Classes were a bit different this year. Due to the small number of eighth-years returning, the Headmistress chose to combine them all as one group around a reduced set of classes deemed most fundamentally important for passing the N.E.W.T exams. Their remaining time would be spent in a less structured apprenticeship with a teacher of their choosing, according to the specialty that most suited their future goals. That first week much discussion was held amongst the eighth-years about their available options.
Many of the students approached the decision by clustering in the library, looking up wizarding careers and trying to decide which classes best aligned with their interests. Harry, Ron, and Hermione crouched around a large book near an arched leaded window between the stacks, reading the profiles of famous wizards and their areas of expertise.
"Harry, if you're going to be an Auror," Hermione traced her finger along the tiny blocks of text, "you should take up Potions or Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Me too, right?" Ron looked up for reassurance. "I'm going into the Academy, too."
"True," Hermione frowned. "But are you sure you don't want to pursue something a little less," she searched for the right word, "dangerous?"
"If we weren't dating would you ask me that," Ron's eyes darkened and his cheeks flushed pink. Since he and Hermione had started holding hands and snogging his ability to disagree with her had all but vanished. For him to have even asked the question was impressive, Harry thought.
"Maybe not," Hermione sat back and closed the heavy tome. "You can't blame me for wanting to keep you safe. You have a gift for animals," she added. "Why don't you do an apprenticeship with Hagrid?"
"She's got a point," Harry smiled. "I mean, no one's ever gotten hurt working with dragons, right?"
Hermione rolled her eyes tolerantly. "At least dragons don't conspire to commit crimes," she sighed. "And Ron's brother could be very helpful for finding a job after graduation."
"You're right, I'll talk to Hagrid," Ron agreed, raising his eyebrows and smiling at Harry with false brightness. "It probably is a better plan than becoming an Auror."
Harry held his gaze for a moment, wishing he could voice the thoughts in his head. You're changing for her, he thought. She loves you for who you are, not the simpering obedient lad you're becoming. But he couldn't very well say that, not without risking their friendship. So to prevent himself from speaking out of turn, he stood and muttered something about needing a drink of water and threaded his way back through the stacks to the exit.
As he reached the door a flash of white caught the corner of his eye. He turned, his hand on the inlaid wooden panel, and saw Draco Malfoy standing at a heavily laden bookcase, leafing through a crumbling, dusty, leather-bound book. He withdrew his hand, not really thirsty anyway. He looked around for a reason to speak, and finally just cleared his throat. Gray eyes raised and looked his way.
"What do you want, Potter?" Malfoy's response was familiar, almost comforting in its hostile structure, but his tone was flat, lacking the acidity that usually came as easily as breathing.
"Nothing," Harry said hurriedly. "I was just going to get a drink of water."
"Well then," Malfoy returned to his book, "thank you for letting me know."
Harry's cheeks burned. He shuffled his feet, leaning against the door and trying to think of something else to say. "Have you decided which teacher to apprentice with?"
"Deciding that now," Malfoy drawled, not looking up.
"What is that, a book on healing potions?" Harry peered through his round lenses and crept forward for a better look.
Malfoy looked up again finally. He quietly closed the cover and slid it back onto the shelf. "I'm thinking about going into healing," he said, doubt briefly etching a line between his eyebrows.
"I never thought you'd go beyond Hogwarts," Harry inched forward another step, poking a verbal stick at their old rivalry. "I thought your plan was to inherit your family's fortune and live a life of leisure."
"Well I've done the first part," Malfoy said sharply. Harry flushed again, remembering belatedly that he'd lost both parents in the war and had taken sole possession of his family's wealth. "Frankly it's a bit boring." He drew a breath and took the edge out of his voice, "Besides, the name Malfoy has lost some of its value. Most of its value, actually. I'd like to find the shortest path between now and the day when I can rejoin society."
"Healing is admirable work. You could build a good reputation that way," Harry nodded. He glanced down reflexively at Malfoy's concealed left arm. He wore long, fitted sleeves beneath his Slytherin robes, unlike Harry, who preferred just a muggle t-shirt.
Malfoy noticed the attention and self-consciously moved his arm behind his back. His eyes darkened and he nodded bitterly as though he could read Harry's thoughts. "Exactly."
