It turned out, as luck would have it, that not only did eighth year Slytherins share a dorm with the Gryffindors, they also shared a head of house. Harry had expected Slughorn to look after the Slytherins in class, but by lumping the two houses together, they had somehow become one group, and McGonagall had adopted the extra three Slytherins as a part of her own house, thinking it an act of unity.

To be fair, Harry supposed all of the eighth years shared classes, but he would have much preferred the three remaining Slytherins didn't have seats that were assigned so close to his. Slughorn didn't make it any easier, either, by pairing him up with Neville, an amused sort of twinkle in his eye that reminded Harry far too much of Dumbledore. Ron was lucky enough to have Hermione, and Zacharias sSmith, the Hufflepuff, had grudgingly moved to share a table with Malfoy in the back of the room, while Pansy and Blaise were busy gossiping over a cauldron to Harry's left, covering their mouths and sending him sharp glances whenever he looked in their direction.

Harry kept a watchful eye on Malfoy, expecting him to grin and immediately start in about how much he hated Harry to Zacharias, but the pair merely scowled at one another, and pushed their things to opposite ends of the desk, ignoring each other once they had evenly split the ingredients. Harry was so distracted, certain the Slytherin was up to something, that he didn't hear Blaize leaning across the aisle to speak to him until he rapped on the table and snapped agitatedly, "Potter!"

"What?" Harry asked, his attention returning to face the Slytherin, whose face was twisted into an ugly sneer.

"I said, 'you chop the wormwood into half inch cubes', not quarter inch strips." Blaise snorted derisively, and made a sharp gesture toward Harry and Neville's desk.

"Oh." Harry said, surprised by the advice, and tried to decipher if he should be grateful for the help, or offended wth the way it had been given. Neville didn't seem to notice the exchange, too busy triple-checking the instructions in his textbook to pay much attention to anything else. By the time Harry had decided to thank the Slytherin, Blaize had already returned to his desk, whispering behind his hand to Parkinson once more.

Slughorn wandered between the pairs, stopping to compliment Hermione and Ron, who both beamed as he awarded ten points to Gryffindor. He merely nodded at Blaize and Pansy, saying softly, his voice wobbling uncertainly at the challenging look Parkinson was giving him, "A half a turn more will set you straight, I think. Err, excellent work, five points to Slytherin."

Harry stiffened automatically when he saw the rounded belly and bristled mustache coming up beside him, and he hoped Slughorn didn't expect him to be as well learned about potions as he was the last time he was in the mans class. Hs hope popped like a balloon when the man leaned over to peer into the cauldron with a smile, only to pull back again with a puzzled expression, saying in confusion, "You're losing your touch, Harry. No matter, you'll do better in the next lesson; its a bit difficult to ease back into brewing if you haven't practiced for some time. Longbottom, perhaps you ought to let Potter measure that out; Professor Snape did say that this wasn't the class for you."

Harry automatically looked around the room at the three Slytherins for a reaction at the mention on Snape, but it seemed none of them had quite caught it, and he twisted back around, disappointed. He wasn't sure what he wanted, exactly, but he had expected there to be some sort of reaction; that somehow they would have picked up on the quiet use of the mans name, and It would have spurred them to show some sort of grief of reverence. Slughorn moved on, circling the classroom again, and Neville nudged Harrys elbow, asking with creased eyebrows, "You alright? You seem a little put out."

"It's just strange, isn't it?" Harry sighed, and took the stirring rod Neville offered quickly, checking the instructions briefly before he began stirring, and continued, "It's like nothing happened; all the Slytherins are acting like the war didn't even take place."

"What do you expect? They're Slytherins; they're not really known for their vast show of emotions. You're kind of like that too, in a way; real stoic sometimes." Neville shrugged, then said casually, "Thats twelve counter-clockwise stirs, Harry, you're only supposed to do ten."

Harry stopped immediately, and frowned, muttering, "When did you get so good at potions?"

"I'm not. I just know how to count, is all." Neville smirked, and Harry almost laughed, imagining first-year Neville being as confident as post-war Neville was. It was almost refreshing that at least that had changed.

He nearly mentioned it, but lost the opportunity when Slughorn cried in alarm, "Smith, Malfoy, that's enough! It's only a potion boys, no need to bring the wands out!"

Indeed, both Malfoy and Smith were out of their seats and poised to duel, fire shining in both their eyes, faces hard and closed off, revealing nothing but anger. Sparks spewed out of Zacharas's wand, which he clenched in his fist so tight his knuckles were white. Neither boy seemed to hear Slughorn at all, or notice that the entire class had stopped brewing to watch them with interest. Malfoy hissed dangerously, "I switched to your side, but don't think I won't use my knowledge from my days as a Death Eater on you if you ever question me like that again."

Harry noticed that Zacharias's nose was bleeding, and tilted at ann odd angle, and he almost wished he had seen Malfoy hit him. Blaize had crossed his arms and was leaning back against his desk, a mix of worry and amusement on his face. Zacharias snarled back, his voice thick due to his broken nose, "Why don't you do it, then? Word has it that you'r no stranger to the cruciatus curse, after all. Is that how daddy got you to get that ugly tattoo on your arm? A few helpful crucio's to aid in the persuasion?"

Harry thought it was very lucky for Zacharias that Neville spoke up right then, calling out across the room demandingly, his voice loud enough in Harrys ear to startle him, "O! We all bloody fought in the war and ended up on the same side one way or another, it's useless to throw that all away now! Malfoy, you're not a Death Eater, so don't talk like you are. And Smith, He's not the enemy here, and his experience in the war is none of your business. Just leave each other alone, will you? It's out eighth year; lets just put this all behind us."

"Well said, Longbottm. Thirty points to Gryffindor for resilience and reason!"

"He may not be a Death Eater," Smith growled, stowing his wand in his pocket angrily as Malfoy lazily replaced his on the desk, "But he is still a massive git."

"Can't argue that." Malfoy shrugged casually, smirking to himself, "It does take one to know one, after all."

Zacharias's face seemed to go ten shades darker at the comment, and before anyone could react he had buried his fist into Malfoys cheekbone, and rammed his knee directly between his legs, both actions hard enough to force the blond to the floor with a groan, a hand against each injury.

"THIRTY POINTS FROM HUFFLEPUFF! TWENTY POINTS FROM SLYTHERIN!" Slughorn was shrieking, but it hardly seemed to have an effect, as Zacharias ignored him and swung his bag over his shoulder, marching out of the classroom in fury, the door banging shut behind him. The classroom was silent besides Slughorn muttering to himself in alarm, a hand splayed over his chest as he flushed with the loss of adrenaline. He panted out, his chest rising and falling, "Potter, Longbottom, please escort Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing."

Harry moved first, and gathered up Malfoys things off of the table, including the wand, which felt warm and familiar in his hand, as if it still wanted to be acquainted with him after all the months after giving it back to its rightful owner. Neville was busy easing Malfoy to his feet, and was smirking to himself by the time the three had entered the hall, Malfoy limping and groaning as he leaned against the Gryffindor. He mused to himself, "I hate to say this, but I can't count the number of times I've wanted to do that to you myself. What did you do to start a fight, anyways?"

"He commented on my pictures from the trial, and asked me how long i reckoned my beard would be if I were in Azkaban right now, where I belong." Malfoy answered with a sigh, and it was clear from the look on Nevilles face that he hadn't expected the blond to answer, much less like that.

"Is that when you broke his nose?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself.

"No, that was a few minutes later."

"What did you say when he asked you that, then?' Neville gaped.

"I told the truth; said it would probably be pretty scraggly, but still wouldn't compare to that of his mothers." Malfoy shrugged, with a sly little smirk that had Neville stopping short to laugh. Harry felt himself grinning with amusement too, and Malfoy caught it, saying sheepishly, "Live a little, Potter, it's okay to laugh once in a while."

"You really are a snake." Neville said, once he had finally stopped chuckling, "Went right for the jugular, didn't you?"

"As is expected of a Malfoy." Draco sneered sarcastically, and Harry almost wondered if the blind wasn't as bad as she had thought after all. If anything, they could bond over their mutual hatred for Zacharias Smith.