Disclaimer:All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: This was written for the 2011 H/D Smoochfest on LiveJournal, prompt #38 submitted by Vaysh11:

Time Period: 8th year
Place: Hogwarts Castle and environs
Object/Word Prompts: flowering apple trees, a kiss by the lake, memories of the dead
Action: Professor Slughorn, who is rather disenchanted with Harry's abilities in potions, orders Draco to give Harry remedial potions lessons. Harry abhors to be taught anything by Draco, and Draco hates to even be in the same room as Harry. But when a strange case of dragon pox breaks out in Hogwarts, Draco and Harry together come up with the cure. During those long nights locked into the potions lab, pouring over dusty old books and stirring simmering potions, they fall in love with each other.
Squicks/dislikes: blond/brunet used for Draco/Harry
Preferences/Other Notes: Feel free to change the prompt to your liking.

My first-ever Harry Potter fic! And it's Harry/Draco! (Yeah, yeah … I start writing in a new fandom, and it's slash. Like that has never happened before!) It's the first time I participated in any kind of fest, and I did it as a pinch hitter, too – just because this huge plot bunny hopped up out of nowhere and bit me when I read the prompt, and I just knew I'd be able to break my 29-month-long (!) writer's block with it! Although, in true form for me, what I envisioned as a quick'n'easy, roughly 8K fic almost immediately grew out of proportion until I submitted a 24K mini-monster. *sigh* Now I'm rewriting it to post for me, and I'm absolutely positive it's going to be even longer than that. (Those of you who know me – is anyone really surprised? … Thought not. *grins*) – Okay, last of the technical stuff: the rating will eventually be M/R, there's a side pairing of Ron/Hermione, and no warnings apply (other than I don't believe in exclusively top!/bottom!either boy. So yes, purists, there will be switching. Sorry!). Oh yeah, and no epilogue, either!

Note to Vaysh11: This is the extended version I promised you when the fic first went up at Smoochfest; thanks for giving the option of fitting your prompt to my – ie, the story's – needs. (Couldn't have the boys at odds anymore, sorry!)

Everyone enjoy, I hope, and please pass by the feedback box on your way out?

Merge

By Dagmar Buse

Prologue

"He'll never stand for it."

"He will, if he intends to pass his NEWTs."

"But why me? Surely Granger …"

"Mr. Malfoy, while Miss Granger is very competent at Potions, she doesn't quite have your natural flair. And while I'm aware that she is one of Mr. Potter's closest friends and you have a … somewhat more volatile history with him, I still believe that you can be the better teacher. If you can let go of old grievances."

The image of steady green eyes meeting his own, and a hand holding out a familiar hawthorn wand to him rose within Draco's mind. He knew now, as he'd known then, that the implied offer had been sincere, and hadn't changed since they'd both returned to Hogwarts to finish their schooling. In fact, some of their classmates were actually starting to speculate whether he and Potter might eventually become friends, sacrilegious as the thought would have been less than a year ago.

"That … won't be a problem, sir," was all he said, though. Horace Slughorn smiled at the slender young man before him.

"Good, good," he beamed. "Then it's all settled. If Mr. Potter's next attempt at brewing doesn't turn out significantly better than in the past few weeks, I'll appoint you his tutor."

*Not bloody likely.* Harry Potter might have saved the Wizarding World four months ago, but he was still pants at Potions. Draco barely suppressed a small smirk. *At least there's one thing I'm better at than you, Scarhead!*

The Potions master stood from his chair, Draco rising with him. Slughorn laid a comradely hand on a still too-thin shoulder as he guided Draco towards the door of his office. "A word of advice, my boy?"

"Sir?" Draco maintained a polite façade as the older man's usually genial expression took on a more crafty cast.

"Helping the Saviour achieve his goal of becoming an auror can only be of benefit to you … and your family's name, perhaps. Do not waste this opportunity."

Draco nodded once, understanding the implications. Slughorn was doing him a favour, and there would be payback exacted … eventually. *Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin.*

"Don't worry, Professor. I won't."

He left, pondering the possibility that the about-to-be-enforced proximity and isolation might actually foster the tentative friendship that was developing between him and Potter. He was, however, very definitely not thinking about how this selfsame proximity and isolation was going to increase whatever strange, un-Malfoy-like thing he was beginning to feel towards the Boy-Who-Lived-Again. Or how attractive he was beginning to find the perpetually-messy black mop, the wiry yet athletic build and the expressive green eyes behind glasses Draco's hand itched to remove sometimes.

*Nuh-uh. I'm not. Not at all. Never. Never, ever.*

Somehow, Draco Malfoy's inner voice didn't sound very convincing even to its owner at times.

Xx0xX

"A word, please, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir." Harry groaned inwardly and stared disconsolately at his potions vial after filling it with a sample of his work. Today's assignment had been to brew a Detoxifying Draught, and it was supposed to have a water-like consistency and a clear aquamarine colour. What sloshed in his cauldron appeared viscous and … teal.

*Close, but … not quite there.* Which summed up pretty much the entirety of his Potions experience since he'd started at Hogwarts seven years ago, Harry reflected sourly. Sure, part of that could be laid at Snape's feet – taking out his hatred of James Potter on the son, and his rather uncompromising teaching methods – but Harry was honest enough with himself to admit he'd never applied himself as much as he could have … and that Hermione hadn't been entirely wrong when she'd called using the Half-Blood Prince's book cheating. So Harry had resolved to do his best now that he could look at a year of school, his last, without having a megalomaniac and his minions out to kill him lurking in the background.

*And I'm doing okay, mostly, just … not in Potions.* Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology – even after barely a month of school, his marks were already improving, simply by dint of studying regularly and thoroughly, doing his homework on time instead of at the last minute (or just copying Hermione's notes when she let him) and participating more in class. But his Potions work steadfastly missed the mark, sometimes spectacularly so.

At least today's effort was close enough to the expected result to get him a passing mark – but he needed more than that to earn an overall 'Exceeds Expectations' on his NEWTs.

Harry sighed again. 'Close' wasn't going to cut it, not if he ever wanted to get that 'EE' in order to qualify for Auror training. And while Minister for Magic pro tem Kingsley Shacklebolt had hinted that he'd be accepted into the academy no matter what, Harry refused to slide in solely on his fame or the merits of the 'Saviour' label the Daily Prophet had hung on him and which he desperately wanted to shake. Which meant he had to get his Potions grade up, come hell or high water.

Reluctantly, he approached Slughorn's desk as soon as the rest of the eighth-year Advanced Potions students had left the classroom, waiting to hear what his teacher had to say on the matter.

"I assume that you know what this is about, Mr. Potter?" Slughorn asked, not unkindly.

"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled, staring at the array of sample vials. His own wasn't the worst of the lot, if he said so himself, but it was a good ways off the best. "I've gone wrong somewhere again."

"Indeed." Slughorn picked up the little flask with Harry's name on the label and tilted it towards the lamps lighting the classroom. "What you've brewed … it's not completely unusable. This potion should clear up minor ailments, as may arise from eating slightly-spoiled food, say, but I'm afraid it's not suitable for anything more sophisticated. As it is, it only barely meets the requirements for an 'Acceptable'."

"I know," Harry said, frustration giving an edge and more volume than proper to his voice. Slughorn's eyebrow rose in astonishment and disapproval, and he reined himself back in with some effort. "Sorry, sir; I didn't mean any disrespect." He ran a hand through his hair, making it even messier than it already was. "It's just, I'm pretty sure I followed all the steps correctly – in fact, I know I did, not just today but in every class since the beginning of term. I'm double-checking myself on all the ingredients, the right order to add everything, and the number of stirs all the time! I really have no clue why nearly all of my potions come out … well, not always wrong, exactly, but still off somehow."

"Hmmm. Did you remember to switch the direction of your stirring after adding the powdered Runespoor scales?"

Harry nodded emphatically. "I'm positive, sir. Seven stirs clockwise, three widdershins, repeated five times, to seal in the Arithmantic properties."

It was the correct answer, Harry could see it in Slughorn's approving smile, and he allowed himself a small mental pat on the back; at least he'd remembered that much.

*But that still doesn't explain why my potion didn't come out the way it ought to have!*

He watched as the Potions professor examined the vial more closely, even going so far as to test the texture and taste by tipping a single drop onto a fingertip while he pondered the problem. At last, Slughorn met his eyes.

"Well, my dear boy, assuming that you have indeed prepared all the ingredients correctly – not diced where you should have chopped or vice versa, for example – there's only one thing I can suggest."

Harry slanted a look at the professor. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like whatever came next. "What's that, sir?"

"You need Remedial Potions, Mr. Potter." Harry barely suppressed a flinch at the phrase. Quickly he reminded himself that Slughorn wastalking about extra tutoring, not using it as a euphemism for Occlumency training like his sessions with Snape during Fifth year. Nobody would be trying to invade his mind forcefully time and again, or mock him with cruelly-barbed sarcasm when he couldn't shield well or fast enough. Drawing a deep breath to dispel the unpleasant memories, Harry nodded glumly.

"I guessed as much."

Slughorn chuckled. "Don't look so despondent, Mr. Potter. You have shown in your sixth year that you are capable of brewing with excellent results. Is there any way, perhaps, that you could duplicate whatever it was you did then?" the older man prodded with surprising tact, but Harry just shook his head 'no'. Snape's book had vanished in the fiendfyre that devastated the Room of Requirement, and besides – it wouldn't feel right to use that particular shortcut again.

*Not after what Snape did, for me and everybody. It'd be just … wrong, somehow.*

Harry refocussed on Slughorn, who was still talking. "A pity. Well, no matter, I suppose. What has been done once usually can be repeated, and since you have shown that you aren't entirely untalented …" The professor smiled. "Who knows, with some extra tutoring you might even regain … former glories, shall we say?" It was obviously meant to sound optimistic, but all Harry could do was produce a weak smile at the attempt. Eventually, Slughorn's hopeful expression faded into nothing and he clapped his hands with forced cheerfulness. "Well then. Let's arrange a time right away, shall we?" A flick of his wand and a murmured incantation produced a parchment with Harry's class schedule overlaid on a table listing the classrooms in use. Another schedule was added, and common free times in all three lit up in bright green. "Perfect. The small lab right off the dungeons staircase is free on most nights, and this group of seventh-years can easily be shifted to another room. How does tomorrow night, half an hour after your last class, suit?"

*Not at all,* Harry was tempted to say. *That's when I'd planned to watch the Gryffindor Quidditch practice with Ron, now that we can't play ourselves!* But his newfound resolve to put a greater emphasis on his studies this year held, so he acquiesced quietly. At least he'd still finish in time for dinner.

"Good, good. I'll let Mr. Filch know so you and your tutor won't be disturbed." He gathered his wand, papers and the rack of vials, then ushered Harry towards the classroom door, following close on his heels.

Harry frowned as he reached for the door's handle. That sounded almost as if it wasn't going to be Slughorn who'd tutor him – which was equally a relief and slightly alarming. "Won't I be seeing you tomorrow then, Professor?" he asked, making sure.

"Oh, no, Potter; I couldn't possibly! Wednesday nights are reserved for my little soirées, if you'll remember. Pity you'll have to miss them … but I suppose that can't be helped," Slughorn said jovially. "Our Saviour's future career is far more important than a modest social gathering. Maybe you can find the time once you're all caught up on Potions, yes?"

*What, Slug Club again? A whole evening of listening to people brag and Slughorn brownnosing the lot? Not in this lifetime – or for all the gourmet food in the world,* Harry resolved then and there, but he could hardly say that out loud to the man, now could he? *Even if I sort of have a new lifetime to do things in.* He stifled a slightly guilty smirk, not daring to test his newfound appreciaton of snark on a teacher. No, better to skirt the issue of attending altogether. "Um, who's going to tutor me then, sir?"

Slughorn juggled his paraphernalia into a more comfortable position and herded Harry into the hallway outside the Potions lab. "Why, Mr. Malfoy, of course," he announced grandly, locking the door with a murmured spell. "He is, after all, the most competent Potions student in your year, dear boy."

Harry couldn't quite stifle a groan, and Slughorn patted his shoulder. "I'm sure two such fine young men as yourselves can put aside your former schoolyard rivalry, can't you?"

"Sure," Harry muttered, averting his face as a lead weight seemed to settle somewhere in the region of his stomach. Of all people, did it have to be Malfoy?

The Head of Slytherin House might have wanted to help a Slytherin student out of House loyalty, but he was also, if not foremost, an inveterate sycophant. And given that Harry was the man who'd defeated Voldemort, Slughorn tried to sweeten the situation. "Of course, should you find it absolutely impossible to work with Mr. Malfoy, maybe you could ask your friend Miss Granger to oblige you?"

For a few seconds, Harry was tempted. Oh, how he was tempted! He was used to working with Hermione, she knew exactly when and how much to prod him, she never stinted on praise when he got something right … but then he remembered how often and how much he'd always relied on her, the way she was already fretting about getting good marks on her NEWTs after missing a whole year of school (the 'because of him' remained unsaid, but Harry was very much aware of it regardless), and how little time she and Ron were having to themselves …

*I can't do this to her. Not after everything she's already done for me since First year.*

Besides, it wasn't as if he was still at war with Malfoy.

Harry had made his peace with the other boy during the summer. Anything else would've been completely ridiculous, not to mention hypocritical, once Harry had spoken up for Draco and his mother in front of the Wizengamot. As a result, Narcissa and Draco had been put on probation instead of joining Lucius in Azkaban, and when Harry had returned the hawthorn wand to its rightful owner they'd discovered that both of them had lost their appetite for fighting.

So far, their truce was working out fine; Malfoy was keeping the snark to a minimum, and Harry was doing his best to control his temper. As the weeks passed, it seemed to be getting easier, even.

*So how bad can being tutored by him be?*

A part of Harry's mind told him 'a lot', but another part, one that appeared to be growing steadily stronger the longer the two of them managed to stay polite towards each other, was drowning out the first.

*Maybe we can even bury the hatchet completely …* As time was passing, Harry had actually begun to hope that an actual friendship was developing between the two of them. Surely they could at least be cordial acquaintances? Harry ruthlessly silenced the tiny little whisper at the back of his mind that longed for even more than friendship.

*I need to sort myself out first. I don't even know what this thing is I'm starting to feel when I'm around Malfoy. And once I have,I must tell Ron and Hermione. And Ginny.* He swallowed surreptitiously; that was one conversation he was notlooking forward to! *And after that … maybe. If I still feel the same. If I even have a snowball's chance in hell that Malfoy isn't going to hex me to Kingdom come before I've finished explaining. Never mind what he's feeling!* Another thought popped into his mind. *Anyway, we'll be spending a lot more time together with this tutoring gig; and there's always a stretch or two when a potion just has to simmer, or set, or whatever. We could, I dunno, get to know each other better. And if everything goes perfectly just this once … maybe something good will happen?*

Suddenly, the prospect of several hours a week brewing potions didn't seem so bad at all. Not if it meant he might find out what he wanted to know of the blond Slytherin during these tutoring sessions. Or privacy to … whatever.

"No, Malfoy's fine," Harry replied to Slughorn's suggestion before he could change his mind. *I just hope I'm not going to regret this!*

Lost in thought, Harry left the dungeons for the Great Hall, his appetite for dinner all but driven away by the two full teams of Cornish pixies playing Quidditch in his stomach all of a sudden. He was not exchanging his former obsession with Malfoy with developing a … a crush on the git – worse than the one he'd had for Cho Chang in fourth year, too.

*Nuh-uh. I'm not. Not at all. Never. Never, ever.*

Somehow, Harry Potter's inner voice didn't sound very convincing even to its owner at times.

TBC …

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