For the rest of the day, Harry couldn't focus. His mind wandered, and the events of the morning came back to play in his head like a broken reel. Should he have pretended to not see anything?
By lunchtime, even Ron had noticed Harry's strange behavior.
"Mate, you are so out of it," Ron said. "Hermione asked you four times if you turned in that essay on time."
"Oh, yeah," Harry replied, pushing a carrot around his plate. "I finished it this morning."
"This morning? Harry!" Hermione looked disappointed in him.
"Yeah, I forgot about it," Harry said sheepishly.
"So when are you going to start the tutoring lessons?" Ron asked, reaching across the table for another slice of ham.
"Dunno." He stared at his dry toast and flicked his wand. A pat of butter zoomed over the table and perched squarely upon it, like a tiny yellow sun.
"Shouldn't you start soon?" Hermione pressed.
"Have you heard from McGonagall?" Ron said.
"Stop asking so many questions!" Harry finally snapped.
Ron and Hermione shared a meaningful glance, which only served to stoke Harry's irritation further. The two were inseparable for the past few months, though they'd surprisingly been discreet regarding any public displays of affection. Harry was happy for their newfound relationship, truly, despite being subject to their constant rows. But their meaningful glances and shared smiles when they thought no one was looking drove him up the wall. Harry felt more alone than ever, and that was saying quite a bit.
"I'll see you guys later," Harry said, standing up.
His toast sat forlornly on the plate, the butter slowly melting on top. Harry sighed and grabbed it, intending to finish it on the way to Potions, even though it would be another thirty minutes before classes.
Hermione opened her mouth, about to make a comment, but seemed to think better of it.
"See you later, I guess," Ron said, unabashedly pulling Harry's plate closer and scooping up the leftovers.
Nibbling at the crust of his toast, Harry ambled down the halls toward his first lesson. He hadn't been able to take his N.E.W.T.S last year, so he'd be joining the rest of the seventh and eighth years. Of course, Hermione had opted out of Advanced Potions in favor of Advanced Ancient Runes. And Ron was in a different hour, with the rest of the Gryffindors.
His mind drifted again, wondering if Malfoy was even taking Advanced Potions. It was mid-October, and Harry swore he'd only seen Malfoy in the first two weeks of class. But why did it matter, anyway? It's not like he had to tutor Malfoy in Potions, too.
"Harry, my boy! Here to help me set up?" Slughorn interrupted his thoughts.
The potions master cheerfully clapped Harry on the back, passing him to open up the dungeon doors for Harry. Harry smiled—grimaced, really. He most definitely was not here to help set up, but his traitorous feet dragged him into the dim potions room anyway.
"Sure. How can I help?"
"Why don't you wipe down the tables. I had first years yesterday for my last hour, you know how that always is." Slughorn winked. "The rags are in the back, in the blue bucket."
Harry dutifully made his way to the back of the classroom and began wiping down the lab tables.
"So, Harry, how have you been? I haven't a chance to chat with you at all." Slughorn shuffled some papers on his desk, frowning for a second before smiling back up at him.
Little did Slughorn know, Harry had made it so there would be no chance of any chats outside of class. Harry was always the first to bolt from the classroom and the last to arrive, most of the time. Today was, unfortunately, a terrible anomaly.
"I've been good, thanks," Harry mumbled, scrubbing very intensely at a burn mark.
Before Slughorn could continue, however, someone knocked on the front entrance door.
Slughorn glanced up, and Harry attempted to become even less noticeable than he already was by shrinking further into the back of the classroom. The last thing he wanted was someone to accuse him of sucking up again to the Potions professor, especially with the whole fiasco in sixth year.
"Come in, come in."
"Professor Slughorn? You asked me to see you a few days ago before class?" A familiar low voice snapped Harry out of his foggy mind.
"Ah yes, Mister Malfoy. Let's have a little talk."
Harry cursed his luck. He weighed his options and immediately chickened out of announcing his presence. He cast a subtle notice-me-not charm and pretended to be very busy.
Slughorn seemed to be completely unfazed by Harry's presence as he continued. "Malfoy, you haven't shown up in my class in two weeks. I had to track you down myself in the dining halls. You must know that this is exceptionally irresponsible for a NEWT student. Could you explain yourself?"
Harry could only see the silhouette of Malfoy's slim figure standing before Slughorn's massive oak desk. The dungeon was far too dark—only the front lamps were lit.
"I'm sorry, sir. There's no excuse."
"No, no. I'm your Head of Slytherin, and I have a right to know what's going on. We have been unfailingly just to you and your family. Some may even call it excessive."
"Yes, thank you for your grace, sir. I appreciate it," Malfoy uttered flatly.
"Have you been having trouble sleeping?" Slughorn's voice lowered, though still very audible to Harry's ears.
"No, sir."
"Don't lie to me. Ms. Parkinson told me you've been missing all of your morning classes because you've been sleeping through them."
"Yes." Malfoy's voice was very faint.
"I'll have Madam Pomfrey prescribe you some sleeping draughts. Please see her later this evening. In the meantime, let's talk about the work you need to make up."
Harry had intruded on what was clearly a private conversation, and had purposefully made the decision to do so. He fiddled with his robes, tuning the rest of the conversation out.
Moments later, Harry looked up to see that the conversation had ended. Slughorn was now standing by the door, a stern expression on his face.
"Alright, I'm going to pop by the storage rooms for the potion ingredients we need today. Go ahead and sit down, Malfoy. I hope to see you ready for class when I return."
Slughorn propped the door open, leaving just as Malfoy stopped in his tracks, halfway down the aisle. His normally carefully coiffed hair was limp and in disarray.
"Potter?" Malfoy's face instantly hardened, a dark scowl replacing the apathy he had carried earlier. His eyes narrowed to slits.
Harry's notice-me-not charm had been an abject failure. Fuck, Hermione was right. He needed to work on them. Harry stood up quickly, grimacing, about to express his apologies.
"What in bloody hell is wrong with you?" Malfoy hissed before Harry could say a word. "What, being the savior of the wizarding world not enough for Slughorn?"
"What do you mean?" Harry managed to stammer out. The ground felt uneven beneath his feet.
He could see Malfoy gritting his teeth. Malfoy's face began to resemble his younger self, brows pulling together and face pinching as if he'd just smelled something terribly sour.
"You heard me. You think you're so great. You're the big man. As far as I can tell, no one's figured out you're just a prick with a superiority complex. Perhaps they're too dazzled by the pitiful orphan backstory?"
Heat pricked at Harry's ears. He flushed with indignation. Malfoy hadn't changed at all, it seemed—it was all for the sake of appeasing the people around him. Harry stepped forward, thrusting a finger into Malfoy's face.
"If you're mad because you thought I overheard, I'll have you know I was here before you," Harry snapped. "As if I'd care in the first place."
Malfoy's normally ice-grey eyes had darkened with rage. Harry's fingers twitched as he reached for his wand. Maybe a stinging hex would do Malfoy's face a favor.
"So you think you're better than me?" Malfoy sneered. "At least I had a family, Potter."
"Family like yours?" Harry couldn't help but scoff. "I'd rather have no father."
Before Harry could blink, he was pinned against the table. Malfoy's hand twisted tightly around his shirt collar, the rough fabric digging into Harry's skin. Harry could feel Malfoy's breath hot on his face, and all Harry could think about was how nice it would be to shatter Malfoy's perfect nose bridge.
"Say that again, blood traitor," Draco said, grinding the words out.
"I said, I'd rather have - no father - than yours," Harry spat, unflinching. "What're you gonna do now he can't bail you out?"
Malfoy's lip curled, something acidic already on his tongue. Then, abruptly, he dropped his hand and shoved Harry away. Harry stumbled backwards, slamming into the table behind him. He reeled from the shock of the encounter, a sick feeling of satisfaction in his stomach.
Slughorn reappeared at the door seconds later, students trailing behind him. Malfoy jerked his book bag back onto his shoulder and stalked to his seat, no longer even looking at Harry.
"Oh, Harry. You're still here." Slughorn nodded his head at Harry, oblivious to the palpable tension in the room.
Fuming, Harry tossed the rag he was using earlier back into the bucket. He glared down at the tabletop as Malfoy sat down somewhere on the far opposite end of the potions room.
More students filed into the classroom. Michael Corner plopped down in the seat beside Harry.
"Hey, Harry. Alright?" Michael eyed him.
"Yeah. Just tired."
"You look pissed, not tired, mate."
"I'm pissed because I'm tired," Harry said shortly, ending the conversation by turning away and opening his textbook.
The chatter in the classroom was starting to give Harry a pounding headache. He pressed his face against the cool tabletop, not caring if Michael was looking at him. All he wanted was for the day to end so he could crawl into bed and sleep for the next three hundred years.
"Harry, I have a message from Headmistress McGonagall for you," Slughorn suddenly called out. He was holding a thin paper envelope.
The class was full now, and everyone's eyes were on him as he trudged to the front of the classroom. He could still feel the heat of Malfoy's glare burning into him.
"Thanks." Harry snatched the envelope and hurried back to his seat.
"Alright, let's begin today's lesson. If you look at Chapter 4 in your textbooks, you'll notice there is a section on the history of the Memory potion. We will not be doing practicals today, but we will begin preparing for brewing by Friday this week," Slughorn announced. "I'll be demonstrating the preparation in a little bit, so pay close attention."
Under his desk, away from the prying eyes of Michael Corner, Harry took his wand and slit the envelope open. The message was brief. It listed a date, time, and a list of spellwork. Harry skimmed the message, feeling his stomach sink as he read and re-read each listed spell. He was to teach all of these? How long would this tutoring stint last?
Mister Harry Potter, 17th October 1998 7PM-8PM Sharp, Defence of the Dark Arts Classroom 2 The following Defence spellwork must be completed and passed for a N.E.W.T level student by the first half of the year: Patronus Charm Imperturbable Charm Manus Charm Body-bind Curse, Incarcerous Spell Knockback Jinx, counter-jinxing Various shield charms, verbal and non-verbal Various jinxes, verbal and non-verbal, up to instructor's discretion Spells and movement necessary for evasive defence, up to instructor's discretion
Harry groaned and folded the paper back up.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Michael tried to peer at the note.
"Nothing, just some extra-curriculars," Harry answered truthfully, already dreading the upcoming Saturday.