring to – he was all-too aware that if he did, he probably wouldn't be able to pick it up again. "Last I saw Pomfrey, she was in the Great Hall …"

Harry shook his head after a few seconds' thought. "Too many people. Let's go to the Infirmary and send her a message."

"Right," Draco sighed, turning towards the staircase. It was going to be a hard trek, even with Potter's renewed Featherlight Charm on the stretcher. As they trudged through the corridors, both were grateful for the wall torches igniting on the way. They went out again as soon as they'd passed each one, but that didn't matter as long as they could see what lay ahead.

At last, they reached their goal. With a bit of awkward shifting and a rather weak Wingardium Leviosa to prop up Draco's half of the stretcher, they managed to open the door. Again, lamps blazed up around them. They maneuvered Snape towards the nearest bed and lowered him down, stretcher and all. There was visibly fresh blood oozing from the wound, and another faint moan of distress, but all things considered, Draco thought it was a positive sign.

Where there's life, there's hope!

Potter staggered as he let go of the stretcher, but caught himself on the footboard of the hospital bed. Where he found the strength to cast yet another spell – and a fairly powerful one at that – Draco didn't know. He just stared blearily at the gleaming silver stag emerging from Potter's wand.

"Go to McGonagall and Pomfrey; tell them I need them here at once," he told the stag Patronus. The creature snorted and pawed the floor once, then turned on the spot and galloped away, right through the nearest wall.

"That's done," Potter sighed, sinking onto the nearest bed. "They should be here soon."

"Uh huh." Draco was too weary to say more, but he remained standing. There's something I'm forgetting …

"Do you think Pomfrey has some kind of anti-venom at hand? I kind of doubt we could get Snape to swallow a bezoar, not with the way his throat is messed up …" Potter murmured, disrupting Draco's thoughts.

Oh. Of course.

"He might have a potion in his quarters," Draco mused, taking a dragging step towards the exit. "Or in his personal lab. I'll go have a look."

"Right. Hurry, will you?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Trust me, Potter, I have every reason to find a remedy … if one exists, that is. We certainly won't have time to brew a fresh potion. I'll be as fast as I can."

"Yeah, sorry, alright?"

"Hmph."

Just before Draco slipped out into the hallway, he was stopped by a soft call.

"Malfoy?"

"What?" he snapped impatiently. Not only was time of the essence, if he lingered too long he might not have the stamina to come back. And if Potter dared to think he was going to coddle his Gryffindor sensibilities …

Not for the first time today, Potter managed to surprise him – this time by refusing to rise to the bait as he'd been wont to do in all the years they'd known each other. "Is there anything I can do while waiting for you and Pomfrey?"

The soft question was unexpected … and then again, it wasn't. Draco just sighed and replied as politely as he could.

"Check his clothes – he might've hidden anti-venom in an inner pocket. Or maybe sewn it into a seam somewhere." Before yet another question could hold him up even longer, Draco left and headed for the dungeons.

When he returned, the Infirmary was in an uproar. Potter was standing in front of Snape's bed, wand in hand and facing off not only with a visibly irate Mediwitch and a coldly angry Professor McGonagall, Draco saw that several Aurors, led by a tall, bald black man, were gathered in the background. Draco cautiously sidled forward, two precious vials of antivenom clutched in his pocket.

" … what you were thinking, calling me away from severely injured students, I truly don't know, Mr. Potter!" Pomfrey hissed.

"I was thinking that Professor Snape is injured as well, and needs help now," Potter replied, his temper barely held in check. "And as you are the resident healer …"

"There are others who need me more! He is just –"

"Professor Snape is the man who gave me the information I needed to know to finally defeat Voldemort," Harry interrupted, eyes blazing and his whole frame fairly quivering with suppressed rage. Draco should know; he'd been on the receiving end of just that look too often not to recognize it. Pomfrey and the others didn't stand a chance. "Without him, I don't think anyone of us would be standing here, debating whether he's worth helping or not!"

"I didn't mean to say-" Pomfrey sputtered.

"You bloody well did! Haven't you sworn an oath to help, no matter who?"

"That is uncalled for, Mr. Potter," McGonagall began, as enraged as Draco had ever seen her. But she, too, never got to finish. This time, it was the tall Auror who interrupted.

"Are you sure, Harry?" His deep voice poured oil on the waters; clearly, he was the most rational and level-headed of all present.

"Quite sure, Kingsley," Harry sighed, loosening the grip on his wand just a tad. "And I'll prove it to all of you – under Veritaserum and a Pensieve, if necessary. After somebody's helped him!" He glared at Madam Pomfrey and the Deputy Headmistress with equal force.

For a few tense seconds, silence prevailed. Then Potter seemed to slump with exhaustion. "Snape is one of the good guys, no matter what it may have looked like. Please; trust me on this."

McGonagall fixed him with her sternest stare. "I've trusted you once before today, Mr. Potter," she said slowly. "As it turned out, I was right to do so. Very well." At a gesture from her, Pomfrey huffed once, then pushed past Potter and started casting diagnostic spells with her usual efficient wand movements.

"Heavy blood loss … generally run down … and there's a great deal of some kind of venom in his system. And those are just the most pressing problems."

"But he is alive?"

"By some miracle, yes. Barely. What happened?"

"He was bitten by Voldemort's snake," Harry murmured, watching her actions carefully despite his visibly-growing tiredness. "Several hours ago."

The Mediwitch snapped an irritated glance at him. "In that case, we need someone to start brewing an antidote right away – which will take more hours, if we can even find someone skilled enough to do it right. I don't see how …"

"There was some in his quarters," Draco put forth. He retrieved the two vials and held them out to the Mediwitch, trying his best not to quail under the sudden scrutiny of all adults in the room.

"And how, precisely, would you know what's in those vials, Mr. Malfoy?" The big Auror's voice had switched from a soothing rumble to sharp inquisitiveness. "For that matter, why is it that you're here – and how did you know where to look, and what to look for?"

Draco snorted lightly. "Nagini was a constant threat to everybody – and that did include the Dark Lord's followers, not just his enemies … and victims," he said. "Professor Snape always believed in being prepared … and was generous enough to share at least knowledge of that preparedness with a few others."

"And you just happened to be one of the lucky few?" Another Auror sneered. "How convenient!"

To Draco's surprise, it was Professor McGonagall who spoke up for him. "Mr. Malfoy used to be one of Severus' favoured students," she said briskly. The look she sent Draco's way was anything but friendly, but determinedly fair. "Also, I believe Professor Snape used to be friends with the Malfoy family … inasmuch as he could be said to have had friends." She pinched her lips. "No matter. Let it be enough for now that it does not surprise me Mr. Malfoy was privy to that information."

With another glare, but obviously determined to be professional about the situation, Poppy Pomfrey snatched the two small potion bottles out of Draco's hand and started summoning supplies from seemingly everywhere. "Very well. I'll do what I can – but mark me, I can't say how much that will be. Severus Snape was a gifted brewer, and if he tried his hand at this antidote, it'll likely work. Whether it'll be administered in time, or whether there'll be damage afterwards, I can't say. Now get out – all of you! I don't need an audience to work!"

Meekly, everybody trooped out, McGonagall and the lead Auror heading immediately back towards the Great Hall. Draco noted that a couple of Aurors remained behind, stationing themselves outside of the Infirmary doors, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. He and Potter may have just saved Snape, but … that was another item that would have to be shelved until tomorrow. Like so many others.

He trudged back down the once-more dark staircase in Potter's wake. Their steps slowed as they neared the Great Hall, and came to a halt just outside the big double doors. Draco snuck a sideways glance at Potter. Now that yet another crisis had been dealt with, he looked even more exhausted than Draco felt – and if they didn't sit, or preferably lie, down soon, they'd collapse right here. However, after working together for the past hour or so, it seemed wrong to just go their separate ways.

"Well, that's done." Apparently Potter felt the same way.

"Yes."

"Thanks for your help." He even sounded genuine.

Draco couldn't help himself, despite what they'd both been through in the course of what had been a very long day. This was Potter, after all. "Forgive me if I don't tell you it was my pleasure," he drawled with a hint of his customary snark. "Because it wasn't. Not really."

Surprisingly, Potter chuckled. "Yeah. Still."

"Yes." They eyed each other, for the first time they could remember without hostility. Then Draco cleared his throat. "You're welcome, I guess."

"Uh huh." The door opened as someone slipped out, ostensibly heading towards the bathrooms. Which reminded Draco of the fib he'd told his mother … and how frantic she must be by now.

"I'd better get back to my parents," he said quietly.

"And I'll see … Hermione, the Weasleys, Luna, Neville …" Potter replied, somewhat embarrassedly. "Well, kinda everybody, I guess." He squirmed a little. "I hope there's some food left … and then I'm going to sleep for a week."

Draco nodded. It sounded like the most perfect plan he'd heard in his life. "Good-bye, then."

"Yeah." It was said around a huge yawn, and Draco started to slip away, leaving Potter to follow or not. He didn't care what the other did … truly, he didn't. Well, I don't *want* to care, anyway! But that was a thought that didn't bear thinking about. It hadn't yesterday, and it shouldn't today. Tomorrow, though …

Just before the door closed behind him, he heard Potter's voice one last time. "I'll owl you, okay? Later?"

He hesitated briefly, then nodded. He'd believe it when he saw it; that was the kind of offer a friend would make, and he and Potter were hardly that. However, he'd never known Potter to go back on his word.

Maybe he *will* write …

As he made his way through the still-crowded Great Hall towards the Slytherin table and his anxious parents, he realized he felt strangely light.

And it was all due to sodding bloody Potter. Again.

2.Today is the first day of the rest of my life

(various sources)

In the days, weeks and months that follow, Draco keeps telling himself that living today is what matters, and that he'll treat every day as new and important – if only to distinguish it from the bad of Yesterday.

For the most part, he is succeeding, and yet there are always landmark days that end up categorized as special, golden Todays in his memories.

- He is back at the Manor with his Parents, under house arrest. Then Potter owls him the news that St. Mungo's healers are positive that Snape will live. His recovery will be long and not easy, but this is yet another plan of Voldemort's that has been foiled by Potter … and for once with his, Draco's, help.

- His father is sentenced to fifteen years in Azkaban – a harsh sentence, yes, but bearable now that the Dementors are gone. Eventually, he'll be free and back with his wife and son. It is an outcome that has Narcissa sigh in regret mingled with relief; Lucius accepts the verdict with a surprising amount of dignity.

- There's the day when Potter reveals in front of the Wizengamot that Narcissa has saved him, and she goes free as a reward. Draco doesn't quite know how to deal with this revelation, but in the end, he's proud of his mother's courage and that she loves him enough to have risked so much.

- Then Potter manages to spare him a prison sentence … on a mere technicality. He doesn't think that his own refusal to positively identify Potter when Scabior and his Snatchers brought him in quite compares, especially since Draco admits to having taken the Dark Mark as soon as he became of age.

"When were you marked, Mr. Malfoy?"

As if Draco could ever forget; every time he catches sight of the ugly brand on his left forearm, he cringes in remembered pain and constant shame.

"On my seventeenth birthday, June 5, 1997."

At that point it hadn't been out of conviction anymore, but with his parents' lives threatened, it had been arguably voluntarily. The prosecution goes into a lengthy discourse on how he'd been an adult, and thus should be judged as such. However, Potter suddenly passes a note to their solicitor, and the man perks up. When his turn at cross-examination comes, he starts with the usual opening remarks, then segues into an unusual question.

"Going back to your date of birth … can you be a bit more precise, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco is confused. "In what way?"

The solicitor's eyes glitter. "At what time of day exactly were you marked?"

"Midnight," Draco sighs. "The Dark- sorry, Voldemort, put great stock in symbolism – dark of the night, new day, and all that."

Their man's expression intensifies as he looks once more at the note Potter has passed him.

"Mrs. Malfoy … do you recall the moment you gave birth to your son?"

The emphasis is impossible to miss, and Narcissa catches on after the merest pause. "At 5.23 o'clock, barely an hour after sunrise on June 5, 1980," she answers firmly, and adds that there should be records documenting this with the Malfoy family's Healer.

So technically, Draco Malfoy still was a minor at the time of his Marking, the solicitor claims, and thus not fully accountable. Draco doesn't think it'll wash, but much to everyone's surprise, Firenze speaks up next, supporting the claim.

Draco doesn't know enough Arithmancy to follow the argument, and even less about whatever methods of Divination the Centaurs use, but somehow, wonder of wonders, the argument is upheld, and his sentence turns out to be almost as lenient as his mother's.

A relieved Draco thanks Potter in a polite message, but is honest enough to admit – at least to himself – that he is just a little peeved to owe his rather mild punishment to such an essentially Slytherin move having been performed by an archetypal Gryffindor.

- Potter owls back to tell him that he and most of their yearmates will be going back to Hogwarts, to finish their education properly ... and to regain a sense of normalcy after the War. Draco isn't truly surprised when he is denied a return; he just regrets that he won't be sitting his NEWTs. Not that he'll need them with the family fortune at his back, even after fines and reparations are paid, but still – it's the principle of the thing.

"Can't you take the exams elsewhere?" Potter asks when he is told. Draco hasn't stopped wondering yet how it comes about that Potter feels free to just drop in on him.

It's like we're … friends, almost. Are we? He doesn't ask, for fear of having his fledgling hope crushed, just accepts what he is being given.

"I suppose so, but I'd hoped to revise a lot; the things we were taught during your absence were … well." He shrugs eloquently.

"Yeah, I've heard," Potter grimaces. Then his gaze turns speculative. "Look, I'm not trying to pry, but … surely you can afford private tutoring?"

"Of course," Draco admits. "However, under the terms of my sentence access to the Manor is restricted to Ministry-approved persons only. And while I don't think tutors are in any way objectionable, I can't really see them giving me special dispensation. What with my name, and all …"

"Uh, yeah." Potter frowns as they stroll around the Manor gardens. Then his eyes light up, and a very devious grin starts playing around his mouth. "What if," he says slowly, "what if you told the Ministry that you desperately want to sit your NEWTs because without them you'd be unable to be a productive member of society after your sentence?" The grin widens. "I mean, everybody's talking big about making proper amends, 'reintegration' and 'unification of the Wizarding community' and so on. You know." Indeed; the slogans, posters and publications proclaiming the new Ministry's doctrines are impossible to miss … even if one is isolated in Wiltshire. "Well, I'm thinking … if you put it to them in just the right way, I bet you anything that they can't refuse you – not if they don't want to come across as total hypocrites!"

Oh, that's sweet! It will mean a great deal of groveling, and some very careful thought about the precise composition of his request, but Draco is confident that he'll manage. After all, words have always been his best weapon … and he'll have his mother's help.

"It's certainly worth a try," he allows, feeling yet another surge of hope. How is it that Potter is so bloody good at inciting that? He finds he doesn't truly care, and decides to just accept what is. Another good Today.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

- To everybody's surprise, when Snape returns to Hogwarts at last, ostensibly to pack up his belongings and clear out, the castle itself welcomes him. All things that the busy crews haven't yet managed to repair over the summer suddenly start righting themselves, and the pervading atmosphere of destruction that the best efforts of the various reconstruction crews haven't been able to completely dispel lifts in a gentle rush as soon as the Potions Master sets foot into the Great Hall.

It is determined that Hogwarts still considers Severus Snape as the Headmaster – no matter that the Board of Governors has appointed Minerva McGonagall to the post. Hogwarts claims Snape, and in this, Hogwarts' will is Law.

Minerva isn't really unhappy, as her first passion is to teach, not to be an administrator. Snape, for his part, is extremely vexed – he has always known he isn't well-suited to be an educator, and has considered his tenure, all but forced on him by Dumbledore, as close to a prison sentence as could be, just with more agreeable conditions than Azkaban. Now it seems as if he'll still be bound to the castle; for how long is anybody's guess.

Draco has been given special dispensation to see Snape properly appointed, solely due to his role in rescuing him – or so the Auror says who side-along-Apparates him to the gates. Later he learns that Potter has specifically requested his presence, but whatever the reason, Draco is just glad that he can welcome Severus back.

"What did they do to him?" Draco asks sotto voce as he and Potter watch the formal investiture. Severus looks better than Draco has ever seen him; gone is the pinched, emaciated look that his role as spy and double agent has forced on him. The lack of curses cast at him, combined with months of enforced rest and intensive healing, also certainly play a part.

He still scowls and sneers as much as ever, though.

"Excuse me?"

"He looks so … different."

Indeed, for anyone who cares to look closely, it's obvious that Severus' teeth aren't crooked anymore and much whiter, the prominent nose has been straightened and clean hair is framing a fuller, no longer sallow face.

"Was that your doing?"

"Erm, not exactly," Potter admits just as quietly. "I just told the healers at that sanatorium they sent him to to 'fix everything that's wrong with him'. Guess they took me rather literally," he grins.

"I wonder that you're still alive," Draco smirks. "If he ever finds out …"

"I'll make sure to be elsewhere," Potter vows.

- Another noteworthy day is when Draco receives his NEWTs results – he's sat seven in all, and received 'Outstanding's in Potions, Charms and Ancient Runes. The rest of his marks aren't bad, either, but it has been difficult to motivate himself with nobody to compete against. They have been administered by teachers from Beauxbatons and thus don't hold quite the cachet in Britain as the Hogwarts ones do, but outside of Ravenclaw, only Granger has done better, and he's definitely beaten Potter.

The prat isn't fazed by that at all, depriving Draco of at least half the joy gloating over him provides. He hasn't done badly, either – 'Outstandings' in DADA and Transfiguration, 'Exceeds Expectations' and 'Acceptables' in the other three.

"Who cares about NEWTs, anyway, once you've landed a job?" Potter asks rhetorically over drinks. Draco's house arrest has ended a scant two weeks earlier, a month after Beltane, and this is his first venture back into Wizarding society. He is aware that it is made infinitely easier by being at Potter's side, but what might have seriously rankled in his Yesterday was only a minor annoyance Today and can be ignored.

"I suppose."

"Have you any idea what you're going to do?" Potter asks, and Draco shrugs.

"Well, there's business, and I'll obviously have to protect the family assets, but I consider it more a necessary evil, not something I want to make a career of. My father always expected me to follow him into politics, but that's probably not the best idea, given my family's current reputation." To put it mildly. He glances sideways at Potter, but sees only friendly interest, no derision.

"Would you want to? Go into politics, I mean?"

Draco shakes his head. "No, not really. It'd just be like living in Slytherin all over again. Father has tried grooming me in that direction, but while I was comfortable in my House, I don't want to spend the rest of my life there."

"I've heard that quite a few key Ministry personnel are former Hufflepuffs," Potter says slyly, apropos nothing at all. "You know, the hard, loyal workers that are needed now for Reconstruction."

He pretends to shudder. "An even more compelling reason to stay away from the Ministry."

Potter whaps him on the arm, calling him a snobbish git, but he's laughing and so Draco does as well, complaining all the while about brutish Gryffindors. Both have learned not to take it personally anymore, which they officially declare A Good Thing when they're done drinking.

- During one afternoon tea the summer after, when Draco asks about the Unbreakable Vow she has coerced Professor Snape to make on his behalf, Narcissa lets slip the location of Snape's house – Todmorden, West Yorkshire, not far from Manchester. As Potter has learned from Snape's memories that it's the town his mother grew up in and where Lily Evans' friendship with Snape started, he's intensely curious and persuades Draco to come with him.

"This is depressing," Draco comments as he takes in the rows of gray, neglected terraces and the background of tall industrial chimneys, long out of business. "How can someone still live here?"

Not all of the houses are deserted or dilapidated, but it is painfully obvious that the neighbourhood is not an affluent one. Harry knows that the Evanses lived in a better part of town, away from the common mill workers like Tobias Snape has been one, and it's a far cry from the sterile uniformity and surface perfection of Little Whinging, but he can't help admiring the Potions Master for rising above his origins. Neither in word nor in deed has he ever displayed his more than humble origins, and he's achieved all that he is now by intelligence and hard work.

"The houses are old," Potter explains. "Built by the mill-owners shortly after the turn of the century to keep their workers close by. They were never meant to be nice, just … adequate, convenient and cheap, thereby making the workers even more dependent on their jobs. And even after the mills closed, the people living here never had enough money or incentive to care, so they let things slide."

They wander around the valley a bit, and while Draco fails to see any merit in the town, Muggle-raised Potter is gaining a different perspective as they turn around a corner.

"Look, there's development going on," he shows Draco. "New shops, a café and two restaurants, lots of construction sites – this area is on the up!"

"So? Spinner's End is still not fit for human habitation."

"But it could be! Sometimes, all it takes is one homeowner getting started, and others will follow. It's only a short train ride into Manchester, not much further into Leeds – a lot of people working there will be eager to find affordable housing within commuting distance." Draco was never to know how much of this information Potter owes to his Aunt Petunia's compulsive (and envious) watching of property development programmes the BBC was putting on during daytime.

Potter proceeds to explain, and after a while even Pureblood Draco begins to understand the basics of the Muggle property market – especially as a substantial part of the Malfoy income is based on real estate, renting and leasing.

"We ought to convince Severus to do some renovations," he muses. "Even if he eventually wants out completely, he'll make a bigger profit in selling after investing a little."

"Hmm."

Draco slants a suspicious glance at Potter. He has no idea how it has happened, but he knows him well enough by now not to trust that tone, especially when coupled with an overly innocent expression.

"What harebrained scheme is brewing in your tiny mind, Potter?" he snarks. "I'll not be embroiled in any Gryffindorkish endeavours, and I doubt Severus will want to be, either."

Potter smiles sheepishly, walking on with his hands stuck in his pockets as they return to Spinner's End and the old terrace. "I've been thinking," he says.

"Merlin help us," Draco mutters, expertly dodging the swat he knows to expect by now whenever he is overtly sarcastic. Gryffindors in general – and Potter in particular – are nothing if not predictable, after all.

If one takes the time and effort to learn their idiosyncrasies, that is.

Draco has always been a swift learner.

"So what have you been thinking, then?" he asks at last, curiosity getting the better of him.

Potter smiles. "Well … how about we do it for him? Just think about it – individually, you and me are probably the two people who owe Snape the most. We may not always have realized at the time, or even appreciated it, but I feel we ought to thank him somehow."

"And do that by tearing apart his house, never mind grossly invading his privacy?"

"By giving him a home," Potter contradicts softly. "I don't think he's ever truly had one; certainly not here, outside of when he met my mum. And if we can give him new, friendlier memories of the place …"

A part of Draco understands that argument only too well. During his year of confinement to the Manor, he has spent many a day helping his mother erase all traces of Voldemort from their house. It is a long process, but their house elves are more than happy to help, and Narcissa's satisfaction at successfully transforming yet another room that has seen too much of evil is hard to dismiss.

Against his better judgment, he finds himself agreeing with Potter, and before he knows it, a Muggle contractor has been engaged and plans are being drawn up. With magic, it's an easy matter to procure property deeds from the relevant sources, and with some borderline illegal spellwork (done by Potter, in order to keep Draco's already-besmirched record as clean as possible), the process of 'A better home for Snape' is underway.

"You realize that he'll kill us once he finds out, don't you?" Draco asks as they leave Todmorden at last.

"Possibly," Potter concedes with blithe unconcern that has Draco wanting to tear out his hair.

"We'll be made into potions ingredients," Draco predicts gloomily even as he begins compiling a mental list of furniture he can appropriate from the Manor.

"In the most painful, humiliating way possible," Potter agrees. "Let's go pick wallpaper."

- Even a terrifying Today can be good, Draco discovers, when Snape confronts them midway through the summer, after he has visited his childhood home at last and found the old two-up, two down transformed from dingy and near-derelict into a comfortable bachelor home with all mod cons. Snape's sharp tongue all but eviscerates them, but when he's done he offhandedly extends them an invitation to be his first guests.

"I do not want this position," Snape grouses over drinks. "Never have. I don't even particularly like children – much less teaching the dunderheads. How I am supposed to that on top of the administrative work that comes with it, I do not know."

"Can't you hire a secretary?" Potter blurts, blushing when the sharp black eyes focus on him. "I mean, you are the Headmaster now … and just because Dumbledore did everything himself doesn't mean you have to. Does it?" he finishes in a suddenly small voice.

"A secretary." Snape's tone is flat.

"Yes – to write all the letters, keep your appointment list and whatever." Despite the fierce glare Severus throws at him, Potter warms to his subject. "I don't think Headmasters at Muggle schools do all that … they teach a bit – not a full load, though – and represent the school and stuff, but even so their deputy takes over some of it." The bright green eyes meet Snape's without fear as he warms to the subject.

"You are familiar enough with the Muggle world, sir – couldn't you just visit a boarding school and look how they're doing things? And then make the changes you want at Hogwarts?"

There is a long silence which Severus breaks at last. "There may be a certain merit to your suggestion, Potter," he says grudgingly. "However, that still doesn't change the fact that I detest teaching … and most students."

"Isn't it just the beginners, the incompetent and undedicated students you don't like, though?" Draco ventures cautiously. "If you hired another Potions teacher and just took on the NEWT classes …"

Another silence fills the room, though less fraught with lingering animosity than before.

"That is … something to consider." Snape stares into the crystal tumbler Narcissa has donated to his home, and finishes his drink. "I thank you for your input," he adds a moment later, including both young men. "But enough about me. Tell me, now that you've both finished your education, what your plans are for your futures …"

- Today, Draco receives his acceptance letter to start a Potions apprenticeship with Master Filippu Biancardi, on Malta. The Knights Hospitallers have a long tradition of connecting with the Wizarding world, and still retain it even to this day. Snape grudgingly declares that he'll be in good hands, and that is that. A week or so later, Potter is accepted into the Auror Academy. Today looks good, and surely their Tomorrow is bound to be even better.

3.Tomorrow belongs … to us

(based on 'Tomorrow Belongs to Me' from 'Cabaret', written by John Kander/Fred Ebb)

"You are certain about this?"

"Yes, Severus," Minerva McGonagall said firmly, replacing her teacup on the desk between them. "You know as well as I do that House rivalry is almost as high as it was before the War – and that the reasons aren't all that different. It's my hope that bringing the children together before they are Sorted will take care of that."

"And you think that opening a Primary School will help?"

"Maybe not right away, but eventually? Yes. It'll be harder to hate someone who has been your friend for years just because they're suddenly wearing a differently-coloured tie at school." She paused, then added gently, "As you should know."

Severus closed his eyes. He knew, indeed. While he may have had … issues … with quite a few Gryffindors during his own school years, he had never been able to completely set aside the bond he'd created with Lily before Hogwarts. If he'd had other friends in fifth year …

Maybe I wouldn't have called her *that* name. Maybe I wouldn't have taken the Dark Mark. Maybe she-

No. He wouldn't play the 'what if' game again. The past was just that, past. In the here and now, he had to deal with the fact that as of September, Minerva wouldn't be teaching at Hogwarts anymore.

"I shall miss your … expertise," Severus admitted gruffly. He didn't dare look at his former teacher/soon-to-be-ex-colleague, fearing (quite correctly) that she was mentally substituting 'expertise' with 'friendship'.

"You're nae goin' tae lose me, lad," Minerva said crisply, her faint brogue getting stronger as she stood. "Ye ken weel that Hogsmeade is jes' doon the beinn."

He shot her a slightly exasperated look from under heavy brows, and she smiled, the expression surprisingly girlish on her lined face. "Take it as a challenge, Severus. You're the Headmaster now, and there's nae a thing that says you have tae run this school just like auld Albus did. Make what changes you will, and I'm sure things'll be the better for it. Ask for advice, listen carefully, weigh what's said, and come tae yer own decisions."

He rose from his chair as well and went around the desk. "Easier said than done, though," he said as he politely guides her to the door and opened it for her.

The Transfiguration Professor patted his arm. "I know, but if anybody can do it, it's you. You're a good man, Severus Snape, even if we couldn't always see it. I have trust in you." With that, she left.

Alone in the circular office, Severus sighed. "You may be the only one who does." Then he squared his shoulders and went back to his desk. He had plans to make.

"Why, precisely, are you applying for this position, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco drew a deep breath. He was tempted to quote from his CV, the one he'd prepared and submitted to the school, but the black eyes of the man before him were too keen. Consummate Slytherin that he was, Snape would see right through a formulaic answer. Besides, all had already been laid out in the application form currently lying in front of the Headmaster, along with his qualifications.

Honesty, then. Urgh.

"I find that I do not care to work in a large Potions facility; it is repetitive, un-challenging work."

"I agree on that, but why not seek employment with a private enterprise, or open your own apothecary?"

Draco grimaced. "No offense, sir, but you know as well as I do that my name and family history all but forbid that path. I most likely would go bankrupt in a matter of months for lack of customers, and any person willing to employ me might well face the same conundrum. People will only trust my expertise and skill if they perceive that I am … under strict supervision, so to speak."

"And you think that becoming the Potions Master at Hogwarts would serve that purpose?" Severus showed nothing but polite interest, waiting patiently for Draco to answer.

The younger man straightened and met the inscrutable gaze head-on. "I know that as a teacher, I'll be subjected to several oaths that ensure ethical conduct when dealing with students. The content of these oaths is proscribed by the Ministry, and adherence to them controlled both by the Board of Governors and the magic of Hogwarts itself. So yes, I think that my bona fides could be sufficiently established in this way."

"Hrm." Snape leafed through Draco's paperwork again. Naturally, he'd examined every detail already, and made several Floo calls to Master Biancardi and Draco's current employer. He'd earned good marks during his apprenticeship, and fulfilled his duties since then competently and well. And yet … Snape thought for a moment, then finally gathered the parchments into a neat stack and folded his hands on top of them,

"Mr. Malfoy. You have been a good student of mine, and Biancardi gives you a good report. You have earned your Mastery, no doubt about it." He suppressed a wry smile as he observed the hint of preening the younger man couldn't quite hide from someone as adept as he still was at reading body language. "However." Snape smirked slightly as Draco's shoulders slumped at the inevitable proviso. "To put it bluntly, your work in creating new potions, altering and/or improving existing ones and finding new ways in the actual brewing process is … uninspired, to say the least. That does not cast aspersions on your competency as a brewer, but it does not make you a true potioneer."

Draco knew that; it had been rather a big blow to his ego to realize – and ultimately admit – that he would never make a name for himself as one of the great discoverers, or even innovators. Only pride made him hold his tongue. "I wasn't aware that potioneering was a requirement to teach, sir," he said stiffly.

"You're right, it is not," Snape conceded with a minute nod. "I admit, it would be an asset – in any job in our field, as you're no doubt aware – but not a necessity."

The silence in the sunny office seemed to stretch like sludge. Snape watched Draco, well aware that his former student was dying to know his decision, but would neither whine nor beg, as he would've done as a teenager.

So he's finally grown a spine. Good.

"You have another talent, though, which is rather rare," he murmured at last.

"I … I do?" This was news to Draco; his Master, current employers and colleagues had never even hinted at such. They'd only ever lamented his lack of inventiveness.

At this, Snape finally allowed a hint of a smile to show. "Indeed. It is not every Potions Master who can produce the exact same consistency, efficiency and quality in his work, day in and day out. Your potions turn out the same. Always. And that ability, in a field that requires instinct as much as exactitude, is very uncommon. After all, it is one of the main reasons why Muggles have built machines to guarantee this very thing."

"It's also boring as hell," Draco muttered under his breath. Yeah, sure, he'd learned early on that he made everything exactly right once he'd mastered a potion, but surely that paled into insignificance compared to new and important breakthroughs, like a cure for Dragonpox, or Snape's own Wolfsbane?

"Boring competence can be more valuable than a single stroke of genius that can never be repeated, leaving the creator forever unsatisfied to top or even match their own achievement," Snape said. "Or worse, flash with no substance to back it up, Mr. Malfoy. Or have you forgotten Gilderoy Lockhart?"

Draco snorted in reluctant amusement. "Who could? Although it seemed at least his memory charms were first-rate …" He winced, wishing he'd swallowed the words before they slipped out. Snarky comments like this would hardly endear him to Snape.

"Certainly good enough to permanently erase his own mind, and with a broken wand not his own," the Headmaster replied drily. Then he leaned back in his chair. "Very well. If you think you can cope with the antics of large groups of loud, undisciplined, often disrespectful as well as untalented adolescent dunderheads, I'm willing to hire you for a probationary year. If it turns out that you've also managed to hammer the basics of potion-making into their thick little brains, we will discuss a more permanent contract in twelve months' time."

Draco closed his eyes for a second, weak with relief. He didn't need the job, true, but the past few years had taught him pride in his own accomplishments, however 'uninspiring' they might be. He'd also never planned on being a teacher, but he was reasonably confident he could do it … and whatever anyone else could say, being a Hogwarts Professor still carried respect.

"Thank you, sir," was all he said, though.

Snape stood and offered him a hand. "I can only hope you won't come to regret your decision," he stated. "Welcome to the faculty … Professor Malfoy."

Draco had settled well into his new job by mid-October; he found that he rather liked teaching, and thought he was getting if not good, so at least adequate at it. Of course, the end-of-term exams in December would show how accurate his self-assessment was. Secretly he was quite glad that he was spared the NEWT-level classes so far; they were still being taught by Severus himself. If he made tenure, though, he'd be expected to gradually take those over, too, with the Headmaster only tutoring the most promising students. Which was perfectly fine with him.

The one part he didn't like, however, was grading; it seemed as if the essays got more inane and error-ridden the older the students got, instead of the other way 'round as it ought to be.

Really, I don't expect brilliance from the Firsties, but surely by third year the little idiots ought to know the difference between chopping and dicing, or toad and newt livers?

Shaking his head as he scrawled a large 'D' on the last of the fourth-year essays, he sat back at his desk and stretched his aching back muscles. He was about two-thirds done, but right now he couldn't stand the thought of dealing with more bad grammar, worse orthography and badly-memorized theory. Deciding that it would do him good to stretch his legs and fetch some tea from the kitchens himself instead of calling a house-elf, he shrugged into his robes and left the office.

No need to button up, but more dignified than roaming the Castle in my shirtsleeves!

On his way up from the dungeons, he gradually became aware that the Castle was strangely quiet for a Saturday afternoon; what with new inter-house common rooms, there usually was a steady stream of traffic in the hallways. It was too early in the year for Quidditch, so where was everybody? Then he remembered – it was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the school year, so it was no wonder that the Castle was all but deserted.

Suddenly overcome with a hankering for butterbeer and some Honeydukes chocolate, Draco thought he might as well follow suit. He engaged a house-elf to fetch his cloak from his quarters, and soon was on his way. The air was still reasonably warm for October in Scotland, but the chill of autumn was gradually settling in the shadows; Madam Rosmerta was already doing brisk business in selling warm drinks, and Madam Puddifoot's wasn't far behind. Draco felt rather nostalgic as he watched the students mill around the village, darting in and out of shops and spending their allowances as if it would fall out of fashion tomorrow. He groaned inwardly as he saw a mixed group of third-year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors leave Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with several bags of merchandise; even after only a few weeks of teaching, he'd already pegged them as troublemakers. Not bullies, thank Merlin, just pranksters, but still …!

He was tempted to confiscate their purchases on the spot, but didn't want to be pigeonholed as 'the mean teacher' right from the start of his career; they'd learn soon enough by other means that his Potions lab was no place for pranks.

So, in order to avoid having to interfere – after all, he was not on chaperone duty today – he decided to take the longer path around the village for his way back. The exercise would do him good, the weather was pleasant enough, and he could still enjoy a nice cuppa with his newly-restocked stash of sweets once he got back.

Draco strolled leisurely, paying only marginal attention to his surroundings, when suddenly a few high-pitched squeals disrupted the air.

Children. Fairly young children, at that – definitely below Hogwarts age.

He wondered for a minute – Hogsmeade residents usually kept their offspring inside on those weekends that the Hogwarts students came down from the castle – then recalled that Minerva's school was somewhere on the outskirts of the village. It seemed he'd found the place.

Curiously, he followed the sound and soon came upon a low stone wall, encircling what at one point might've been the central part of a small farm. The gate in the wall opened to a gravel path that led into a paved courtyard, with a roomy cottage on one side and two outbuildings flanking it left and right. Behind the buildings, he could make out a somewhat scruffy lawn, and it was from there that he'd heard the children's voices.

A cautious attempt showed that the gate wasn't locked, so Draco let himself onto the property and slowly made his way towards the buildings. They looked reasonably well-kept, although he could see that some repairs and general improvements might still be necessary; most likely, the fairly-new school didn't have the necessary funds at the moment.

Must send a note to the family lawyers; surely a donation of some kind will be welcome.

The outbuilding on the right had double-sided glass doors, and through them Draco could see that it contained three rooms of roughly equal size, one of them clearly set up as a classroom, with neat rows of desks and a large blackboard in front. The second building was more closed-up; it seemed logical that it would house dorms, washroom facilities and whatever other communal areas the pupils used whereas the central cottage most likely held both the teachers' living spaces as well as the kitchen and dining area. All in all, there was both an air of newness and timelessness around the school, making for a rather pleasing whole, Draco decided.

He wandered around the corner, still following the childish voices, and came onto a large open space, one corner of which had been fenced off – and inside that area, Draco finally saw the children. There were about a dozen or so, ranging in age from about seven to ten years … and they were engaged in the strangest activities Draco had ever observed.

This separate area was filled with ankle-deep sand, and the youngest children seemed to be occupied with pails, shovels and an assortment of twigs, scraps of fabric and a large box of oddly-shaped and –coloured stones. A closer look revealed that the mounds of sand they were piling up were being shaped into what looked like a castle, with towers, turrets, a central courtyard and a full-size moat around it all. Two of the oldest boys were scampering all over a strange wooden structure, the purpose of which Draco couldn't guess at – there were ropes, pieces that wobbled and swung when walked over, a small tower to look out of, and a metal incline going from the highest point right down into the sand at the bottom that Draco had no idea what it was for … until one of the boys sat down at the top, and slid all the way down with a loud whoop as if it were a banister in a stairwell. The second boy followed, and together they raced off to a tree at the edge of the enclosed area where two wide leather straps hung suspended with thick, shiny chains from one of the higher branches. Both boys pushed off and soon were moving back and forth in the air, moving their legs in a way that served to swing them higher and higher on each end of the arc. The rest of the children were also engaged in various exercises on metal bars set up at various heights, a contraption that had a child sitting at either end, bouncing up and down and who seemed determined to bounce the other off the central bar each time they switched positions. And in one corner, where the sand slowly gave way to firm ground, two girls were twirling a long rope in a circle between them while a third was standing in the middle, skipping over the rope every time it swung down.

Whatever it was they were doing (and Draco had absolutely no idea what the purpose of all these activities was), the children were clearly having fun, as there was lots of laughter and gleeful shouts.

And in the midst of all this, laughing with them while keeping a careful eye on everyone, stood a man of about Draco's age, clad in Muggle jeans and a warm, hooded shirt, with messy dark hair and glasses that sparkled in the late-afternoon sunlight.

No … it can't be … Harry?

At this moment, one of the children at the sand structure looked up and spied Draco.

"Mr. Harry, there's a man at the gate," the girl called out in a piping voice that sounded only curious, not scared.

"There is?" Harry said casually even as his wand hand fell into a position that would release his wand from its holster in an instant if necessary, and his posture went to an alertness Draco had been quite familiar with during their school days. Obviously he didn't want to frighten the children, but was fully into protective mode already. "Do we know him?"

"I doubt the children would, but you certainly do," Draco said quietly, lips twitching. "Hello, Harry." And he was 'Harry' now, had been for quite some time.

"Draco!" The green eyes lit up, and a moment later Draco found himself hugged for all he was worth.

It was so easy to return the embrace! Even if it would never mean more than friendship on Harry's part, Draco was glad to accept what he was being given so freely and without reserve. It had been one of his most golden Todays when he'd realized how well his magic seemed to mesh with Harry's … and as naturally as breathing, the desire for more had followed. But Harry seemed unaware – or maybe unwilling; Draco didn't know, and wasn't going to jeopardize their friendship by asking – so he'd decided that for once, things had to be good enough the way they were.

After all, 'good enough' doesn't equal bad!

"What brings you here? How long have you been here, how long can you stay, do you have time to meet for drinks, or maybe dinner, I can't believe you're here, I-"

"Slow down, Harry," Draco laughed, delighted by the unfeigned enthusiasm of the greeting. He felt a brief pang of regret when the hug ended, but that was easily sublimated into contentment when Harry called over the two boys on the swinging contraption and tasked them to watch over the younger kids for another half-hour. "I'll send Maury over to fetch you when it's time for dinner – and don't forget to clean up," he admonished them with a smile. A chorus of "Yes, Mr. Harry" followed them as Harry took Draco's arm and began to guide him back to the buildings. Amusedly, Draco began to answer the torrent of questions. "I stocked up at Honeydukes, I've been here since the end of August, will definitely stay the school year, of course I'll have time for dinner – idiot! – and why wouldn't I be here if here is where I work?"

"You … what?"

"I'm the new Potions teacher at Hogwarts," Draco said with quiet pride. "On a temporary contract for the next year, but if it works out, I'll eventually have tenure. I hope."

"Oh, that's great! Congratulations," Harry beamed. "Come on, say hello to Minerva, and I'll show you around AWW!"

Now that surprised a laugh out of Draco as he willingly followed his friend. "Aww? What the hell is that?"

Harry chuckled. "You know that Minerva named the school 'Hogsmeade Academy for Wee Wizards and Witches'?"

"Well, yes, but …?"

"Turned out that's quite a mouthful. Even Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry doesn't always get called by its full name, right? It's always just Hogwarts … and somebody came up with the idea to use an acronym of its name, and it kinda stuck."

"But the acronym is properly HAWWW," Draco pointed out.

"Yeah, well, shows what you know," Harry grinned and winked. "When the kids got wind of it, Leon – that's one of the boys I left in charge back at the playground – said that no matter what we named it, the kids thought the school was awesome, so … AWW it was."

Draco knew he was losing the fight to hide his own grin. "'Awesome'. AWW. Right. Only you, Potter. Only you!"

A quick Floo call to the school let the staff know Professor Malfoy would return later, and Draco sat down to a simple but satisfying meal with Harry, Minerva McGonagall and a middle-aged woman who turned out to be Seamus Finnegan's Muggle aunt. In her lilting Irish accent, she told Draco that she'd trained as a school teacher but had lost her job; as she was aware of magic through her nephew, Minerva hadn't hesitated to hire her to help with her slowly-increasing flock of students.

"So I teach basic maths and English, some geography and history … all the general subjects every child needs to know, magical or not," Erin Finnegan concluded.

"And a good job she's doing of it, too," Minerva said. "I tutor the bairns on most Wizarding things, and we're hoping to find someone soon to instruct them in basic Latin and maybe even in some of the traditions and our culture."

Draco was impressed. Like so many Wizarding children, especially from old Pureblood families, he'd been home-schooled before he'd received his Hogwarts letter, but he could see how this endeavour would benefit Hogwarts. The first children schooled at AWW would enter the castle next year, and if what little he had observed so far held true, not even getting Sorted into different Houses would make a difference as long as they could still socialize in the new inter-house Common Room.

"Anything to minimize House rivalry will be of benefit," he said. "Severus has already agreed to create one or two new Common Rooms where students from all Houses can socialize, but it's only a start."

"It's why I wanted to establish a school for the younger bairns," Minerva said. "Get them to know each other before they're separated into Houses. It wasnae easy for me to leave Hogwarts," she admitted quietly. "But it was something I felt I had to do, both to continue with Albus' plans and what the Sorting Hat was asking for during the last few years. It's certainly more rewarding than I've ever dreamed."

"I always knew if anyone could do it, it'd be you, Minerva," Harry smiled, covering her hand with his and giving it a squeeze. "And both Erin and I will do all we can to help."

Draco stared. "Er, what?"

He got a rather sheepish grin in return. "Um, yeah," Harry mumbled. "It's not final yet, that's why I haven't mentioned it to anyone yet, but … I'm thinking about quitting the Aurors and come to work for Minerva full time."

"Harry has been helping us out on weekends and during his off-time," McGonagall explained with a fond smile. "The children love him, and … well, to be honest, it was quite a novel idea for me at first, but Erin convinced me to give it a try, and …"

"… and the school is the better for Harry's contribution," Mrs. Finnegan said briskly. "Less mischief, and better discipline among the students, if nothing else!"

Now Draco was eaten alive with curiosity. He'd known that Harry had taught Dumbledore's Army in their own time at school, and quite successfully, too, but surely he wasn't instructing children as young as seven in DADA?

"But what is it that you do?" he wondered.

"Actually … I play with the children," Harry said.

"Play? Play what?" Draco was now completely bewildered. "Quidditch, or Gobstones, or what?"

"No. Games – as it's understood at Muggle schools. What you saw in the playground earlier was unstructured play, of course, but it still teaches the kids physical control and stamina they'll eventually need for spellcasting. There are other times where I'm teaching them ball games like football, volleyball or dodgeball – none of which needs a lot of special equipment or uniforms, just a sufficiently big, flat area, a few balls in the right sizes, a net or two and sturdy clothes that can stand dirt and a tear or two. All of which can be bought quite easily – and cheaply – in the nearest Muggle town."

Draco suppressed his still-automatic reaction at the idea of proper Wizarding children dressing in Muggle clothes; after a moment's reflection, he decided it didn't really matter if one looked at it the same way one did with the shapeless Herbology frocks – practical and suited for purpose, not a statement about ideology or whatever.

Still, it was very different from what he, and most of his contemporaries, were used to, and seeing that all three of his dinner companions were eager to share, his inevitable questions led to a lively, invigorating discussion that lasted late into the evening.

When he finally took his leave, Harry got up as well. "I'll walk you up to the castle," he said quietly. "Wouldn't want you to get lost, huh?"

"Potter, I've known the way from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts since our third year," Draco said, exasperatedly. "It's a straight path from the Three Broomsticks, which is just around that corner over there!"

"I know, I lodge there," Harry replied. "Sheesh, can't you take a joke?"

"Yes, I can – but I neither need nor want a – a minder!"

Harry was silent for nearly a full minute, until they'd reached the square in front of Madam Rosmerta's inn, leaving Draco to seethe over the imagined slight … and some niggling worry that he'd overreacted badly.

Just when Draco was about to bid Harry farewell, the other man spoke up at last. "I know you don't need a minder," he said so quietly, Draco had to strain his ears to make out the words. "I just thought you'd like some more time with a friend."

Draco closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He had to handle this situation just right, or his still-growing friendship with Harry might suffer a significant setback. "Well, if you put it that way, I guess I can stand your company a bit longer," he grumbled, casting a sideways glance at Harry and letting him see the slight smile around his mouth. "I take it you insist?"

Much to Draco's relief, Harry answered with a smile of his own. "Of course. All part of the 'protect and serve' motto we've adopted at the Aurors."

"Uh huh. Well then, Auror Potter – do your best." Following the grand, sweeoing gesture Harry made towards the path the castle, he couldn't help adding, "Although let me warn you – any mud-slinging, bodiless floating heads will get hexed on sight!"

"You'll have to catch me first," Harry laughed, linked his arm through Draco's and all but tugged him onwards, their bodies aligning themselves quite naturally into the rhythm of walking.

After less than a dozen steps, Draco decided he didn't mind the escort at all.

Within two years, Minerva's plans bore beautiful fruit. The children coming from her school into Hogwarts broke the barriers between the Houses almost from the get-go, thereby greatly reducing the still-present strain. And as the children – or rather their parents, at their instigation – quite vocally campaigned for the kind of extracurricular activities they'd got used to at AWW, the headmaster grudgingly asked Harry to establish a similar programme at Hogwarts.

It hadn't been easy to convince the Board of Governors, but the relatively low budget, the measurable success (and not least the Potter fame) finally wore them down. The only snag seemed to be that Harry refused to accept a professorship.

"But why not, Mr. Potter?"

Harry smiled at the assembled Board members and his prospective colleagues. "Simple. What I'm proposing to offer the students are leisure activities, not new classes to be graded in. I want a certain amount of attendance to be mandatory, if only for health reasons; mens sana in corpore sano, as you know. I may quiz them on occasion on rules, background or the history of a sport or game, yes, but I won't set them any kind of compulsory tests. Such a quiz, or an essay or two, can also serve as punishment for rule infraction or misbehavior, when whatever mischief a student has done doesn't warrant exclusion, temporary or permanent whatever the case may be. But the main focus is, and will remain, for the students to bond across the House divides. After all, as Professor McGonagall will no doubt attest, kids who've just spent an afternoon having fun together are hardly likely to throw hexes at each other an hour later."

"Fun, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked with a distasteful sneer.

Harry wouldn't let this deter him, though. "Yes, Headmaster, fun. I believe it to be almost as important as academic achievements – and incidentally, slacking in class would be one reason for exclusion, or at least restriction," he said firmly. When Snape (and a couple of the School Governours) still looked disapproving, he added almost defiantly, "It's not a dirty word, you know!"

This was so nearly a perfect echo of what Lily Evans used to tell Severus, it served to let him, at least, subside.

Having made his case, Harry leaned back and waited for the Hogwarts staff and the Board members to discuss his proposal. After a few minutes, he leaned towards Draco and Neville, who'd joined the faculty not long ago as Assistant Professor of Herbology, and were flanking him at the conference table. "I've quit the Aurors to get away from mountains of paperwork," he murmured quietly to them. It wasn't the only reason, but had certainly played a big part. "Why on earth would I want to create my own here by setting homework and tests?"

"Hah! I always knew you were just a lazy sod," Draco smirked, earning himself a huff and a surreptitious poke in the ribs.

"Am not."

"Are too."

Neville just groaned and hid a smile as the two continued to bicker. When he caught Snape's irritated frown, he just shrugged and gestured as if to say 'What did you expect? It's Potter and Malfoy back at Hogwarts', but interrupted his former yearmates anyway.

"Guys. Guys? Remember where you are? And that you're no longer eleven?"

"Hmph," Draco glowered.

"Yeah, whatever," Harry mumbled.

Both, however, straightened in their seats and re-adopted a professional manner. Neville rolled his eyes … and decided they owed him a pint of Rosmerta's best ale the next time they all met at the Three Broomsticks. Each.

The infamous Potter/Malfoy feud never fully revived once both young men were back at their old school – much to everyone's relief. Oh, they still sniped and snarked at each other every chance they got, but time and maturity, as well as the unlikely friendship they'd developed between them, had mellowed the whole state of affairs into an amicable rivalry rather than the all-out hex war it had been during their school days.

For themselves, Draco and Harry relished the chance to really get to know each other in an everyday setting. Yes, they'd exchanged owls and had had brief meetings, even taken the odd holiday trip or two together, but it was nothing compared to spending hours each day in close proximity, for weeks and months.

Harry may have scoffed at what he called Draco's prissiness and painstaking attention to detail not only in his work, but also in his private life … but he learned to appreciate those traits when it came to organize a structured syllabus that could be seamlessly integrated into life at Hogwarts. Also, Draco was absolutely marvelous at playing charades.

Draco regularly deplored Harry's casual approach to discipline even as he wondered how the students rarely seemed to abuse the freedom he gave them. He also would never understand how a person could be completely indifferent to the way he looked or dressed – didn't Harry understand that a proper appearance at all times conveyed an impression of power and control to any observer? However, he had to admit that it was a relief not to have to worry about propriety when games got a bit rowdy – and who knew it'd be so exhilarating to learn and take part in these things? And sweet Salazar, Harry looked gorgeous, all disheveled and sweaty, with his eyes sparkling like emeralds!

Both Assistant Professor Longbottom and Headmaster Snape watched the two former schoolmates as they danced around each other, the strict, exacting Potions Professor and the laid-back, friendly Games Master – that being the job title Harry and Headmaster Snape had finally agreed on when Harry got hired. Draco may have thought he was hiding his attraction towards Harry, and Harry quite obviously was fighting a losing battle over the same thing, but Neville and Severus, always quiet yet astute observers, weren't fooled. There were just too many lingering looks exchanged, too many smiles not hidden quickly enough, and anyone who thought the friendly hugs and casual touches were all innocent and 'friends only', well, there was a multi-storey car park on sale in Diagon Alley.

"I wish they'd just get it over with and admit they want each other," Neville muttered to himself one day when Harry had shanghaied Draco yet again into helping him with organizing a general indoor games afternoon on the weekend before Christmas break. Yes, Draco wasn't familiar with a lot of the board and card games Harry had provided, and the gramophone had to be set up just right to provide music for dancing and yet more games, but surely the instructions didn't require that much hand-holding?

"You should see them in the Potions lab," a voice that was no longer quite as silky as of yore murmured from behind Neville's shoulder. Snape's throat had never quite recovered from the damage Nagini had done, but he still retained the ability to provide whole volumes of scathing commentary with just a handful of well-chosen words. "If you'll recall, Mr. Malfoy agreed to help Potter brew some showy elixirs to use for this Yule Pageant project; I would not have thought it possible that a grown man needs to have his hand held while slicing daisy roots. 'No, Harry, you need to angle the knife just so,' Snape mimicked Draco's tenor with amused disgust. "And then he bloody well guided Potter's hand from behind to demonstrate!"

Torn between hysterical laughter and horrified astonishment at the mental image Snape had just conjured, Neville couldn't suppress a snort. "Oh, they didn't!"

His former boggart gave him a very sardonic look. "Would you perhaps like to view a Pensieved memory of the incident, Longbottom?" Without waiting for an answer, Snape turned on his heel and swept off, robes billowing as dramatically as always.

"Merlin, I really would," Neville breathed, chuckling to himself as he continued to watch Draco and Harry. "It'd be so positively epic, I'd have free drinks for life from them!"

"Draco? Draco, are you all right?" Harry asked softly as he let himself into Draco's darkened living quarters. Despite all possible precautions, there'd been an explosion during Potions class, and two of Draco's fifth-year students were now in the infirmary, both suffering from severe burns and lingering poisoning symptoms. What was worse, the accident had happened when Draco was solely responsible for the Potions department – Snape was at a conference in China, to discuss methods to integrate into the Potions textbook he'd finally decided to write.

Harry knew how Draco must feel – he'd lived through quite a number of occasions where students got injured during games. Lucky for him, small cuts and bruises, or even the occasional sprained or even broken limb could easily be fixed by the school's Mediwitch. Still didn't lessen the guilt whenever it happened on his watch, though. But Draco had been in the classroom when the cauldron exploded because of a moment's inattention – and it had been his decision to guide the OWLs class in brewing a potion with such volatile and dangerous ingredients.

He waited just inside the door until his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and when he made out Draco's huddled figure in a corner of the settee, slowly walked over and sat down next to him. Draco didn't even look at him, but neither did he move away … or object when Harry took his cold hand into his own, warmer one.

"It wasn't your fault, Draco," Harry murmured soothingly, starting to rub gentle circles with his thumb onto the pale skin. "It was an accident. These things happen sometimes, no matter how well you prepare against them."

"It shouldn't have happened to me," Draco whispered after a lengthy pause. "I let myself be distracted by some stupid question and got into an argument; if I hadn't, if I'd just paid more attention to what Sanjiv and Bryson were doing with that armadillo bile, their potion wouldn't have boiled over and exploded, and I was too far away to cast a stasis charm effectively, and now they're hurt and in the Infirmary, and-"

"And nothing," Harry interrupted quite firmly, slipping an arm around the shaking shoulders and giving them a squeeze. "I get you feel responsible; any good teacher would. And you are a good teacher, or even more children would've got hurt. Once you saw what was happening, you did everything in your power to contain the damage – and you did. I know you – you wouldn't have let them work on that potion without warning them beforehand that some ingredients were volatile and needed to be handled carefully, right?"

"Of course," Draco murmured hoarsely, burrowing a little more into the comforting embrace. "It's standard procedure in my class."

"See? Then how is it your fault that two idiots who should've known better disregarded basic safety protocols and got sloppy?"

"Because it's my class. And because I've never lost a student, and-"

"You haven't 'lost' anyone this time, either," Harry told him firmly. "Poppy is fixing them up right now, and it serves them right to be uncomfortable for the time they need to heal up. Just wait, they'll be back in class before you know it … and hopefully with a little more sense!"

Draco just sighed and looked away, but Harry was having none of that. Gently but firmly, he grasped the still-pointy chin and turned the pale face back towards him. "Listen to me," he said. "You're neither the first, nor the only teacher who's had students coming to harm in his class, through no fault of their own. I have, Filius has, I bet the Headmaster had in his time … hell, even you got injured in class because you ignored the instructions you've been given," Harry snorted. "Remember Buckbeak?"

"Who?" The gray eyes were confused, but at least the despondency and crippling guilt were slowly draining out of their stormy depths, Harry noted with relief.

"Hagrid's hippogriff, in fourth year," he smirked. "You have to admit, you were just trying to spite Hagrid … and being a snotty little shite, just because. You well deserved what you got!"

Draco glared at Harry, the effect rather diminished by the fact that his head was resting on Harry's shoulder. "I did not!"

"Right," Harry chuckled, shifting so that they sat more comfortably. "You knew hippogriffs expected a show of respect – especially after I'd just demonstrated what to do, and got a ride over the lake for it. So why else would you be so obnoxious?"

Draco lowered his eyes and finally mumbled something too low for Harry to understand.

"Say again?" he prodded with a slight grin full of fondness.

The glare was still there, only now it was accompanied by a faint blush. "I was jealous of you, okay?" Draco snapped at last. "You looked so fierce, and free, riding that brute of a beast – and I wanted to ride it with you. Only I couldn't well ask, could I, and so …"

Surprised, and more than slightly touched, Harry was momentarily at a loss for words. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. "Oh, Draco," he sighed … and buried his head in the silky platinum hair. "You were such an idiot!"

"Well, so were you back then," Draco huffed, thinking he should be really offended, but was too distracted by what felt almost like a kiss against his hairline.

Did he, or didn't he? If I were to look up just a bit, and turn towards him just so … would he kiss me again? And properly this time?

Alas, he was no Gryffindor, so he didn't have enough courage to ask for that long-desired kiss … but maybe Slytherin cunning would serve as well? With that thought in mind, he scooted even closer into Harry's arms, all but snuggling against that delightfully-muscular chest. To his delight, Harry's arms tightened around him, and …

That was *definitely* a kiss!

The only problem was, it had landed on his forehead. Not at all where Draco wanted it. So he permitted himself a small, pleased sigh and subtly moved his head, tilting it sideways and slightly up, and gazed at the man holding him from under half-closed lids.

He felt, more than heard, Harry's gasp.

Slowly, Draco opened his eyes and looked.

"Harry," he whispered at last.

A gulp.

His heart was beating hard enough to burst out of his chest, but hope rose within him stronger than ever before, and Draco carefully freed one hand and lifted it to touch a lean brown cheek.

"Harry," he whispered again.

Emerald eyes burned behind shiny lenses, and his fingers were captured in a strong grip … not flung away, but rather pressed more deeply against skin roughened by the beginnings of afternoon stubble.

"Draco," Harry murmured back. To Draco's secret delight, it took him a couple of tries to make those two small syllables audible even across the very small distance separating them.

"Yes, Harry." Part question, and a bigger part affirmation – and that was how far Slytherin cunning would take him. The rest was now up to the Gryffindor lion, that epitome of courage and daring to go where angels feared to tread.

Only we're no angels … and right now, I'd kill for a bit of deviltry!

Harry shuddered slightly and summoned every bit of his Marauder's heritage, daring to leap where his heart had wanted to lead him for quite some time now.

Slowly, never once losing eye contact with the man he held, he lowered his head and fitted his mouth over Draco's.

Much later, they were still holding each other, only they were now lying closely entwined on the Turkish rug in front of Draco's fireplace, heads supported by pillows pilfered from the couch and the flames in the grate casting soft shadows onto their skin.

"I've waited a long time for this," Draco murmured, playing idly with the dark hair dusting Harry's chest. "What took us so long?"

Harry shrugged; not an easy feat when he was half-covered by the man in his arms.

"I don't know."

There was just enough diffidence in his voice to make Draco raise his head so he could better look into Harry's eyes.

"Didn't you want this?" he asked, suddenly afraid. I only just got you – I can't lose you again already! "Harry?"

The deep sigh was anything but reassuring, but it was counterpointed by the firm hug and soft brush of lips against his forehead.

"I did," Harry admitted slowly, "but I'm not yet sure that it's what I need. What we need, actually," he continued.

"I don't understand," Draco frowned. "I know I've wanted you for ages, ever since we became friends, so …"

"That's just it, Draco," Harry sighed. "We haven't been friends all that long, and to change what we have into something else …"

"Into becoming lovers," Draco said clearly. There was no purpose in avoiding the erumpent in the room. "That's what we are now – aren't we?"

After what we've just shared, how can we be anything *else*?

"I think we can be," Harry said slowly. "I think … I think I want us to be." He easily restrained Draco from pouncing on him with glee. "But only if I don't lose you as my friend," he added. "Can you promise me we won't lose that if we become more?"

"Lovers," Draco repeated firmly, barely able to contain his joy. But he could see that Harry wasn't quite convinced yet, was still wary of this new step, this new direction. So he offered what he hoped was the right path.

"I can't make a promise like that," he murmured, thinking deeply. "The future – or even just tomorrow – can be very uncertain, and who knows what will happen? And I wouldn't want to break such a promise to you."

It was gratifying to see disappointment washing across Harry's features, but he much preferred the delight he'd seen when Harry had come apart in his arms. So …

"What I can promise you, though, is that I'll try. I'll try my damnedest to not only stay your friend, but also to be your lover … and whatever else we may become tomorrow … if you'll make the same promise to me."

The green eyes cleared, and a slow smile curved Harry's lips. "That I can do – and do it gladly," he vowed. In a slow, languorous movement, he shifted until Draco was on his back and Harry could slip one leg between Draco's. Bodies aligned as closely as they could be, he then leaned over and brushed his mouth against Draco's.

"I promise you tomorrow," he breathed. "In whatever form it comes."

"Tomorrow," Draco agreed huskily, and sealed it with a kiss.

4.Epilogue

Headmaster Snape strode towards the lectern in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, and all the students, teachers, parents and assembled dignitaries fell silent. He let his dark eyes sweep across the sea of faces, and almost – but not quite! – smiled.

"Ten years ago tomorrow," he began his speech, "something ended in this very Hall. A man who had long ago lost his humanity died, brought down by one of our own. We continue to mourn those who fell with him, both those who supported him and those who fought against the darkness he spread and helped to bring about his ultimate downfall.

"The Wizarding world outside will celebrate this day. Not so us, who are here at Hogwarts. We do not celebrate death, the darkness of yesterday, but rejoice instead in the light that is our today and celebrate, as it was done of old, Beltane, the festival that stands for new beginnings and sows the seeds for our future. Beltane is today. It is, was, ever will be a day for life, a day of life."

Severus' gaze swept once more over the guests in the Great Hall, pausing briefly at a silvery-blond and a raven-black head that could invariably be found together these days. Inwardly, he did smile now. It had taken them a long time, but Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were going to have their own very special tomorrow. He continued with his speech, as was expected, but to all in the know it was irrelevant what he was saying today.

For next Beltane, there will be a bonding at Hogwarts.

Finite Incantatem.

Note: Mens sana in corpore sano = Latin for "a sound mind in a healthy body"