Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money off of it. Quote taken from Microsoft Encarta World English Dictionary.
Reminder: I've sort of given up on these things by now. It seems blatantly obvious that this story has slash, so if a homophobe disregards my reminders and reads my story anyway, that's really not my problem, as I've only made the slash factor apparent about five times already. Luckily, all you readers that have made it this far along are clearly open-minded, so I'm sure no one will mind if I just stop putting these reminders up after the first chapter. Thank you for reading this rant. =o)
Author's Note: I'd like to thank the following people for their spectacular input: xanpetuk (#shocked# wow, you actually like my original character? #cheers loudly# Incredible…thanks! I wanted to make her as unlike a Mary Sue as possible, and I'm happy to know that you think I've succeeded =o), IcyEyes202 (I'm glad you think that this is original, and pleased to know that you like the Death Messenger idea. Thanks for the feedback =o), Villain (#astounded# I'm not sure if you are aware of this fact, but you are spectacularly kind. You've not only left many warmhearted and delightful reviews for this story, but for several of my other works as well. #beams# You know what? I think you deserve something for taking the time to give me your input, time and time again. Seeing as how my sending of letters of praise over the internet isn't really all that practical, I'd like to know if you'd like for me to write a fic of your choice instead. This means any couple in Harry Potter (het or slash, whichever you want). Okay then. Bye for now =o), n/a (#scuffs toe of tennis shoe on dirt and looks down embarrassedly with hands in pockets and a grin on face# You like my character too? Aww, shucks… =o), Intangible Lollipop (Ahh…what's in a name? Well in your case it's a paradox, it seems (and a very cool one at that). Well, there's some more cute Harry/Draco moments up ahead, so be on the lookout =o), and Nmissi (Yay! I'm glad to know that you think that my fic not only has a future ahead of it, but also consider it to be "brimming with possibilities." =o) I'm flattered (the subplots just seemed to worm themselves in here) =o)
One more Author's Note (oh the horror! =o): Anyone notice the new summary? Sorry if it's too cheesy. #ducks rotten vegetables thrown from booing crowd# Hey, a girl will do just about anything for more story attention. =o) Anyway, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry this chapter isn't longer. It wasn't going to be so brief…but I found the perfect place for a cliffhanger and couldn't resist the temptation to leave the story there. #ducks again as more unappetizing veggies are thrown# And one more thing…I know that the whole "new teacher" thing has been way overused in HP fandom, but I had to be cliché on this point, or else there wouldn't be any fun scenes where Doncenella gets to…never mind, don't want to give away future story events, don't ya know. #smiles brightly; bottle of ketchup hits me on the head; I am disgruntled# Hey, angry booing crowd, stop it! I repent! I repent!
"He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend."
--Thomas Gray, "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" (1751)
Doncenella looked at Dumbledore uneasily.
"What do you mean 'I won't like it'?" she asked warily.
"Anything would be a step up from living in a loony bin," she said.
Dumbledore looked away and thought about how he could best present his proposition.
"That's true enough," he finally said, pausing uncertainly before continuing.
"So I suppose you won't object too much to what I have to say," he mused, trying to keep the comment casual.
Doncenella tapped a foot impatiently on the floor and waited for her grandfather to finish his train of thought.
"As you might be aware…Hogwarts has been having troubles during these last few years in acquiring itself a Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. In fact, this year's DADA instructor, Professor McAllister, resigned just last week. One of our other teachers, Professor Snape, has been so kind as to take over this responsibility, in addition to his other duties, during this time period, but this arrangement cannot continue for long," he began, earning himself an arched eyebrow from his grandchild.
"Yeah, so what does that have to do with me?" she asked nonchalantly, interrupting.
"Haven't you already figured it out?" he snapped, irritated, for his patience was fast wearing thin.
Sudden realization overtook the girl, and her mouth dropped open in surprise.
"You don't think--?! You can't be serious--?! Me?! No. No. I am not teaching a bunch of snot-nosed brats how to--! No. Just--no. Definitely not. You're out of your mind!" she exclaimed, suddenly lacking the ability to speak coherently.
Dumbledore gave her a look that clearly indicated that she certainly wasn't someone who should be speaking of another's dubious state of mind, but said, as kindly as he could, "Come on, child, it's not that bad."
"Anything would be a step up-- you said that much yourself," he continued.
She glared at him for using her own words against her, but it soon faded into apprehension again.
"But--teaching?" she asked, disbelieving.
"Teach--teaching people?" she squeaked.
"That's generally the case, yes," said Dumbledore.
"But…what if I have one of my episodes during class time? What if I have a Vision while there are people present? What--what if--" she began, incredulous.
"All those things can be dealt with," cut in Dumbledore, putting a stop to the girl's protests and anxious "what if" scenarios.
"If you feel an…episode or anything…unusual…coming on, exit the classroom immediately. The only thing you'll have to worry about will be your class lessons…for the most part," he said.
Doncenella looked bewildered.
"I haven't even graduated from anyplace, or had any proper schooling! I'm only seventeen, for Merlin's sake!" she burst out.
"Listen," Dumbledore began.
"Most people don't want this job, I'll admit that. This past week, I even thought I might have to hand it over to the one man who does, despite the fact that his services are greatly needed elsewhere. But now you're here, and, in addition to being an ideal cover, your taking over of this position would also serve to temporarily eliminate a persistent problem in Hogwarts, and greatly benefit the students here. Though I am aware of your…complications, your age and additional magical… abilities… included, I have the greatest faith in your ability to teach my students proper defense methods against the Dark Arts. Am I mistaken in that assumption?" he said.
"No," she spat.
"You don't spend seven years in the company of the Dark Lord without learning a thing or two about the Dark Arts," she said.
"Plus, despite what you might believe, I didn't spend all my time in the Crazy House wallowing in self-pity. I also went into rages and, more often than not, read books from the library," she added.
"I'm sure you did," said Dumbledore easily, more confident now that she appeared to be seriously thinking the matter over.
There was a silence.
"It takes a despicable scrap of a man to think of his own gain in another's time of need, old man," she said absently, the statement lacking most of her usual biting edge.
"True…though of course you realize that I'm only thinking of the well-being of yourself and the students of this school," he replied.
"Humph," was the response as she snorted in disbelief, still thinking over the pros and cons of the offer.
"Fine," she said, a short while later.
It was now or never.
"I accept."
********************************************
"You realize that I'll kill you if you ever tell anyone about this," said Draco dispassionately, a few minutes after his weeping had subsided. His voice was muffled as he spoke into the curve of Harry's left shoulder.
"Yes," responded Harry soothingly as he rubbed small, lazy circles onto the other boy's upper back with his fingertips and gently smoothed down flyaway strands of soft blonde.
"I hate you," said Draco a few seconds later, though the statement was as strangely empty of malice as its successor.
"Sure, same here," said Harry amiably enough as he continued holding Draco close against him.
"Why are you doing this?" asked Draco, still leaning against the warmth of Harry's chest.
"Doing what?" asked Harry, confused.
"This," said Draco, pulling away just enough to look the Gryffindor seeker in the eye, a scant few inches separating their faces.
"Helping me," he explained.
Harry didn't know what to say.
What am I supposed to do? Harry wondered. Spill out mournful details from my life with the Dursleys? Wow him with my adventures with the dust bunnies in the closet under the stairs? Woo him with tales of how I spent day huddled in a ball in the darkness, with a glass of water and a piece of bread for company, if I was lucky? I think not.
Harry was not yet ready to divulge those certain details to the object of his unsettled emotions.
While he considered it normal and completely reasonable for a boy in Malfoy's position to break down and cry like that, he did not consider himself to be quite so bad off. It would be inappropriate to tell his own sob story at a moment like this, he wagered, as he'd dealt quite nicely for over sixteen years with his lot without going to pieces over it. It was all he'd ever known.
So what to say?
"I just felt like it," he said, uncomfortable with having to provide a reason for his aid.
After all, he wasn't really lying; he just wasn't telling the whole truth. Oh, Hell, he knew he was being rather deceitful, but Malfoy didn't need a more detailed reason than that, as such an in-depth explanation as that would require Harry to discuss things he'd already decided never to share.
The burden was his.
Draco seemed to sense Harry's desperation for the matter to be dropped, and, for once in his life, voluntarily obliged another and succumbed to those wishes. He seemed, at the moment, to be content with Harry's vague reasoning, and let the matter be.
Draco resolutely settled back into his previous position in Harry's arms, and the comforting…dare I say tender…ministrations resumed as the two boys held each other in simple companionability on Moaning Myrtle's bathroom floor.
That's how a chattering group of female Hufflepuff third years found them when they walked in a few minutes later.