A/N: The saga continues! If I am not mistaken, and if my writing software and AO3 agree, with this chapter we should have surpassed 50,000 words. What a milestone.

Draco hated people.

That itself was nothing new. Most people were useless, a bother, stupid, untrustworthy, and whatnot; in general, the overwhelming majority of all people were, at best, means to an end, his ends.

Right now, specifically, Draco hated people because people kept following him, sneering at him, yelling things his way, and were a major annoyance, even more so than usual. Ever since that wretched quill pusher at the Prophet had published that… that article, for lack of a better word.

Oh, Draco couldn't help but to admire the handiwork. The press was a useful weapon if one knew how to utilise it, and Draco had been taught well, had practised for most of his years at Hogwarts how to sic the whole bunch of them on… well, on Potter, mostly, and that cumbersome giant of his. As far as hit jobs went, this one was beautifully executed, suited to ruin both Potter's and his reputation for years to come (not that Draco thought that he himself could sink any lower).

And that was what he had warned Potter about. A Potter hanging out with a Malfoy was bad press. Draco himself had the bruises to show for it, nobody had wanted him back at school in the first place, let alone near Potter. But Po—but Harry, to have him dragged into this… the part of Draco that was usually reserved for self-preservation cringed uncomfortably any time he saw classmates glare at Harry, or whisper behind his back.

Funny how that worked out.

He hadn't received a letter from his father yet, much to his surprise and apprehension. He supposed he needn't hope that the idea of his son fraternising with the enemy had shocked Lucius enough to give him a heart attack. His mother, on the other hand, had written to him, a letter wisely not delivered during breakfast but at night, although she had offered little advice nor consolation. Both her and Draco's freedom were in no small part thanks to Harry, and from that, Draco presumed, stemmed her unusual lack of distaste for the Gryffindor in her letter, and the glaring absence of any advice to keep away from him.

Professor McGonagall had spoken to him, privately, as well. Everybody seemed to want to talk to him these days. Whatshisname McDuff from Hufflepuff had wanted a word with him after Charms, and to that end had ambushed Draco outside the boys' restroom. Draco had had to wear long sleeves for days after.

The only place he had found some peace at was the library. Had Madam Pince seen him sneak into the Restricted Section, no doubt she would have come after him spells blazing, but even in a pained, sleep-deprived state, Draco could cast a sufficient camouflaging charm to slip by her undetected. The books didn't seem to care either. Perhaps he was simply saturated enough with dark magic for them to leave him alone, a thought that would in the past have been exciting, but now only unsettled him. Either way, in a corner between grimoires on evisceration spells and soul-shattering curses, he felt detached enough from the masses to relax at least a little, even catch up on studying. The thought of inviting Harry along for a continuation of their studying sessions had occurred to him, but even if the books didn't go off at His Most Holy Saviourship, being seen with Harry would probably only wors—

'Malfoy?'

—only worsen matters. Come again?

'Malfoy, I know it's you. Drop it before I hex your face off.'

Draco sighed and reversed his cloaking magic. Standing in front of him was just about the last person he wanted to see at the moment.

'Granger, a pleasure as always. Would you mind taking that wand out of my face?'

So she did, reluctantly. 'What you were doing in there?'

Behind him, a few of the forbidden tomes rattled their chains, probably not too excited at the presence of a mud—of a muggle-born, he corrected himself.

'Study', he answered nonchalantly, before realising how that had to sound. 'Study for Charms, before you get any ideas', he added.

'Study. In the Restricted Section', she scoffed, and he withstood the urge to roll his eyes.

'Yes, Granger, study', he repeated. 'As you may or may not have noticed, there's not many places I can go to undisturbed these days, and this was one of them, until you decided to poke that wand into my face. Now, are you going to leave me alone, or would you like to inform the press that you have discovered my latest unholy scheme?'

His mention of the news elicited a distasteful grimace from her, like she had tasted something bitter, quickly followed by a more sympathetic expression. He slung his bag over his shoulder, all about ready to brush past her, when she held him back.

'A word?'

He sighed, but allowed himself – after shaking off her hand on his arm – to be led a few steps away, into an empty aisle.

'You and Harry', she began, and he prepared himself for a lecture on all the horrible influence he supposedly wielded over Potter.

'I don't like you', Granger continued, and oh Merlin, as if he didn't know that, 'I don't trust you, and quite honestly, I wish you would stay away from Harry.'

'But', she didn't let him talk back, of course not, 'but for what it's worth, I don't believe a thing the Prophet writes. I don't know what Harry sees in you or why he seeks your company, but I don't think you're more of a threat than he can handle.'

How subtle, Draco thought.

'Granger, I didn't know you cared', he mocked back. 'Colour me surprised. Now, if you're done insulting me, would you mind letting me get on with my business? I have Gryffindors to corrupt and evil plans to make.'

The witch rolled her eyes and two years ago, Draco was sure the situation would have turned into a fight – still would, if that bloody redhead brat she called her boyfriend were there – but now, it was almost as if she lacked resentment for him as much as he had lost the taste for riling her up. She just stepped aside to let him pass and turned back to wherever she had come from, and Draco towards the door. But, almost as an afterthought…

'And, Granger?' he called after her, and she halted.

'Thanks. For your… vote of confidence, I suppose.'

The words felt like bile in his mouth, like part of him wanted to throw up and vomit out his vocal cords rather than apologise to that, but there was an undeniable sincerity to them regardless, hidden underneath, coated in sarcasm and cynicism.

Granger didn't grace him with an answer, and thus spared him the embarrassment of having his inner struggle witnessed.

'You've been avoiding me.'

Draco pointedly brushed some dust off his robes. 'Astute as always, Potter. They give you the Order of Merlin for observational skills yet? And for the record, I don't appreciate being shoved in broom closets.'

'I didn't shove—'

'Just think about the publicity', Draco continued. 'Potter, fallen messiah turned dark, seen pushing his ruthless and frankly obscenely handsome co-conspirator into a broom closet. The Prophet would have a field day.'

'Would you just shut up for a minute?' Harry burst out. The temper of that man…

'If you would just use that bloody Gryffindor head of yours for once', Draco hissed. 'Of course I've been avoiding you, do you not read the news? The best thing you, and I, can do for now is to keep away. Don't add floo to the fireplace. The hacks at the Prophet or wherever will run out of gossip, and they will move on to another victim, and if you can refrain from any further shoving-me-into-closets stunts, then we may both just get away with whatever is left of our reputations intact.'

He felt his anger cool down as he finished his tirade, and, dust be damned, slumped back against the wall of the closet. Bloody closet. That janitor ought to spend less time bothering people with ten times the magic he had, and start keeping the place clean, Draco thought.

'I don't care about reputation', Harry quietly, but firmly, said.

Draco withstood the urge to roll his eyes. 'Maybe you should', he bit back. 'Your heroic image will wear out at some point. You can't save the day every other month, and eventually, even the dumbest squib in the nation will come to regard you for what you are, just another bloke, and then no amount of fancy scars will save your reputation if the hounds turn on you.'

He could hear Harry wince. Trust that useless Gryffindor sod to get wound up over a bruised ego.

'I've told you this', he continued. 'I'm not the company you'll want to keep around. Quite frankly, it's a miracle it's taken so long for this to happen. I'm bad press, Potter, and I told you so.'

Of course, Potter was company he himself could benefit from keeping around, if he ever were to regain his footing as a respected pillar of wizarding society, but he doubted Potter would appreciate that perspective. Now was too early anyway. Lay low, his father would no doubt advise him. Let it blow over, go abroad for a few years, come back and sell people on the idea you're a new man, untainted by past affairs. Given ten years and some strategically wise investments, the Malfoy name could once more become one that would be uttered with respect and get him invited to functions of the high society. A donation here, a reception there…

But those were the considerations his father would ponder in Draco's place, and the thought of them, and his father, made Draco feel sick rather than excited.

'Whatever happened to friendship?' Potter's words tore him out of his thoughts and back into the stinking reality of an unused broom closet.

Draco's first reflex was to scoff, but surprisingly, he couldn't find it in himself to. He sighed instead. Friendship over strategy was such a Gryffindor way of thinking.

'I thought we had something', Harry prodded on. 'You. Me. Tutoring. Spending time together. Was that just nothing?'

There was something of a kicked puppy look on his face, and oh how Draco detested him for that. It shouldn't affect him, but it did. When did that happen anyway, when did Potter become Harry, and when did he learn to evoke emotions besides contempt and anger in Draco?

'No', he admitted eventually. 'It's not nothing. That was…', the words felt alien as they slipped off his tongue, 'I meant it. I didn't play you, if that's what you're asking.'

'Good', Harry breathed. 'Because I mean it too.'

'Are you certain about this?' Draco asked. 'I have nothing to lose, Potter. I graduate, I pass my probation, and I can be off to Merlin-knows-where where they don't know my name. But you have skin in the game.' He paused briefly. 'Are you sure you want to see this through?'

Harry didn't hesitate to answer. 'Yes.'

Draco shrugged, defeated. If bothering with a disgraced convict for the sake of friendship or righteousness or whatever drove the man was worth it to Harry… who was Draco to deny him?

'Fine', he conceded. 'Tomorrow, 4 p.m., in the library. Bring your Potions homework and I'll bring my DADA essay.'

Even if it was dark, Draco didn't need to see Harry's face to know the other man was beaming, with that abominable childish excitement only a Gryffindor could pull off. Queer, the whole lot of them. He coughed.

'And now let me get out of this closet or I swear by Salazar I will hex your bits off.'

The next day came sooner than Draco would have liked, and by noon, he was seriously considering hexing a flu on himself to get out of his appointment. Yet, when the clock tower struck four, he pushed open the doors of the library and did his best to ignore the looks from other students as he strolled towards where he and Harry usually met. A few choice insults and a leg that conspicuously appeared in the path of his feet notwithstanding, he reached the table relatively unbothered and put down his books. Harry was nowhere in sight. Maybe he had chickened out, Draco mused, or he had had a belated realisation about the consequences of associating with Britain's new most hated wizard.

He was halfway through an article on a promising new approach to curse-breaking when he heard footsteps and an exhausted Harry jogged up to their table.

'Sorry', he panted. 'Quidditch… I was helping with training… took a little longer…'

He dropped his bag next to Draco's and flopped down on the chair opposite him. With a flick of his wand, Draco conjured up a bookmark and inserted it into the paper he had been reading before putting it away and bringing out his DADA and Potions homework.

'Alright, where were we?' asked Harry. 'Flisker's Reverse Intermix formula, right? I looked at my notes from Slughorn's last class and I didn't quite understand…'

Once they started, it was easy to fall back into their old rhythm. After sorting out Harry's homework, they moved on to other topics, and even though he would never have let it show, Draco took great pride in the way realisation dawned on Harry's face when he finally got the hang of a particularly complicated formula. After they had been looking over the fundamentals required for St Mungo's entrance exam, they turned their attention to Draco's DADA assignment. Until…

'You got the shield charm absorption coefficient wrong.'

Both Draco and Harry looked up at the same time, and Harry's face brightened.

'Hermione!' he exclaimed.

'Granger', Draco greeted curtly.

'Malfoy', she greeted back, then turned to Harry. 'Ginny asked me to tell you she'd appreciate your help tomorrow to break in the new seeker. Madam Pomfrey said Galloway won't be able to get on a broom for at least two more months.'

'Ah, curse', Harry grumbled. 'There goes sleeping in… I tell you, she's worse than Oliver.'

Granger grinned and adjusted the bag slung over her shoulder. 'If you say so. Anyway, I'll see you later, I still have to write two feet of parchment for Professor Sprout and three for Binns.'

She turned around and headed towards the next aisle. Harry glanced at Draco in a way the Slytherin couldn't decipher, and then shouted after her. 'Hermione!'

'Why don't you sit with us?' he continued more quiet as soon as she had returned to their table. 'That is, if Draco doesn't mind.'

Oh, very funny, Potter, Draco thought. It wasn't like he had much of a choice, now that Potter had already invited Granger. But beyond his habitual iritation, Draco found that in all honesty, he couldn't be bothered to care. If he could get used to Harry's presence – and he refused to think about how used he had gotten to it – than he could bear Granger too. He shrugged.

'Whatever, sure.'

Granger looked from Harry to him and back. After their encounter in the library the other day, Draco wasn't too keen on spending any time with her, and he was sure the feeling was mutual. He fully expected her to decline, but against all odds, she put her bag down and pulled up a chair.

Great. Stuck in the library with two Gryffindors. Father would throw a fit, Draco mused. The thought was oddly satisfying. Good.

'Anyway.' Harry cleared his throat. 'We were just talking about Brixley's Condtional Deflection Spell…'

They continued their work. Draco wrote half a page about the absorption coefficient (the third root, not the second, why thank you, Granger) and its discovery by Godefridus Brixley, while Harry immersed himself in the study of ingredient separation, and Granger… did whatever it was she was doing. The scratching of quills on parchment was interrupted by the occasional can you explain this formula or could you pass me that book. Draco helped Harry finish his write-up on separating two potions, and Harry explained to Draco the practical aspects of the deflection spell.

'Did you find anything about the leaves of the Screeching Santolina?' Granger piped up. Draco looked up from his work, but she was clearly addressing Harry.

'Uh, I don't think so', Harry answered and flipped through the pages of his homework. 'I was going to ask Neville about it later.'

'Oh, right.' She sounded disappointed. 'I guess I'm gonna have to ask him, too.'

The irony of Granger having to ask Longbottom to copy his homework wasn't lost on Draco. Who would have thought that Gryffindor's class clown would ever amount to anything? Although… Sensing an opportunity, Draco finished the sentence he was writing and put his quill down to reach for his Herbology assignment. Screeching Santolina, where was it… ah, there.

He held out the parchment towards Granger. 'Try this. The part about the Santolina leaves and their use is somewhere near the bottom.'

She looked surprised, and for a moment, Draco wasn't sure to whom the situation had to feel more surreal – him, helping his former enemy's best friend during a joint studying session (don't say study date, don't say study date), or her, being offered to copy the homework of the boy she had spent six years besting in every exam save for Potions.

'Thank you', she regained her composure. She scanned the parchment. 'Where did you find this? I've been looking through the Herbology books, but…' She trailed off, but Draco recognised the underlying question. Did you read this in the restricted section?

'It's not in the Herbology books', he answered. 'Santolina Repulsa doesn't have many uses for herbologists, but it is highly sought after among chemists.'

When she still regarded him with a questioning look, he added, 'Advanced Draughts & Brews by Thonius Suppgut, chapter 10. It's in the potions aisle if you don't believe me.'

'No, it's fine. I didn't think to look in the potions books.' She started scribbling away on her own parchment, stopping ever-so-often to take notes or re-read a paragraph of his. 'And, thank you, I guess.'

'You're welcome', Draco replied with as much dignified politeness as he could summon. Guess you won't need to ask Longbottom after all, he thought. He picked up his quill again and did his best to ignore Potter's obnoxiously pleased face in the corner of his eye. Merlin's sake, he had let Granger copy his homework, not volunteered to become her new best friend or something. And getting along with Granger sure wasn't sokmething Draco planned on making a habit of. He was just trying to be polite to Harry's friend, that was all.

Being polite to Potter's friends was an entirely novel concept for him in general, but whatever. A year ago they had tried to kill each other, between that and everything that had happened since, this little tutoring session wasn't even the weirdest thing in Draco's life.

No need to get excited Potter, he thought.

But when an hour later, he bid farewell to Granger and Harry as they each headed to their respective common rooms, Draco still couldn't suppress a little pride at the thought that for once, he had beaten Granger at something. And even Thorley's tripping hex and Nott's lame attempt at insulting him as he stepped into the Slytherin dungeons couldn't wipe the smug grin off his face for the rest of the evening.

A/N: I love making up wizards, spells, plants, books, etc etc lol. Might have gone a wee bit over the top with it in this chapter, but hey, it's all about studying!