The rest of the week, Harry was a complete mess.

The first lesson had given him such a sweet start that he became far too confident in his troop of first years. They were not the brightest students, although to their credit he was not the most advance-educated professor. His second years were almost as terrible at the firsts, since their own education had been atrociously savaged by the Carrows. Every one of them knew all three unforgivable curses, but not a single one could do a simple mending charm. Less a defense against the dark arts than an education on them. Harry worried, constantly and visibly.

Third years were arseholes, he decided. All of them collectively. Fourths had a general understanding that he was THE Harry Potter and therefore demanded a certain respect. They remembered him as a Quidditch captain, a prefect-level student who had been so close to Dumbledore. The fifth years were almost the same. The only difference with the Fifth years was that they had O.W.L's they could not miss… And Harry was truly under qualified to teach them.

"Where is Hermione when you need her…?" Harry grumbled to himself over his lesson plan. His own third year had been one of the best, but that was because Lupin had taken Harry under his wing. Just the thought of his dear friend made him feel more emotionally unstable than he had felt at his own liberation from the Dursley's. He blinked back tears over his many feet of parchment.

The Gryffindor Common room was the only place Harry could ever concentrate and get work done. At first it had been pretty off-putting to the students- after all, Harry was a member of the staff- but he really didn't bother them if they didn't bother him. For six years he had memorized countless spells and charms, written vast amounts of essays and graphed a myriad of charts. The couch in front of the fire was truly his space. Harry just sometimes wished he had the friends to complete it. Teaching was a lonely ordeal.

"Good God, why do you hang out here?" Draco groaned from a plushy chair behind him. "You could literally be anywhere else in the castle right now. I mean, don't you have an office?"

"You know I do. You're not supposed to be here either, Malfoy."

Draco groaned. "Don't be a prat, Potter."

"Professor."

"Lick my knickers."

Harry chuckled. It was in no way the sort of begrudging friendship he was used to, but the fact that Draco made an effort to even speak to Harry meant something. It had to. "No, thank you. I have a lot to do. I don't think I could handle six lesson plans and your unders."

Draco sighed. He hadn't seemed to attract too many friends himself, but that was more because he didn't try. There were quite a few Slytherins who looked to emulate him, but he would never acknowledge it. Harry had asked him quite pointedly if he was just trying to remain a low-suspicion individual or if he disagreed with his former self, the self they remembered. Draco had made a small noise in his throat with eyes as wide as dinner plates and coughed, "both." It signified something important, that much was for sure. Draco Malfoy was slowly but surely turning himself around.

"I think we should do something. Go down to the Three Broomsticks. Take a walk." Draco murmured from behind. "It's still quite light out."

Harry practically dropped his quill. "You want to do what?"

"Take a walk. Outside. Fresh air. When was the last time you actually got to sniff something other than children?"

It took Harry a moment. "Actually- when I arrived on the train."

There was no response, just mild shuffling and chair squeaking. Draco appeared in front of him, eyes crosser than Harry had ever seen and his hair an insane mop.

"So a week. Yes, put down your lesson plan, you degenerate. We were not born to waste our lives inside. Trust me."

"What- now?"

"Yes, now. Let's go Professor. I have a lesson to plan too, but it can wait until I'm trashed."

"You have no respect for the job." Harry critiqued. "Drunk plans are never good."

"Snape's were."

Harry practically shot up. "Excuse me?"

Draco slid next to him, lowering his voice a little so the fourth years playing Jenga wouldn't listen in. "Snape was constantly smashed. Drank from a bottomless flask. That's the real reason Dumbledore kept him on Potions duty- he didn't want Snape firing hexes near students."

"How in the seven rings of hell do you know that?"

Draco shrugged adorably, letting the dying sunlight drench his white hair in gold. "Snape trusted me. He told me about his obsession with your mother when I was barely thirteen. I think he knew he'd die early and just wanted someone other than the Dark Lord and Dumbledore to know."

"Great." Harry mumbled. "Snape gave you a snippet of information about my own mother that I'd have to wait four years to get."

"He was drunk, I promise you. Probably didn't know what he was saying."

What a weird turn of events. Draco had become his friend, Snape was a distant (and permanently drunk) memory, and Harry was the one who actually wanted to get stuff done. If someone had told him they predicted exactly that two years prior, he would have thought them confunded. Maybe Harry was confunded.

"Anyways. You ready to go?"

Harry looked down at his several feet of notes on Bogarts and Harpies and Werewolves. Yeah, he most certainly could go for a drink.

"Sure. Give me a few minutes to wrap up here."

XXXXXXxxxxxXXXXXX

They walked down like friends, chatting about mutual students.

"I hate Chester Jones more than my own father." Draco grumbled. "He does nothing. I'd give him detention, except then he wouldn't ever leave my presence."

"That's a terrible reason. You're capable of being an unrelenting arsehole. Why not show them THAT side?"

Draco nudged him with one shoulder. "Don't be a fucking princess."

Harry snorted. He deserved that.

"I think I like Alois the most of all my first years. He's bold, the way we were. Although the fact that you challenged Ron and I do a wizard duel-"

"-Is scary to think about? Don't I know it. I've been thinking of little else since I started. They're all so young… So innocent…"

As Draco drifted off, Harry was reminded of their first interaction within Madame Malkin's. How seductive a friendship with the white-haired boy had been for just a moment. How struck Harry was initially.

Yes, Harry hated Malfoy. But had he always, or had he learned to hate him? Was there a turning moment? Probably the time with the rememberal, but that was just because of Harry's stupid hero complex. What would Hogwarts have been like with Draco around, building him up instead of tearing him down? Harry smiled just a little at the thought of a considerate and helpful Draco.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Harry realized far too late that his mouth hung open, beaming into the white-haired wonder's face. He closed it sheepishly. "Just thinking, is all."

"Well, get a better thinking face. God." Malfoy pulled away with disgust. Harry couldn't help but notice the slight sneer, something unique to interactions with Harry himself. What the fuck could it all mean except he wasn't quite as cool as Harry first believed?

"I do what I want. And anyways, what does it matter to you?"

"I just don't want you looking at me like I'm a piece of meat."

"WHAT?"

"With big eyes and a hero's smile."

"I'm doing that?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair, highlighting his newly adulted jawbone and light stubble. "You look like the idiot protagonist of a romance novel."

They bickered all the way to the Three Broomsticks, where Madam Rosmerta still greeted every customer by name. Harry hadn't seen her since his sixth year, but she recognized him on sight. "What a lovely day this is! Harry Potter drinking at my pub once again. I heard you were back. Repeating your seventh year, yeah?" She immediately asked while finding them a seat. The place was crowded as could be, a Saturday night and all.

Harry laughed good naturedly. "Would you believe they hired me on as a teacher?"

"No! Though, I do remember you sneaking around with that Army of yours a few years back- though never in my shop. Too many teachers here, yeh?"

"Quite."

"Army?" Draco piped up. "From Fifth year?"

"Under Umbridge." Harry agreed, nodding fervently. "She taught us nothing. So I got a crew of students together and we learned how to do spells together, verbal and non-verbal. We found our patronus's together."

"In the room of requirement, right?"

It brought Harry back for a moment. Draco was the leader of the inquisitional squad. He was the one who found them out. Draco seemed to remember because he murmured, "I apologize for that. I was… stupid."

"You were taking orders."

"Stupidly."

"I don't begrudge you. We agreed to a fresh start."

"Aye." Malfoy seemed to relax.

Rosmerta threw a bottle of firewhisky and two glasses down. "You gents look like you could use this. On the house." Her smile a bright, confusing mess.

Harry made a face. "That's kind, but why…?"

"Oh, just having the famous Harry Potter in my midst is a blessing enough, sure to bring business. You boys enjoy." She smiled and floated away.

Malfoy looked at him. "That was odd."

"What? Free booze. Who's complaining?" Harry shrugged, uncorking the bottle.

"Do things like this happen to you all the time?"

The tone was accusatory and was not lost on Harry. "I mean, most people know my face. They've heard the stories. It's not exactly a big secret who I am."

"So, yes."

"Says the man who was raised in a manor."

"Hey." He gazed into Harry's eyes. "I am from a wealthy home, yes, but don't forget that most of the manor is in the Ministry's evidence locker. I am a spat-on member of society. To say I have fallen socially is a vast understatement. People don't look at me. Three children were told by their parents that, if Minerva wouldn't teach them Transfigurations there was no reason to be in school. I've gotten seventeen complaints about my employment."

Their conversation ended in a dead silence as Harry digested the truth. Draco had no social status, no power, and no friends. He was broken and at the end of his rope, just like Harry. Except Harry had achieved hero status from a year old, and Draco inherited shame.

There was only one correct decision left to make as Harry poured two large helpings of the unmarked booze. "Well, I'm the arsehole now. So let's drink."

And drink they did.

A/N: THANK YOU GUYS FOR YOUR PATIENCE! It's been a long ass time since I've tickled my FF love, and while I wrote most of this chapter on a whim while SUPER high, I'm not too terribly disgusted by it. And yes, I have an obsession with commas. It's hard to give up. I'm trying.

P.S.S if it looks like I'm getting too OOC, let me remind you that they both just want everything to be okay again. Also, it's gonna get REALLY GAY, really quickly so buckle up.