A/N: Fair warning, this is likely full of mistakes. But I wanted to get this out! Hermione will come into things in the next chapter (hopefully), so bear with me! All this is important to the overall plot line.

I don't own anything.

Please leave me a review and let me know your thoughts, comments, suggestions, and criticisms. Thanks.

The first week flew by in a whirl of sore muscles, badly cooked meals (even with magic!) and the same blurry lines of a shifting dynamic between two people. The first time he barked at her, with an ill timed, "What the bloody hell are you on about, woman? We can't leave the fucking apples there, they'll fucking rot!" He immediately tensed up, waiting for the fall out. In this strange bubble that Hogwarts had become, he had forgotten who he was talking to. Instead of the diatribe of how she was doing this to help him and didn't need to take this attitude from him that he had been expecting, Draco listened to her snarkily reply back, giving as good as she had received.

"What the bloody hell are you on about, tyke? This is a magic school. These cupboards are self-filling. Don't you think they've been programmed to not let fruit 'fucking rot'?" And with noting more than a sardonic look, she put him in his place.

Draco had been embarrassed, of his outburst and that he had said such a naughty thing under false assumptions. As he was about to apologize—something he loathed doing, McGonagall caught him off guard—again.

She starting humming. She starting humming, and went back to sorting the fruit like absolutely nothing had just happened. It was "Danny Boy" too. No shame.

But many stranger things had happened in the last few days, so Draco let it roll off him like water off a duck (a saying he had found tremendously funny in a Muggle Studies book he had stolen off a fourth year). So he resumed sorting as well.

He hadn't given it much thought that first night he'd spent in his new rooms, but if he known about this situation before he was thrust into it, he wouldn't have thought they'd get along as well as they did. Out of sheer boredom, they'd talk about many things while working. Draco was reluctant at first. After all, this was a woman sixty years older than him, of a different House and Scottish, too. What could they possibly have to talk about besides the war? And Draco certainly did not want to talk about that.

So it was a pleasant surprise their second day in the kitchens when they found they had much in common. Minerva quizzed him over everything he had learned in his six years at Hogwarts—from all subjects (excluding Divination as neither of them cared much for it). As they went on for a few hours, they began discussing Transfiguration exclusively.

"…and that's how Earl's Second Objective fits into the Praylongth Theorem." Minerva finished up her explanation to a receptive Draco. "So, Draco, have you given any more thought as to what you want to do after you've finished up here?"

He shouldn't have been surprised. She said she would give him a week and Minerva always—always—was prompt. Still, though, he hadn't given it another thought since she'd mentioned it.

"Er, no, actually, I hadn't." He said, while rummaging through debris in the Great Hall. They were sorting all the fallen bricks into sections based on where they thought they went in the wall. Draco had been given the task of all the heavy lifting—something he very much resented his companion for, as she was probably stronger than him at this point.

His scrawny arms struggled to lift one of the last boulders for the day when his professor replied, "Well, I have, and I think I have a plan for you if you're willing to hear it."

Still half carrying, half dragging the large rock, he managed to get out, "Alright. Can't hurt to hear my options, I guess. Can you just—"

He gestured to the other end of the rock, and she took his meaning immediately. "Oh, of course, sorry, dear." With both of them, the gigantic piece of wall doubled its speed toward its proper pile. "What if—" She took a deep breath, her lungs overtaxed at her physical effort, "What if you took your N.E.W.T.s in a few months? You're a smart boy and have the drive and motivation to be prepared that soon."

They finally made it to the pile. Draco stood up straight, his back aching from hours of hard labor. "Take my N.E.W.T.s? What for? No one is going to want to hire me. Not that I need the money, anyway. I don't see the point in taking them when I won't need them for anything. I doubt they'd even let me sit them without a whole seventh year class taking them with me. Besides, I'm restoring the castle with—"

"With me, yes. I, the Headmistress of Hogwarts, the best school of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the entire world. You think that has no sway at the Ministry? I could get them to let you take them."

"Once again…why? Why would I need them, and why would you do that for me? Especially since you're already planning on using your influence to get them to let me off. In fact, the more I think about it the less sense it makes. Why are you even doing this much for me? I just don't understand."

"Calm down, Draco."

"No, I can't. Why are you doing this? Why are you torturing me like this?"

"Torturing you?"

"Yeah, torturing me! There's nothing worse to a Slytherin than an altruistic gesture between enemies. It makes us feel like dicks."

"Well most of the time you Slytherins are dicks, you know."

The word 'dick' just came out of the Headmistress' mouth. Will wonders never cease? He thought to himself.

"Will it make you feel better if I told you my actions weren't completely altruistic?" She said after he hadn't responded.

"Yes."He said after a brief pause. "Explain, please."

"Okay. I wasn't going to tell you for a while, and certainly not in the first week, but under the circumstances…" She trailed off, looking pensive.

With an exasperated sigh, he prodded her, "Go on."

"Oh. Right. Now that I'm the Headmistress, I won't be able to teach Transfiguration. That's where you come in. When I noticed you hiding that day, I had to think very quickly. At first I was so angry with you—you gave into the pressure of the Death Eaters and I was so ashamed that you were my favorite student. But then I had to think only a little longer to realize that I couldn't judge you for that. No one knows how they will react in situation until they are placed in it. You grew up with so much hate—hate for muggle-borns, hate for those lesser than you. That's what you lived and breathed.

I enjoyed reading your first few essays, so thoroughly researched, so cleverly infused with your personality. I'm not sure if you even realize how much of yourself you put into your words. After reading each one, I'd feel like I knew you. I'd feel like we had just had a deep conversation. And the boy that I knew did not needlessly hate people. The boy I got to know had an excellent sense of logic and reasoning. He could work things out for himself, and work things out that other people couldn't. He was, and is, a natural at Transfiguration.

So, when all the Death Eaters were being taken away, I started thinking about how I would need to find another Transfiguration Professor eventually. Then I saw you there and it all just fell into place. You! You, Draco. The Transfiguration post needs someone who can fill it with youthful energy, someone who can bring passion to the subject. Most importantly, it needs someone who understands it completely—loves it even. And you do, Draco, do you not?"

"No, I do." He answered. He couldn't look at her while he said it though. "People assumed Potions was my favorite subject, and I never corrected them. But it's always been Transfiguration for me. I even dumbed myself down a bit, let Granger shine, just so no one would suspect."

When she replied he could practically hear her smiling that fond smile again. "I figured as much. Especially when you faked it so horribly. Really, now, you'd try it three or four times with nothing happening, wait until someone else in the class achieved it, then yours would be perfect on the next attempt. You really weren't kidding anyone. Irregardless, your Outstanding O.W.L. spoke for itself. I was very proud of you for that."

Never had someone being proud of him affected him as much as it did now. He worked bloody hard for that grade, highest grade on a Transfiguration O.W.L. since Dumbledore himself. When his parents saw it, his father told him he shouldn't have wasted so much time studying for one O.W.L. when he could have been practicing his flying so as to finally defeat Potter.

But she was proud. Minerva knew how hard he worked, she understood. It was finally okay for him to be proud of his own grades, his own actions. He felt himself smiling, such a rare phenomenon these last few years for him.

"Thank you, Minerva. That means quite a lot to me."

"It was your hard work, you did it on your own. And it's precisely because of your motivation, hard work, and natural flair for the subject that I would like you to teach here. I want you to take over the Post when the school is finished."

"I—Thank you, Minerva. I suppose I accept. I'm not sure if I'll stay here for long, but I'll take over for the first year at least."

"Thank you. Oh, that's such a weight off my shoulders. I'm not sure how you Slytherins do this manipulation stuff. It's quite draining."

"Plotting gets easier with practice." He told her, half serious. "So I assumed that's the reason why you want me to sit my N.E.W.T.s?"

"Well, yes, it's hard to accept a teacher to teach N.E.W.T.-level when he hasn't even completed his own."

"That's a fair point."

"If you'd like, I am willing to tutor you myself. We have all this time ahead of us, we might as well make the most of it. I'll give you a few books to read and you can read them in whatever spare time you manage to find. Then we shall discuss them in depth. So no skimming! Come on back to my office. I'll get you those books, and perhaps a cup of tea wouldn't be remiss. I think I've finally figured out the…erm, kettle I think it's called."

So far none of Minerva's "cooking" had been edible. Draco braced himself.