Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Alright – let's talk about this chapter. In the first draft, I definitely over-focused on Draco. I fell for that idea that your main character needs more 'screen time' than the secondary characters. However, Draco's plot in these next few chapters is rather static. He doesn't have a lot to do, and that's okay. His conflict is largely internal. But in trying to give him the most 'screen time' I ended up repeating myself, like a lot. So, the fix for Draco's bit was to add in the detail about his personal funds, and then take a step back and have him consider how hard a choice this is for other kids in his grade. And then we have him meet Bill and he actually likes the class – which is a step forward in the plot of 'Bill and Draco eventually becoming friends'.

Let's talk Bill. I definitely underutilized him in these first chapters. Bill, in contrast to Draco, has the most going on externally. He's a new professor, the school is in turmoil, and he's also a spy. That deserves far more 'screen time'. Bill's spying duties haven't started yet, but I wanted to introduce the suspicions that are going around. The professors are smart people. They're aware the Ministry is interfering in their jobs, and they're aware that they might be in danger. How would they really feel about this? Also, one of their own was attacked by Death Eaters, so how does that impact them? The part about Rolanda Hooch and Septima Vector having a relationship was a new little bit that struck me last minute to add in – there's just something cute about a jock/nerd romance.

I also wanted to over-focus on Stevick being the bad guy here. I didn't really have a visible villain for far too long, which I think clouded the plot a little bit, or made the pace drag, so I want to see how this helps stir things up a bit.

OoOoO

Chapter 3

Rule #2: Never reveal your strengths. They will only be used against you.

Draco loathed the first day of class. It was pointless. The professors handed out the course curriculum and then spent the entire class period reading from it – as if the students were incapable of reading it. Some of the professors even shared their hobbies or facts about their home life in an attempt to be relatable.

This year, the professors took sharing to a new level. Some of them revealed if they were Muggleborn, or had Muggleborn family members. They talked about their hopes for the future – that the next generation would grow up to be inclusive and accepting of all backgrounds. They urged students to come to them if they were being bullied, or if they needed to talk about their homelife, particularly if they were being pressured into 'joining any political movements' that made them uncomfortable.

Draco knew they didn't mean it. At least, not for him. They probably did mean it for the Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs that had Pureblood families with Death Eater ties. Those were students who deserved saving. The Slytherin House was considered to be beyond reach.

Draco watched his classmates suffer through insincere platitudes and wondered if some of them wouldn't benefit from support. Blaise was an outlier, already pledged to the cause of Muggleborn equality, unlike any other student in sixth year. Some of his classmates were simply too immature to be reached by debate and facts. They needed more time, more life experience. Crabbe and Goyle were perfect examples. They didn't have the brightest minds. They simply regurgitated what they were told. They believed the propaganda fed to them. They would have supported any cause that had reached them first. If their parents had been Muggle-lovers, they'd be staunch supporters of Potter right now.

Indoctrination on both sides, Draco figured.

He went to bed miserable and got up the next morning in a similar mood. The second day of classes were even worse because the 'first day' ritual started all over again, just with new classes. Draco entertained himself by imagining what would happen if he actually went up to the teachers and said, 'Hello, I need help escaping the cult my family has joined. I'm supposed to get the Dark Mark at the end of the school year, but tattoos just really aren't my thing.'

The professors wouldn't believe him. They'd think he was joking. Or that he was spy.

And honestly, Draco didn't know what he wanted to do.

A wave of self-hatred washed over him, burning through his stomach and tightening his lungs. Here he was, an actual genius, and he had no idea what to do about the largest political issue of his time. Why was it so easy for everyone else? Was he truly a genius, or was he a simpleton on the level of Crabbe and Goyle?

It would have been easier to decide if he'd been born one day earlier. Lucius wanted him to get the Dark Mark on the last day of school, which was the day before his seventeenth birthday. When Draco turned seventeen, all the money in his personal vaults would transfer to his name. He'd have enough money to live comfortably, away from everyone, and finally figure things out on his own. But if he refused the Dark Mark the day before, Lucius would clear his vaults. He'd be left with nothing, alone and penniless. And no one would help him. He might even be hunted, killed.

Draco sighed, heavily, and made his way to the Ancient Runes classroom.

Draco hadn't taken Ancient Runes last year. It had conflicted with another class. He'd petitioned for use of a Time Turner, but had been denied, despite the fact that Granger had gotten one in third year. Apparently his reputation as a trouble-maker made him a less-than-ideal candidate for the device.

The classroom had been heavily decorated with pictures of ancient sigils and runes. A few of the pictures were of Professor Weasley and his team of code-breakers, standing in front of warded doors or locked crypts. Draco could pick out most of the languages, though there were some he hadn't learned of yet.

The other students filed in and began exclaiming over the pictures. Draco counted eight Ravenclaws (two were transfer students, one from Beauxbatons and one girl who'd been homeschooled), two Hufflepuffs, and three Gryffindors. No other Slytherins were in the class. Draco slumped into a desk in the back of the room. He was suddenly regretting his decision to join the class. He enjoyed the subject, but he doubted he could stomach the company for two years. He idly wondered if it wasn't too late to drop the course. Maybe he could take Astronomy instead.

"Good afternoon, class!" Professor Weasley announced, entering the room and shutting the door behind him. He practically bounded up to the front of the room, clearly enthused. He didn't sit behind his desk, rather stood, and surveyed the room. "You all look ready to fall asleep. Let me guess. You've spent the last two days reading course curriculums and it was a waste of everyone's time."

There was silence in the room. The students glanced to each other.

Weasley smiled. "It's alright, I promise not to tell anyone. But I used to sit where you are now, and I remember how boring the first day of classes were."

Draco sat up just a touch straighter. Some of the other students laughed.

"We do need to go over class rules, and take a peek at what we'll be learning this year, but I thought it might be more fun if we made it a game. Who wants to play?" Weasley asked.

Several hands shot into the air.

"Brilliant. You'll need a partner for this, so let's have you pair up and push your desks together."

Draco immediately knew what was going to happen, even before the sound of desks scraping over the wooden floors as the students pushed them together. The Ravenclaws had equal numbers, as did the Hufflepuffs. There were three Gryffindors, and as he expected, that only left Hermione Granger without a partner. She glanced around, looking for anyone else to partner with, her face set in a frown.

Draco didn't move. Neither did she. The other students settled into their pairs and then turned to watch the stand-off.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Professor Weasley. "Please move next to Hermione. She'll be your partner today."

Here it was. The time to put on the Malfoy attitude and see how far he could push the new teacher. Draco leaned back in his chair and sneered. He was rich and attractive. His father was powerful. He had no reason to follow directions when they didn't suit him.

"I don't work with mudbloods," he drawled, and then flipped his head to the side to clear his hair from his eyes. He saw Hermione stiffen at the derogatory term. Her cheeks flushed in anger.

Weasley didn't outwardly react. He just met his gaze and held it. "You will not use that language in this class."

"And how am I supposed to know that if we haven't gone over class rules yet?" Draco challenged.

"The entire school objects to such language. Surely you realize this. You are a Prefect, aren't you?"

Draco lifted an eyebrow.

"Now move next to Hermione."

"Why can't she move over here? I happen to like this spot."

"Because I'm telling you to move and I'm the teacher," Weasley said, and then he turned his back to retrieve a pile of note cards from his desk.

Draco stared for a split second. No one had ever taken his challenges so easily before. Snape let him get away with anything. Flitwick usually squeaked out a couple of phrases about respect. Hagrid fumbled out for a reason and Trelawney told him his days were numbered. Sprout pretty much ignored him. McGonagall had said that when he knew everything she had to teach, he wouldn't have to listen to her. But Draco did know everything she had to teach.

But this professor hadn't tried to fight him. He'd simply informed Draco that he was the teacher and then left Draco to make his own decision, actually trusting that Draco could decide to behave or not. If Draco wasn't so used to hiding his emotions, he would have grinned.

Draco picked up his bag, walked to the empty desk next to Hermione, and shoved it next to hers with a louder-than-necessary screech of wood on wood. He dropped into the chair and noticed Hermione's dark brown eyes blazing with indignation. He gave her a 'now really' look. She turned back to Bill with a flip of her hair and moved as far as possible away from him.

Bill passed out the notecards, looking a little surprised that Draco had acquiesced so easily, but not commenting on it. The game was simple. The class rules were written on the board in several different runic languages. Working in pairs, they were to translate the runes and turn in a completed copy to the professor. The team that had the fastest time with the greatest accuracy would win.

If Draco had wanted, he could have easily won hands down, without anyone's help, but he was pretending to be a 'straight E' student. So while Hermione frantically scribbled on the notecards, working herself through the translations, completely ignoring his presence, Draco sat back and did translations in his head.

The rules were regular rules, no foul language, be on time, do your homework, etc., but there were catches to all of the rules. No foul language, unless you write it in runes. Be on time, but if you are late you are responsible to catch up on work, but there was no grade penalty. Do your homework, but if you have a time constraint you may turn it in late as long as it is no later than two classes late. The last one caught Draco by surprise. He stared at the board, reading it for what it was in two seconds time. Call me Bill.

The glyph used for Professor Weasley's name was the symbol for a duck bill, and it took the others quite awhile to figure it out. Comprehension must have shown on his face because Weasley, who was walking about the room and giving hints where needed, stopped by his desk and asked, "Did you figure that one out already?"

It would have been easy to say yes, to earn a faint bit of praise or respect from the professor. But Draco had been hiding his genius for years, wanting to remain unnoticed, afraid of how he'd be used and manipulated if he ever revealed it.

Rule number two: Never reveal your strengths. They will only be used against you.

"No," Draco lied, "I haven't learned that dialect yet."

Professor Weasley – or rather, Bill – nodded. "That's why you might want to work with your partner."

He walked back up to the front of the room and the first pair of students handed in their notecards. Draco and Hermione, unsurprisingly, were the last to finish. Bill reviewed the rules with them, pointing out a couple of common mistakes that were made.

"Do you really want us to call you Bill?" one of the Hufflepuffs asked.

Bill nodded and perched on his desk. "I'm not really one for formalities. And being called Professor makes me feel too stodgy."

He flicked his wand and distributed the course curriculum. Draco glanced through the syllabus, pleased that they'd be studying some dialects he hadn't learned yet.

"I trust that all of you can read and will review that on your own time. You are in a NEWT course, after all. Now, let's jump into some review. Everyone open your books to the first chapter."

Draco wasn't a fan of the Weasleys as a whole, too Gryffindor, too idealistic, too obnoxious, but his opinion of Bill was steadily rising. He pulled out his book and settled in for an actual class. It wasn't that interesting, as Draco remembered everything he read and didn't need to review the basic runic languages, but it was far better than reading through the course curriculum. And Bill sprinkled in little facts and tidbits as he lectured, things that Draco hadn't known – like how the languages developed differently depending on how they were written – either carved into rock or written on parchment. Bill held his attention to the end of class.

"For homework, read through the second chapter," Bill instructed as the students packed up their bags. "We'll have a quiz on it next class, although our winners for today, Diedre and Patrick, have automatic O's."

The two Hufflepuffs cheered. Beside him, Hermione shoved her things into her bag and all but fled his presence. Draco let the others file past him, not eager to fight the crowded halls of Hogwarts now that the day was done.

"Mr. Malfoy, a word?" Bill asked, catching his attention. He waved him up to his desk.

Draco cautiously approached, not sure what the professor wanted. Perhaps a lecture for calling Hermione a mudblood?

Bill rifled through his desk drawers and pulled out a green cloth-covered book. He handed it out. "I assumed that everyone already learned the Cretan dialect – which was the dialect used on the last rule. Since it appears your summer course didn't cover it, you'll have to learn it independently. Start with this book."

Draco took the book and nodded. "Thank you, Professor Weasley."

"It's Bill. You don't have to call me Professor Weasley, remember?"

It was funny, how Bill wanted to be addressed informally, but then defaulted to calling Draco 'Mr. Malfoy'. Draco figured it was an attempt on the professor's part to keep some level of distance between them. No doubt he hated the Malfoys as much as they hated the Weasleys.

Draco shrugged. "You call me Mr. Malfoy."

He watched Bill's eyebrows rise in apparent surprise.

"So I did," Bill agreed. "Well, Draco, if you have any questions about the runes, just let me know. I'll be happy to help."

The professor sounded like he meant it, which either meant he was genuine, or a really good actor. Draco wasn't sure which, but he inclined his head in acknowledgement and left the room.

The halls were still crowded with students, relieved to have reached the end of the school day, and already complaining to each other about their classes. Draco rolled his eyes at their theatrics. The real work would begin tomorrow.

OoOoO

Bill frowned as he watched Draco Malfoy exit his classroom. There was something the teen wasn't tell him. He'd been certain that Draco had translated the 'Call me Bill' rule first. He'd been staring at the board, a quirk to his lips that suggested he found the rule somewhat amusing. But he denied even knowing the dialect, and there'd be no reason for him to lie. In fact, if he'd translated it that quickly, and without taking any notes, then he was a promising translator. And Bill couldn't imagine a Malfoy ever hiding a talent. Lucius and Narcissa lorded their achievements over the rest of the world, taking them as proof that they were better than everyone else. And certainly Draco's choice of language in class showed he bought into his parents' elitism and bigotry.

Bill wondered if he ought to assign partners next class. He would like to give the class freedom to choose, but it was likely that Hermione and Draco would be forced into a partnership otherwise. It wasn't really fair to Hermione to consistently pair her with the Malfoy boy. Then again, he'd been rather quick to comply with Bill's instructions, so perhaps it would all work out. Bill would just keep a close eye on him to make sure he wasn't being insulting.

Bill packed up his things and headed to the teachers' lounge, ready for a snack and butterbeer. Who knew teaching would be so stressful?

He pushed open the heavy door and was greeted with a loud cheer. He stopped short in surprise. All of the Hogwarts staff had gathered in the main room. A banner stretched across the room reading 'Happy First Day of Teaching' and underneath that, someone had added 'Congratulations, You're Still Alive!' A large cake sat on the table underneath the sign, decorated in blue and yellow flowers.

Bill laughed. Sprout gestured him forward to join Professors Stevick and Jameson beside the cake for a picture.

"It's technically the second day of teaching," he pointed out, and then smiled as the camera flashed.

"But yesterday you hadn't taught all of your classes," said McGonagall. "And so yesterday and today count as the first official day."

The professors nodded in agreement.

"One of you should cut the cake," Flitwick said, holding out the pastry knife.

Stevick pulled away, looking disinterested in the celebration. Claire demurred, looking a little uncomfortable with all the attention. Bill stepped forward and claimed the knife from Flitwick.

"Who wants a piece?" he asked.

The cake was half-chocolate, half-vanilla. He passed out pieces while McGonagall prodded the kettle for tea. Hagrid pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Bill added a splash to his cup of tea.

"So, how was the first day?" McGonagall asked.

"Tiring," said Bill. "If I had known how much work it was, I think I would have been nicer to all of you."

Several of the other professors laughed.

"You were never that much trouble," McGonagall said.

"Glad to hear it."

"Any problems?" Sprout asked. "Some of the Ravenclaws can be a little high-strung. They get anxious if there's not enough homework."

There was more laughter. Flitwick, who was the Head of Ravenclaw House, smiled proudly behind his cake, clearly not too offended.

"Nothing too terrible," Bill said. "Overall the students have been attentive, but they're probably just being nice as it's my first-time teaching. Of course they may be lulling me into a false sense of security."

"Watch out for the Hufflepuffs," Sinistra said. "They're the ones that come up with the most pranks."

"It was Fred and George before them," said Pince, with a sour look on her face.

"Please, don't hold me responsible for them," Bill said. He looked over at Jameson and Stevick. "How about you two?"

"Good, so far," said Claire. "At least… I think it went well? No one complained, not that I think they'd actually complain to me, but it seemed okay?" She seemed unsure of her assessment and looked around for support.

"You'd know if they were unhappy," Sprout told her, patting her arm.

"And you, Bryant?" McGonagall asked.

Stevick started a little, like he was surprised the professors were talking to him. "What? Oh, yes, everything's fine. Not really hard to teach, is it?" He picked up his cake and left the room, leaving the professors staring after him.

"So, he's definitely a Ministry plant," said Hooch.

Bill looked to her, startled that she said it aloud. The other professors didn't seem that surprised by her bold declaration.

Hooch leaned in towards Bill and Claire. "The Ministry never liked Dumbledore, especially now that they learned about his decision to add debate class into the curriculum. They'd be happier if everyone just pretended the Pureblood and Muggleborn hostilities were non-existent."

"Rolanda," McGonagall cautioned.

"Bloody hell, Minerva, you know it's true. They assigned Umbridge to this school and she outright tortured our students, not to mention attacked you. You think the Ministry would stop after that debacle, but here we are again, with another spy in our midst."

Bill forced his expression not change at the word 'spy'.

"Spy?" Claire asked, voice wobbling and eyes going big.

"Not to worry, dear, the spy won't be after you. Just the Headmaster."

"Rolanda, really," said McGonagall.

"And now the Death Eaters have gone and attacked Septima," Hooch continued. She swiped at her eyes. "You think they'd send us someone who would actually help, not add to the terror." She held out her cup so Hagrid could pour in more whiskey. She didn't add any tea, just drank the whiskey straight. "In my opinion, the Ministry wants to take over the school. That way they can teach what they want, and what they want is blind obedience and ignorance and passivity. And both of you," she gestured at Bill and Claire, "better watch out for him." She gesticulated to where Stevick had left the party.

Bill turned to Claire, and she to him. Claire looked terrified. Bill was mainly concerned for Hooch. He didn't remember her being so angry or bitter when he was a student.

"Oh, please," McGonagall scoffed. "The only one that needs to be watching out is Albus, and you know he's quite capable of caring for himself. Well, and Potter perhaps, but that's only because a year doesn't go by without something dramatic happening. Now, Rolanda, I really think you ought to take it easy on whiskey. Sybill, would you be a gem and put some coffee on?"

Trelawney blinked behind her glasses. "It's not Potter this year that we should be concerned about. The stars are shifting in the sky. The planets have begun to misalign. And from the deep, a strange day is born, full of portent, full of might, and heralding the rise of something that is yet to be known."

Bill felt a sudden chill pass over him. There was something thrilling and poetic about her words. No one else seemed to pay her any mind.

Pomfrey sighed. "I'll get the coffee then, shall I? Come on, Hooch. That's enough for you today." She took Rolanda by the arm and pulled her away from the group. The flying instructor was a little unsteady on her feet. Bill wondered how long she'd been drinking.

McGonagall looked at Bill. "Septima and Rolanda were… well, Rolanda's taking it hard."

"I remember when they first met," Sprout sighed. "Septima always with a nose in her books and Rolanda always on her broom, and nothing at all in common except their assurance that the other was an idiot."

The other professors laughed and suddenly Bill realized that they weren't talking about a friendship. His head jerked between the professors, because he'd had classes with both Hooch and Vector and never suspected a thing, much less a romance.

"Oh, they hated each other throughout your school years," McGonagall reassured him. "They didn't quite get their act together until… when was it exactly?"

"Potter's first year," Flitwick provided.

"Ah, yes. The troll incident. The first of many."

"Can you imagine what it will be like when Potter's finally graduated?" Sprout asked, with a dream-like expression on her face.

The other professors reacted in alarm. "Don't say that!"

"We said that with your brothers, Fred and George," McGonagall told Bill. "And then we got Potter, who is much better behaved but comes with even greater challenges."

Snape sniffed from where he had secluded himself in a corner. "Better behaved? Speak for yourself."

Bill had noticed the Potions Professor had hung back in the celebrations. Normally Bill would have made it a point to say hello, but he was supposed to keep his distance. It would give his denials more credibility. Snape's comment was ignored.

"I do wonder how Potter manages to learn anything at all with everything else that goes on in a schoolyear," Flitwick mused.

"Harry's quite resilient," McGonagall said, a small, proud smile tugging at her lips. "He's a good heart, much like his parents."

"Very different from other students." Flitwick cast a dour look over to Snape.

Snape looked down his nose at the Charms Professor. "If you are referring to Draco Malfoy, might I remind you that the boy is a Prefect."

"Only because you recommended him. Blaise Zabini would have been the better pick. You saw what he did with Umbridge. Terrorized the school. Bullied students and teachers alike. He's too much like his father."

"All picks for Prefects are approved by the Headmaster," Snape said. "Perhaps you ought to take your concerns up with him."

Flitwick harrumphed and took a large bite of cake.

"How has Malfoy been in class?" McGonagall asked Bill and Claire.

"He's been alright?" Claire said, making it more of a question than a statement. "I mean, he sat in the back of the class. And he looked bored? I don't think he was paying attention."

"He does that," McGonagall reassured her. She looked at Bill next.

"We had a slight incident with language," Bill admitted.

"He called Hermione a 'mudblood', didn't he?" asked Flitwick.

Bill nodded.

"'He's always picking on our 'ermione," said Hagrid. "She's a sweet lass, that girl. She don' deserve it."

"No one does," said Sprout.

"But that was it?" asked McGonagall. "That isn't too terrible."

"No, it wasn't," Bill agreed.

"I've learned to ignore his behaviors. Don't give him any attention – that's what he wants," said Sprout.

Flitwick shook his head. "You need to confront him. I've given him many a lecture on respect, not that any of it seems to sink in."

"We could tell you horror stories, but there's no point in scaring you two," McGonagall said. "Just understand there's no shame in getting frustrated with him. We've all been there and we're here for you if you need help. Now, who wants seconds?" She stood and crossed to the cake.

Bill declined, but he did take another cup of tea. Hagrid poured in a hearty length of whiskey and Bill sipped it while listening to the other professors complained about their students – the ones who were too smart for their own good, the ones who fell asleep in class, the ones who perpetually turned in their homework late. How odd it was, to be on this side of the door, and not back in the student dormitories, complaining about the professors.

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Hope that you enjoyed the new edit! As always, if you want to read the edited work without the comments, I am crossposting on Ao3.