Title: Life's A Bitch

Authoress: Sakuri

Rating: M

Summary: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one

Chapter 19: The Challenge

---

Harry couldn't believe he was in this situation. The situation of 'pleading' through a portrait to a sulking werewolf.

"For God's sake Malfoy! Get the hell out here!"

"Fuck off, Potter! Maybe I have better things to do!"

"You do not! You've done nothing but mope for weeks."

"So?! I've changed my mind. I don't want anything to do with your Fan Club."

About to let loose a string of insults, Harry forced himself to stop. This was useless and getting him nowhere. A far more effective solution would be to at least confront the blond face to face.

"Lilith, can you please let me in?" he asked the painting politely, smiling for good measure.

"Don't you dare –"

Too late, the portrait swung forwards, muttering giddily to herself. A pissed off Slytherin was left in her wake, hips slung to one side and hand resting there haughtily. Harry barely repressed a snort of laughter, trying to remember the last time he'd seen such a girly pose.

His amusement died as the blond jabbed him in the chest with a pointy finger. "Kindly cease exploiting your odd relationship with my portrait, Potter!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Whatever. We had a deal."

Malfoy shrugged. "Like I said, I changed my mind."

Mimicking the obnoxious show of nonchalance, the Gryffindor replied easily, "So? You still have to show up, so you might as well do something useful for once."

The Slytherin sneered. "I don't see why."

Finally losing his patience, Harry reached out and grabbed the other's robes, yanking him forcefully into the hallway. Through gritted teeth, he muttered, "Close your eyes and think of England, for all I care, just come on!" before proceeding to drag the highly indignant blond in the right direction.

"Unhand me, Potter! I mean it, get the fuck away from me! I'm not doing it! I'm not! I –"

---

"– can't believe I'm doing this…"

Harry sighed and cast an exasperated glance at the Slytherin, who had yet to shut up. From the moment they'd arrived at the Room of Requirement, alone for now, he'd set eyes on a conveniently placed desk – but wasn't everything convenient in this place? – and perched himself upon it, crossing his legs beneath him and propping his elbow on his knee. Sulking.

His wand hung loosely in the hand not supporting his chin, forming lazy circles in the air that made smoke rings drift from the tip. A bored gaze followed their progress upwards.

Again, Harry turned away, resuming his pacing. They were awaiting the arrival of the rest of the DA, and Harry was nervous. He knew this wasn't going to go over well. Some of them might even quit, and those that stayed would be, at the very least, distrustful of the whole situation. After all, he was, in effect, allying himself with Malfoy. He was trusting the stupid prick, even relying on him. He couldn't exactly blame his friends for being sceptical, could he? The idea was ridiculous, when he thought about it–

But no, he stopped himself from once again going down that path, before he had second, third or even tenth thoughts…

"Can't you sit still?" the Slytherin suddenly drawled, startling him. "You're making me dizzy."

"They're all going to hate this idea," he shot back, totally irrelevant to what the blond had actually said.

Draco scowled. "Yes, well I can see how wearing a track into the carpet is going to make them love it…"

"Do you live to be unhelpful…?"

"I do try."

The Gryffindor sighed and raised a hand to rub his eyes tiredly. "I haven't even told Ron and Hermione…"

Grey eyes rolled in annoyance. "Merlin, Potter, you're making too big a deal of this. Trust me, the only part of your big explanation they'll hear or care about is the bit where they get to hex me in the name of 'training'. They'll adore you even more than they do now, and wonder what new spectacular talent you used to get me to agree to this…"

"Hmm. Maybe."

The Slytherin made some dismissive noise and returned to watching his smoke rings.

They were silent for a few moments, before Draco mused innocently, "Well, either that… or they'll think I Imperioed you, Weasley'll attack me, you, being the hero, will jump to my defence, and we'll all go down in a rain of curses… But, y'know, hope for the best and all that."

"Oh God…"

---

Draco had never been good at Divination, and Harry supposed it was just as well. Both of his 'predictions' were inaccurate. For one, the Gryffindor doubted his entire audience could adore him any less right now. And secondly, Seamus and Ginny had dived on Ron before the redhead got too close to the Slytherin, so the rain of curses had also been avoided.

Just.

Currently, Harry looked out helplessly at his hostile audience. Malfoy, ever unhelpful, lounged nearby on the table, one leg swinging idly as he examined his nails, seemingly unconcerned by the goings on around him – though he'd started badly enough when Ron first lunged at him. As if to make up for that slight slip in decorum, he'd spent the long minutes afterwards making sure everyone who saw him noticed his blatant lack of concern. He sat safely behind Potter, protected, for the most part, from the hexes that waited on Gryffindor tongues.

"Surely Dumbledore can't still expect him to be here!" Hermione protested, for maybe the third time. "Not after what happened, I mean…"

Harry sighed. He was finally going to have to take a stand, he realised, and this was the point he might lose the support he needed. Still, it had to be done.

"Malfoy's not here because the Headmaster told him to be. Well… not just because. I asked him to come."

Hermione couldn't seem to respond to that, and, next to her, Ron groaned and covered his eyes. "Harry, mate, you're killing me here!" Meanwhile, the rest of the DA began to mutter worriedly to each other.

The Slytherin in their midst raised his hand as if they were in class, and called out, "For the record, I was all for never seeing you people again."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry muttered tiredly, though he was largely unsurprised. The Slytherin had come in here determined not to be cooperative. To the rest of the gathering, he tried to speak calmly and concisely, clinging to his act of leadership. "I realise… well, that this isn't a popular decision, for the moment, but I think, if you hear me out, you'll understand that… well, that –"

"Oh, get a backbone Potter!"

Harry whirled on the blond, green eyes narrowed.

Malfoy looked unconcerned. He finally deigned to move himself, hopping lightly off the table and brushing imaginary dust from his designer-faded jeans. It had come as a shock to learn that the Slytherin owned more than one outfit of muggle clothing, though less surprising to note they were just as expensive as any of his robes.

They glared at each other for a moment, the Slytherin with his hips slung to one side and arms folded, the Gryffindor with clenched fists at his sides.

"No one was talking to you," Harry growled.

"Well, if anyone had any sense, they would be. Your usual inspiring speech is a little wet. Tell them the basics and let's get on with it! What kind of teacher are you…?"

The Gryffindor frowned. "What?"

"When was the last time you heard Professor Snape stammering because he thought we might not like the particular lesson that day?"

"Are you comparing me to Snape?!"

Malfoy sneered. "You're not nearly good enough, Potter. What I mean is that you're – apparently ­– the teacher here." His scepticism was obvious. "For Merlin's sake, show some authority, much as the thought frightens me."

"I'm not going to demand they listen to me –"

"You shouldn't have to! You should expect it!" The Slytherin shook his head in exasperation. "You're not supposed to be their friend right now, Potter. That problem would be why you need me in the first place. Merlin, you nearly died last week because you were being their friend, and had to rush to their defence, instead of being a duellist!"

Draco hadn't known he'd felt so strongly on the matter until he realised he was shouting.

Harry stared at him, taken aback. "Malfoy –"

Hermione suddenly stepped forward, approaching the pair somewhat hesitantly. "Harry, is it really necessary for him to be here?" It wasn't a criticism, this time, but a genuine question. She stared up at him solemnly.

He thought about all his justifications and reasoning. As cold as it sounded, he needed his friends to be scared. He needed to take all this seriously, instead of thinking of it as a social group. They needed to realise that Death Eaters wouldn't use spells like Expelliamus and Wingardium Leviosa. Malfoy could show them that. He was the closest they had to a Dark wizard, and Harry intended to use that for all it was worth.

"Yes."

She stared at him for another moment or two, before nodding decisively. "Okay. I really hate to agree with Malfoy, but we asked you to teach us. We should trust you." Her dark eyes slid toward the Slytherin, turning colder. "But he should know what to expect if he tries to curse you again."

Malfoy smirked abruptly, making a show of looking her up and down, almost as if he were checking her out. "Hold your horses, Granger. Potter hasn't told you the fun part yet."

She blinked, turning to Harry. "What's he talking about?"

Again, the Slytherin spoke up before the subject could be breached tactfully, his voice a smug drawl. "I won't be aiming for your Golden Boy this time. I'll be aiming for everyone else." His eyes flashed dangerously, and Harry might have thought he was just playing his part if it hadn't been for the glimpse of ice-white. The Gryffindor shivered, and tried not to doubt his course of action yet again.

"You stay away from her, you git!" Temper roaring back into life, Ron suddenly towered over the blond.

Draco met his eyes squarely, and responded, "Dead."

The redhead's anger flickered for a moment, to be replaced by bemusement. "What?"

Harry had already seen the motion, and hadn't stopped it. Now he quietly observed the scene which was slowly becoming obvious to everyone watching. The Slytherin's wand, which had been tucked into a denim pocket only seconds before, was now aimed from the hip at the centre of Ron's chest.

"Dead, Weasley. If this was real, you'd be dead." Calmly, he lowered his wand and glanced over his shoulder at Harry. "I got here just in time, Potter. Dumbledore's Army is in poor shape." He was grinning.

The Gryffindor sighed and – as would soon become a habit – moved to place himself between his best friend and the infuriating Slytherin. He spoke to his audience with growing confidence. "This is why he's here. Malfoy says I act like a friend instead of a teacher, and he's right. I can't teach you to be afraid of me when we duel. He can. He can show you what a real threat is, like he just did Ron."

They were staring at him with trepidation. Ron, still confused by what had happened to him, blinked silently. Only Hermione wore a vaguely encouraging expression. She stared at her friend with wide eyes, realising, for perhaps the first time, how seriously he took all this. Draco was smirking.

Harry went on. "If you're here for fun, feel free to leave. I won't hold it against you, though Hermione's contract will still apply. If… If you're really here to prepare for what's coming, Malfoy can help. Will help."

In the front row of the gathered DA, Neville and Ginny stared with something verging on amazement. Neville had never heard the meek, bespectacled boy he'd shared a dorm room with for six years speak with such conviction and passion. And in defence of Malfoy, of all people…!

No, not really, he thought seconds later. Harry was fighting for the good of the DA. He thought this was the right thing to do, obviously. And Neville had never trusted anyone more than he trusted Harry. Despite the fact that only Professor Snape and his Gran frightened him more than Draco Malfoy, he found himself nodding wordlessly along with Ginny.

No one moved, and Harry fought the urge to sag with relief. They weren't abandoning him. They trusted him.

The Slytherin twirled his wand between aristocratic fingers. "Right, Potter. Who do I curse first?"

Ripples of alarm went through the students, and Harry had to close his eyes with exasperation. No one said Malfoy would make this easy…

---

To some extent, Draco had been right when he'd said the DA would welcome the chance to hex him with everything they had. Though hesitant at first, confidence and resentment from years' worth of bullying had soon peaked. Draco had wandered the room, watching the others duel, and eventually picking someone at random. Sometimes he'd warn them, sometimes not, before casting a spell. Twice he'd caught Weasley in the back with particularly malicious hexes that Granger had rushed to undo. The third time, to his surprise, the redhead had successfully deflected, before retaliating with something Draco was glad he'd ducked.

But most of his victims were useless. Longbottom, when faced with the tip of his wand and the intent to do damage, instead of just torment, had actually whimpered and thrown his arms over his head. Draco hadn't even had the heart to complete the curse. He's simply turned away with a disdainful sneer, rolling his eyes.

Mostly, he'd just evaluated the other students, trying to see how much magic Potter had managed to teach them. Weasley and Granger, he hated to admit, were the best of the lot. Surprisingly, the Weaselette and Loony Lovegood weren't bad, either. But after that, the level of talent had swiftly descended.

They were clueless, every one of them. Dull and unaware of anything that went on around them. He remembered with fresh conviction why he'd always despised these people. Merlin, he was more self-aware by the age of nine! His father had made sure of it, and that was something, at least, he could be grateful for.

So it wasn't with the greatest of hopes that Draco looked to the future. He was stuck teaching these slow-witted morons who would probably take one look at a real duelling field and turn tail. Potter was naïve if he believed anything else, and fighting a losing battle if he thought he could change it.

Draco was certain to make sure the Gryffindor knew this after the meeting had ended, voicing his cynical opinions persistently.

"…and do not get me started on Longbottom! What exactly do you expect me to do?! I'm not a miracle worker! The prat shrieked at me. Shrieked, Potter."

Harry sighed. "He didn't shriek. And I thought he reacted pretty quickly…"

"He reacted by ducking! What good did that do?!"

They were walking along the corridor leading away from the Room of Requirement, the last two to leave. It was past ten now, and most students were in their common rooms.

"That's what you're for," the Gryffindor pointed out. "If you can get Neville Longbottom to look you in the eyes and mutter a decent curse, your job's done."

The blond snorted. "You realise I don't plan to do this for the rest of my life? 'Cause that's how long it would take for that to happen."

"Just… try not to terrify him too badly."

"That's the biggest challenge yet…"

They were approaching the junction where the staircases led up toward the Gryffindor common room and down toward Draco's room. Without warning, Harry felt uncomfortable. For some reason, he suddenly found himself thinking of The Dream, and for the life of him couldn't get it out of his head.

"Just so you know," the blond was prattling on, "next time, I could do without you storming into my room and hauling me –" He stopped, looking curiously at the Gryffindor. "Potter?"

Harry realised what he must look like. With the unwelcome thought of The Dream, he'd felt his face heat up with embarrassment and was completely incapable of meeting the grey eyes. He'd even put distance between them by edging sideways.

"I'll, uhm, see you tomorrow I guess. In class, I mean." Still without raising his eyes from the suddenly very interesting floor, he practically fled up the stairs. Only when he reached the top did he turn to look once, fleetingly, at the perplexed Slytherin. "Oh, and… thanks."

Draco raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he watched the skittish Golden Boy disappear around the corner on the upper landing.

He'd never understand Gryffindors.