"Harry Potter," Professor Slughorn looked up in surprise. "Have you left your cauldron behind?"
"No, sir," Harry edged reluctantly into the room. Slughorn wasn't his favorite teacher, not by a long shot. But unless he could overcome his reluctance to spend more time with the dark arts, this was his best apprenticeship opportunity. "I've come to ask if you would take me on as an apprentice this year."
Slughorn's eyebrows shot up and he blustered in surprise. He was clearly torn, too, but could find no reason to object. He agreed, and immediately set Harry to work organizing the tincture cabinet. It wasn't exactly the kind of practicum Harry had in mind, but he supposed it was better than the alternative. He knew he would be up against dark magic as an Auror, and his training would require him to overcome his reluctance. But he needed some time and space before facing it again.
After an hour of cleaning between sticky and oozing vials, he stood and stretched his shoulders and rolled his head around his neck to ease the strain of crouching over. Ron appeared in the doorway and invited him to dinner, which he accepted gratefully.
"Back here tomorrow," Slughorn called. "Plenty more of that sort of work to do."
"I need to stop in the restroom," Harry muttered as he escaped with his best friend. "My hands reek of slugs and guts."
"Well I spent the morning shovelling griffin dung with Hagrid," Ron said morosely, as only Ron could. "You don't want to know what I reeked of before I showered."
They paused at the first floor boys lavatory and Harry ducked in for a slash and a quick scrub. As he zipped up Draco Malfoy emerged from one of the stalls, tucking his shirt in as he approached the sink. He nudged his sleeves up as he turned on the tap and squeezed some soap into his palm.
Harry flushed the urinal and joined the Slytherin boy at the washbasins. He glanced over and saw a frayed edge of a bandage peeking out from under Malfoy's retracted left sleeve. Malfoy concentrated on not noticing. He dried his hands with a quick evaporation charm and departed without a word.
Harry sighed. In the old days Malfoy would have looked for an opportunity to get in a quick jab at his muggle connections or his high status as the chosen one. And on the way out he would have called Ron "Weasel" and made a comment about his family's income. But neither of those things had happened. Malfoy was distracted these days, different from before. Harry wished things didn't have to be different. Everyone was changing.
Not that he had much time to ponder the changes. In spite of the open, more relaxed curriculum, Harry found himself run ragged by Professor Slughorn's demands. And of course, just because Harry was apprenticing with Slughorn, that didn't mean he could drop his regular Potions class. He was required to attend with everyone else, and he struggled with everyone else to conquer the advanced recipes and rituals that went into the final year's competency.
And now that he had Slughorn's attention, he found himself selected for demonstrations more often. He had long since lost the assistance of Snape's old textbook, so he was back to relying on his own skills to get through his lessons.
Malfoy seemed to be struggling for the first time, too, in the absence of Professor Snape. Snape had always helped him, correcting this measurement or that ingredient. Now he was on his own and seemed to lack confidence in his knowledge.
One afternoon the eighth-years were working on a particularly fussy potion that required the students to measure the iron content in their mixing utensils so the metal wouldn't corrupt the mixture. Malfoy's mistake was cursing audibly when his metallurgy spell ricocheted and struck his cauldron instead.
"Problems, Mister Malfoy?" Professor Slughorn called from the front of the class. He gestured vaguely in Harry's direction. "Mister Potter, please assist Mister Malfoy."
Harry looked up from his own line-up of metal tools. He wasn't having much success, either. How could he help? His apprenticeship hadn't taught him anything yet, other than the tactile difference between cleaning up a slimy ointment versus a sticky unguent. He stepped up to the next riser and inspected the four long spoons Malfoy was attempting to rank by iron content. He looked up hesitantly and met Malfoy's distant, arrogant stare. He shrugged weakly and mouthed, "I don't know either."
To his surprise, Malfoy smiled. It wasn't big, just the merest hint across his lips. And not a sneering, jeering smile. Not quite an expression of camaraderie, but not too far from it either. Feeling emboldened, Harry reached across and pulled Malfoy's textbook closer.
"Maybe if we figure this out together, I can get on with my assignment, too," he whispered under his breath. Malfoy crouched next to him and together they scoured the text.
Behind them, Hermione let out a squeak, indicating that her spell had gone correctly and she'd identified the right utensil. Up in the rear corner of the room Seamus accidentally knocked three of his spoons to the floor, clattering and startling the other students. Harry jumped back, reacting reflexively to the clamor. He grabbed Malfoy's arm as though to pull him away from danger, too.
"Watch it!" Malfoy hissed and yanked his arm back, cradling it to his chest protectively.
"Sorry," Harry ducked his head apologetically. Malfoy glowered at him, cupping his forearm in his right hand and gritting his teeth against the pain.
"I think I can get it from here," he said coldly, gray eyes clouded.
"I'm sorry," Harry said again. "I was startled."
"Just let me finish my assignment," Draco lowered his arm gingerly and pulled his textbook back over to his side of the table.
Harry returned to his own workstation miserably, wishing for the days before the war when every little noise didn't set his nerves on end.
