Someday, I will own something of great value. This will not be Harry Potter, as J K Rowling already owns it.

Something New

Harry had nearly died the first day of term when Hermionie pulled out her timetable to go over it, and remarked that Snape was now Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and that they now shared the block with the Slythierins. DADA was Harry's only really good class, and it was likely that he'd have his most miserable year yet (including Lockhart and Umbrage) with the teacher he loathed with every scrap of his being teaching it.

Actually, it hadn't been that bad. Dumbledore, who was now in much better straits with the Ministry, had decreed that the oldest two years learn how to defend themselves, not just magical theory and classroom practices. The first day, Snape had called on Harry to perform his idea of a decent shield charm. It took Harry three seconds to weave the same barrier he'd used earlier that year, and stood there with a carefully neutral expression on his face as spell after spell that Snape shot at him rebounded. It had gone the same ever since, and no matter how hard Snape tried, he couldn't actually mark Harry poorly on anything.

Three weeks into term, however, they started on partner class projects. Hermionie and Ron, of course, immediately paired themselves up, leaving Harry alone. "Mr. Potter, what seems to be the problem? Since there are no students left in your row, I'd advise you look elsewhere. Harry was just turning to go see if Dean or Neville were partnered up yet, when Snape's oily voice came again, "Mr. Malfoy, if you please, you two will work together."

Malfoy didn't really look any happier than Harry as he glared down at his new partner. "I'll tell you now, Potter, I expect to get an exceedingly good mark in this course."

"Oh, don't worry, Malfoy, so do I." Harry glared back up at him, wishing he didn't have to look up to meet his cold gaze.

"Then neither of you should have any troubles, should you?" Snape was rather sour lately, probably because of the pain Voldemort shot through his servants' dark marks for entertainment. Harry was rather sour from it too, as his scar hadn't really stopped aching all week. Although Professor McGonnagal had tried to teach him Occlumency after Snape had refused, Harry was still firmly connected to the Dark Lord's mind. Actually, all the lessons had done was blur the pictures he got in his dreams, so instead of useful information, he only had hunches, emotions, and of course, could feel an echo of every curse Voldemort used on his Death Eaters.

"...give me that." Harry snapped out of a daze as Malfoy wrenched Harry's quill out of his hand. He realized that the Slytherin had been uncharacteristically asking nicely for it for half a minute, and had finally given up trying to be civil. Then, Harry realized something. He looked over at Malfoy scrawling notes on fire curses out of their textbook, with Harry's quill. Which he'd pulled out of Harry's hand. Which Harry hadn't felt at all. On an impulse, he reached over and lightly touched the back of Malfoy's hand. "What the blazes are you doing Potter?" Malfoy demanded as he smacked Harry's hand off.

"Malfoy, weren't you, er, you're 17, right? Of age?"

"Yes, Potter, what's it to you? And make it quick, you're distracting me."

Harry lowered his voice to a near whisper. "Well, aren't you supposed to be a Death Eater by now?"

Malfoy's hand was suddenly clenching his arm painfully tight, and Harry felt the Slytherin's wand tip digging into his ribs. "Don't go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, unless you've got a death wish. And don't you dare speak of it again where it could be overheard." His low voice was shaking with anger, and maybe a touch of something else. "And if you touch me again, I will curse you so badly, you'll never be able to straddle that broom of yours again, I promise."

"Fine, but at the moment, you're the one with the death grip on me." Malfoy let go just slowly enough for it to seem like it was his own idea. Harry looked over at the other students, but none of them seemed to have noticed their little squabble. Just in case someone had seen them talking, Harry asked matter-of-factly, "So, where are we going to meet to study? Unless you want to come to the Gryffindor common room, of course."

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco sneered at him, "The library should do just fine. And show up at exactly 7:30, so we don't have to stay there any longer than necessary."

"Alright, fine by me." Luckily, the bell for classes chimed just then, allowing them both to move violently apart. Ron and Hermionie came cheerfully up from behind, having apparently enjoyed their partnership. For once, Harry was glad they were so absorbed in each other, as it gave him a chance to think. Malfoy was acting rather odd. All his life, he'd been boasting about his family, and his destiny. Now that it was actually time to become a Death Eater, though, he appeared to have gotten cold feet. Snape had made the mistake of grabbing at Harry during a fit of rage when he had yet again failed to mess him up, and had reacted just like the Death Eaters in the forest. Holding his forearm tightly against the flash of pain mirrored in Harry's scar, he took fifty points from Gryffindor and ordered Harry to sit down. Draco Malfoy, however, prompted no such reaction. Harry thought there was rather more about this than Malfoy was letting on, and he was quite determined to find out what. He wasn't the type to pass up a prime chance to irritate his rival, and thoroughly intended to make Malfoy squirm. If he had to work with him, he might as well enjoy himself.