Another thing Asher hadn't anticipated with the new potion was how much more she was stared at. Her heritage was showing; her hair shone with new luster and her skin had gained an almost ethereal glow. Even Minerva, upon her return, had eyed her curiously, and Professor Flitwick became even more tongue-tied than usual around her.

But there was another reason for the staring, as well: The Daily Prophet had slowed a bit when she was gone, but when she returned, new articles began appearing daily. They weren't on the first page anymore, thankfully, but they were there, and they wasted no time speculating. To her disgust, one of them even suggested she was having an affair with Draco Malfoy as an explanation for why he had stuck up for her at the Board meeting.

It was her adjusted potion that saved her, she figured, when she took the trip to Diagon Alley to restock the school cupboards and her personal stores; most watched her with a combination of fascination and suspicion, but kept their distance. Fortunately, she'd always got on well with the apothecary, who made scolding sounds when he saw the people staring at Asher through the window. "Can't imagine what they're on about, in the papers, ye know," he said in an aside. "Ye haven't caused me a whit o' trouble since ye started coming. Aye, but people'll always be needin' a scandal," he continued kindly as he took her lists and marked them for delivery. "Somethin' else'll come up right soon te take the heat off ye, t'always does." She left the shop smiling, touched by his compassion.

The start-of-term feast was punctuated by stares and whispers, but she knew it wasn't all for her: Down the table, with his scar easily visible, was Harry Potter. He looked very uncomfortable, as on one side of him sat Professor Vector, whose classes he had never taken, and on the other, looking bored, was Malfoy.

Asher had only ever witnessed one of their encounters, but she knew, from rumors and what Hermione had told her, that the feud between the two had been a long one, stretching from the day they'd got on the train. From what little she'd interacted with them, she decided she didn't particularly care for either one: Harry struck her as a man who lucked his way into everything, and Malfoy- well, he had money and connections instead.

Next day, she awaited her first class of the new year with butterflies that were unfortunately not limited to her stomach. Adding to the anxiety was her babysitter, perched on a table in the corner of the room, aloof and well-pressed as ever. She studied him out of the corner of her eye, pretending to arrange the parchment holding her syllabi and teaching plan, just as he eyed her while he feigned interest in the wall hangings.

Aside from the feeling that it hurt her professional standing to have him here, Asher just plain didn't like Draco Malfoy. Whether he intended it or not, nearly everything he said had an air of mocking, and his generally pale countenance- grey eyes, white-blond hair, milky skin- gave him the unsettling appearance of something that might haunt a dungeon, not supervise it. Perhaps this was a shallow reasoning, but Asher had heard Hermione begging in her sleep for Bellatrix to stop, and the Malfoys, however trapped they had felt and however young Draco had been, had made it possible.

And so she felt the resentment building with every moment they waited for the students to arrive, first a pressure on her chest, then slowly growing into a breathing thing that settled deep in her breastbone. The first group of third-years came in, hushed and whispering, and she turned away as if to grab something last minute while she took a calming breath and pushed the feeling off as much as she could manage. When she felt steady enough to turn back, she caught him looking at her with a smirk, and it was only with hard-won self control that she stopped the anger from flashing loud on her face.

The first few minutes were tense, but Asher had never had trouble keeping a class's attention for long, and after a short introduction on the history and uses of their project today, she felt herself relax a little at the familiar, normal sounds of a Potions class in full swing: chopping, stirring, and the rustle of checking recipes filled the air with a comfortable hum of collaboration. She resolved just not to look at the corner of the room where Malfoy sat, instead pretending that he was only there because she couldn't fit him into the storage cupboard.

This class isn't half-bad, she thought approvingly as their time ended, having realized that she had not had to rescue one student from a mutated creation. But she knew it wouldn't last. There were at least a few students a day that melted a stirring rod or ended up with a nasty magical rash or something... and it was usually the first- and second-years. The higher level incidents tended to be rather more serious than singed eyebrows, and thankfully more rare. By the time they reached the most dangerous potions, the untalented or clumsy ones had usually weeded themselves out.

She stirred herself from her thoughts and rose to pick up each student's labeled bottle. She had done away with the buddy system Professor Petalston had employed; while students still sat at the tables in twos, and were welcome to help each other as they pleased, they each created their own potions. Asher had never liked the idea that a bad Potions partner led to a bad grade, regardless of the individual skill or attentiveness.

"If you're going to be here, you might make yourself useful," she said blandly to Malfoy, who was examining his nails unconvincingly. A wave of irritation rolled through her.

"You've really soaked up being here, haven't you?" he said drolly. "I'd heard your kind are cultural chameleons." He smirked and added, "You're losing your hard 'R's, Professor."

Her eyes flashed as she snatched up the last bottle. "You only wish you could have as many hard 'ahhs' as I do," she said, unable to resist; if he was going to stereotype her, she might as well jibe him to that theme.

She managed to catch an angry glint in his eyes before he replied nonchalantly, "With Granger? Unlikely. The woman's more closed up than a shipyard in a desert."

Though she bristled internally, she snorted. "Think what you like, you'll never truly know if you're right."

"I'm wounded," came the flat reply.

Asher couldn't tell him to go ahead and refuse medical care for all it mattered to her, as the next class was filtering in. She hurried to place the bottles in the third-year grading bin, eyeing the cupboard wistfully. Maybe if I removed a couple of shelves..

The end of the day came after the second class, Mondays not being her heaviest of days, and Malfoy departed the dungeon as soon as the last student did. She gratefully watched him go, making a childish face at the back of him as she stowed her teaching materials in a hidden drawer in the bookshelf.

Asher had a turn patrolling hallways next, and her keen ears picked up on whispers from the passing students. There were murmured rumors, of course, and sideways looks, but it wasn't all bad: She had to hold back a grin as she heard one of them refer to Malfoy as "that creepy pale bloke".

A month meandered by, Malfoy becoming easier to ignore as time passed. As people often did, these days, he seemed surprised at the way she handled her students, with frank honesty and respect. Perhaps he was comparing her to Snape, but she knew her teaching style was wildly different; she guided the younger students through their potions step by step, using the waiting times between ingredients to lecture or take questions, and she never, ever spoke down to a student. Discipline was not based in intended humiliation, but in genuine questions: Do you speak out of turn in other classes? Why do you seem to believe that in a class about potions, you should talk about something else? Are you laughing because something was funny, or because your goal was to be mean?

Things seemed to be settling into a normal routine, until the day one of her students' cauldrons exploded, showering her in half-finished Weakness Potion. Asher rushed over, yelling at everyone to get back, outside the circle of droplets it had sprayed. Picking up her robes carefully, she stepped quickly through the puddles, glancing into the other cauldrons as she passed to be sure none of the potion had gotten into anyone else's work. When she was sure it hadn't, she crouched down to tend to the girl.

"Annabelle? Can you hear me, love?" The girl whimpered, her hands raw and blistered from burns, her eyelids closed as the potion dribbled down her face. She was slumped sideways on the floor, unable to lift herself; a Weakness Potion at this stage was incredibly strong. Asher waved her wand at the floor to clean the spill, then lifted the girl into her arms.

"Is anyone else hurt?" she asked, and heads shook side to side. Annabelle's head lolled against Asher's shoulder, and she pointed at Malfoy with her wand; the other hand was gripping the student's limp body. "You. Watch them." She gestured at the huddled group of fourth-years in the corner.

"I have to stay with you," he said, fear flashing in his eyes when faced with her wand.

"And leave them unsupervised, with potions that could explode like hers just did? No. Make sure none of them add anything else until I get back."

"My job is not to babysit them," he replied, "it's to keep an eye on you."

Her voice increased its volume. "And my job is to make sure this girl is not permanently damaged by this accident, and I swear to you, if she scars from this because we stood here arguing, I will tell her parents that you are responsible!" She swept out the door, fuming as she raced to the hospital wing. Why does the bloody place have to be so far? she thought, feeling winded as she skidded around the final corner.

She burst through the door, and Poppy started to scold her until she saw the condition of the student she was holding. "Cauldron exploded. She has bad burns on her hands, some on her face as well. It's a Weakness Potion, she can't move very well."

"Here, here," Poppy said, waving at the stretcher in the little room she used for emergent cases. She used a wooden tongue depressor to scrape a sample of the liquid off of Annabelle's face into a small vial, then stoppered it and took down a caddy with first aid supplies. She got to work siphoning all the liquid off, and then began treating her burns. "Will she need an antidote?"

Asher thought carefully, reviewing what she knew about the potion at this stage. "If it were completed, I'd say it would wear off in a few hours, but this one wasn't done. It may lengthen the effects. I can put one together for you."

"Please," Madame Pomfrey said. "I've got her now, Professor. You can go back to your students."

Asher cast a worried look at the girl, but Pomfrey waved her off, so she started back the way she had come. Asher knew what had happened- Annabelle must have added the Deathcap too early, before the rest of the concoction could mature and stabilise. The cauldron wouldn't be salvageable; she'd have to provide a replacement until the parents could.

She strode into the classroom, satisfied to see that Malfoy had kept the students away from the epicenter of the blast, at least. She grabbed her dragonhide gloves from her desk and went to inspect the cauldron and furniture around the girl's desk. She cast a few repairing spells where pieces of the cauldron had embedded themselves in bookshelves and the like, put the fragments in the destroyed shell, then stood and surveyed the classroom. Except for the now-pockmarked table Annabelle had been working at, the room looked clean.

"Right, now we've got that taken care of. Your classmate is in the capable hands of Madame Pomfrey, and I'll be putting together an antidote for her while we continue class. I've checked that your potions are not contaminated, so we can move on." The students shuffled back to their desks warily; Malfoy was staring at her with pale-eyed ire. Ignoring him, she asked, "Does anyone know why Annabelle's potion exploded?"

When there were no answers, she started a lecture on the properties of the ingredients they had added thus far, and their interactions. She guided them through the next step, making sure they added the Deathcap after the proper amount of time, and then, after assuring them that the potion was past the danger point, pulled out her own cauldron and began rummaging through the storage closet for ingredients.

She felt him standing behind her as she dug through the stores. "What?" she asked irritably.

"I will be writing a report about today's incident," Malfoy started; she could hear him brushing off his sleeves, something she'd noticed he did when he was being especially intolerable. "I'll be sure to include the part where you shouted at me in front of the students."

Rage bubbling, she came down the ladder, her arm full of tucked vials and jars. "Just make sure you also include the part where you prioritized your orders over a child's welfare," she retorted, shoving past him into the classroom. He followed her to her desk, where she deposited the jars and pulled down her personal cauldron from its hook. Opening a drawer, she pulled out measuring spoons and her silver potioneer's knife and started portioning out the ingredients.

"I am here for a reason," he hissed, careful that the students wouldn't hear. "You could have harmed her. When I saw you hurry over to her, your wand in your hand, yelling-"

"How the hell else should a witch respond to an emergency?" Asher demanded quietly, her eyes on her work. "With a bouquet of flowers and a song? Jesus, you're something else." She deposited the powdered Bristly Starburr into the cauldron, adjusting the heat underneath. Once that was done, she turned to face him, her eyes glinting. "Time was of the essence, and you know it. She wasn't able to lift a finger to help herself, and she'd been scalded. If you can honestly tell me that there was a better response than haste, then I will apologize for yelling at you."

His gaze was fuming, but he didn't say anything else, instead turning on his heel and walking stiffly back to his place in the corner. Asher smirked to herself as she stirred. Point for me, you slimy brat.

The rest of the class time went without incident. She noted that there were far more correct potions than normal while grading that night; perhaps watching the result of carelessness had driven the other students to pay more attention to detail.

She originally had a class directly after the fourth-years' double class, but when the next class came in, she directed their attention to the board, where she'd written the essay topic she'd been planning on assigning the next week, and once they had copied it down, she released them.

She then took the antidote she'd brewed up to Pomfrey, who administered it to Annabelle with strict instructions. After she'd gone, Asher sat next to her student's bed. "How are you feeling?"

Annabelle gave a weak grimace. "It hurts." She held up her heavily bandaged hands briefly, then put them back down, wincing.

Asher nodded. "Burns are the worst. You'll likely be in here a few days. And I wager you'll pay a little more mind to the timing next time, hmm?" Like Dumbledore had all those years ago, she smiled to take the bite out of her words. Receiving a serious nod in response, she continued, "Now, this isn't meant as punishment, but I'll need you to come down once you're recovered during a free period to make it up, and I've authorized your friend Marcy to write your essay, as long as you're the one dictating, alright?"

She left Annabelle after promising that she would write to her parents, heading back to her office across the castle. If she lost her job over this, she vowed she would strangle Malfoy. Well- maybe not something so obvious. After further consideration, she was sure she could find something suitable at George Weasley's joke shop.

She was up late into the night, having spent far too long on the letter to Annabelle's parents before turning to grading. Her tiny office was chilled by the time she was on her last batch of potions to test, and she contemplated putting her robes back on over her jeans and tank top. Squinting at the labels of the next bin, she realized that two of her candles had burned down and gone out.

Rolling her eyes, she opened her office door to fetch more- and discovered Draco Malfoy on the other side. He straightened up quickly, a blank face forming quickly. "Ah," he said, "I was hoping I would catch you."

"Catch me doing what?" Asher asked, leaning against the doorframe. His face might have been expressionless, but he hadn't quite mastered his voice, which told her he hadn't expected her to be here this late. He didn't reply, and she lifted an eyebrow.

After a few more moments of staring, he managed to recover, though Asher noted spots of pink on his cheeks. "I was completing my report, but didn't have the student's name."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, strode the two paces to her desk, and wrote it down on a spare bit of parchment. She paced back and once again leaned in the doorway, holding it out for him to take. "Why aren't you home? I was told you weren't staying here full-time."

The spots darkened. "That's not any of your business," he said, taking the parchment from her hand.

Her voice went sharp. "Neither are the contents of my office any of yours, yet here you are."

He matched her tone, snapping, "Everything you do is my business for the next three months."

The way he said it pissed her off, but instead of showing her anger, she let a slow, mischievous smile take over her lips. "Oh, not everything." She took a step towards him and tilted her head just so. She felt for her own aura, and tweaked it; she knew her skin was taking on a pale glow. "Unless you wanted to follow me to bed?"

His eyes wandered down for a brief moment, and Asher laughed when he realized it and walked hastily from the room.

"You didn't!" Hermione exclaimed once Asher had come to bed, sounding scandalized.

Asher chuckled. "I did. And you should have seen the look on his face. Pure panic, that was."

"Oh, that wasn't a good idea," Hermione worried, her brow creased. "What if he puts that in his report?"

"I doubt it. I caught him looking at my chest." Hermione raised her eyebrows at that. "Plus, he has no good excuse to have been in my classroom that close to midnight. We're not friends, no matter what the Prophet says."

They had turned in not long after, Asher's mind keeping her up long after the candles had been blown out. She did doubt that her after-hours encounter with Malfoy would make its way to the Board's ears, she hadn't been lying about that. It was more his expression that had stuck with her, the one he'd gotten after she'd asked him why he was still at Hogwarts. She wasn't able to puzzle out what it meant, except there was trouble at home for Draco Malfoy. As much as she didn't like him, Padma- who she'd found out was the one he had married- had never been unkind to her, and in fact had offered to help her study when the fourth-year work at Hogwarts hadn't quite matched up with what she'd learned up to that point. No, she didn't like Draco Malfoy, but she felt kindly towards his wife. As she drifted off, she wondered, If she married him, he can't be all bad, right?

Next day, when she found him waiting in the classroom, scowling with arms folded over his stomach, the thought from the night before seemed impossible. He rolled his eyes so much during her classes she was tempted to ask him if he had a seizure disorder, and contempt didn't even begin to cover his tone when he did deign to speak. At least before, he had been impartial, but now he seemed to be actively sabotaging her teaching, baiting her into an outburst. It was only this thought that kept her from rising to it.

No, she thought as three classes went by, she had touched a nerve the night before, and this was how he was showing the stress it had caused. When the last student had walked out of the door, she said, "Governor? May I have a moment?"

He startled; Asher actually saw him jump before he turned. "What do you want?"

"I want to talk," she said, perching on the edge of her desk, legs stretched out so her toes on the floor kept her from sliding. "Your presence in my class today was at best distracting, and at worst negative. You're supposed to be an observer, not a contributor."

"I am here because I am needed. Have you forgotten that I was the only person who stood for you at that meeting?"

Her eyes flashed, and she leaned back on her hands. "This is my third year teaching, and I managed just fine without you in the previous two. If I'd known you would be this insufferable when you cast your vote, I'd have resigned."

She was rewarded with a sneer. "What's stopping you now?"

"I have a commitment to fulfill. Maybe you wouldn't know about those-" Malfoy stepped forward angrily here- "but the Headmistress is depending on me to be here at least till the end of the semester."

"I can cut that short," he threatened, his face paler than ever.

"No, you can't. I haven't done a damn thing you could report without getting yourself in trouble. Or do you have the Board's permission to try and break into my office?"

"You used your- your energy on me." Here, this was the heart of it; there was a fine tremble in his voice.

"No, I used it on me, which I am allowed to do." She smiled, lifting en eyebrow. "The effect it had on you was a byproduct." After a moment's affected consideration, her grin widened. "I suppose I am somewhat your type. Dark-haired, smart. Exotic." The temptation to flex her aura for emphasis was strong, but she suppressed it. He was glaring at her, a fist clenched. "Consider that comment payback for all your snide remarks today. All that aside, though," she continued, standing from the desk, "this is my classroom, and you were incredibly unprofessional. If it happens again, I'll have you replaced with someone else."

"Fine," he said, biting off the word, though Asher thought she spotted a dab of contrition in his expression. "I'll be glad of it."

As he strode from the room, Asher wondered if that was true.