Transfiguration had been an interesting but uneventful class. Being adults (at least in spirit) the Trio found it to be, well, child's play. Harry had to whisper a reminder to hamper their skill as Ron transfigured a walnut into a small cup almost exactly as instructed. And such perfection just would not do for the newly teenaged Ronald Weasley. With an extra twist, he added back the ridges of the shell and removed the bottom completely right as McGonagall passed by, giving him a comment of encouragement at his progress. Hermione remained silent again during the class, gaining concerned glances from the others in their house. But her perfect cup gained their house an extra five points so no one really thought of it afterwards. It was normal for Hermione to get things right on the first try, after all.

On the way down, Harry caught sight of Filch mopping some distance away, his cat Miss Norris lazing about at the feet of a suit of armor that stood there. Harry had a flash of recollection to the time he accidentally saw Filch's pamphlet on the Kwikspell course in his cramped office once, while he was in detention for something or other. The thought rather pained Harry now that he knew what it meant.

He and Filch had never got on during his youth, but after the Battle of Hogwarts Harry had been one of the only wizards to do most of the cleaning up by hand. Filch—Argus—found this odd of the Boy Who Lived Twice (as was his new nickname for Harry on occasion). Harry had expressed a need to do it "The Right Way" and Argus had found the attitude singular to a wizard that could do magic. Eventually, the two began to talk during their duties to the school they had both loved fiercely. And while Harry would not have said they were close, he knew Argus could have been a friend once upon a time. Mellowed in his age, Harry found the man worn and tired but still holding onto the magic that was around him if not running through his veins. And it was an interesting parallel they shared, as Harry was hated in in his world for having the ability of magic; Argus was hated in his for not. Sighing, Harry added the man to his ever-growing list. He had been a rather ghastly individual, but Harry understood where a lot of his anger came from now.

Reaching the bottom of the steps they walked serenely to the Great Hall where happy chatter was emanating from. Harry smiled; it was good to hear the sounds of children laughing in these great halls once again.

When they reached their table (Neville having saved them a seat and was still rather pink-faced and disheveled but in very good spirits after his flight with Buckbeak that morning) all three were far lighter in mood merely by being together. Quickly they melded into the innocent chatter about the first half of the day.

The meal was delightful, but Harry noticed Neville barely touching his food towards the end of the meal hour. He was sat beside Ginny, on Ron's other side. Harry sat opposite them both. And the stark contrast in his mood from earlier concerned the green-eyed wizard.

"Something wrong, Neville?" Harry asked, scooping up a bit of peas he had mixed into his mashed potatoes.

Neville shrugged dejectedly, aimlessly pushing his fork back and forth in his own peas. Seamus leaned over Dean who had joined Harry's free side.

"Potions is next, remember?" The round-faced brunette explained with some sympathy for Longbottom. Off-handedly Harry noted Finnigan had a bit of ash about his freckles. Always an affinity with pyrotechnics. Harry would need to remember that.

"And me'thinks with Snape all inna' twist abou' losing the DADA position again, he's not gon' be very pleasant." Seamus finished in his heavy accent.

Ron snorted. "When is the man ever pleasant?" Hermione elbowed him softly and Harry shot him a warning look. But he didn't apologize.

Harry by now though was also feeling the intensity of anxiety that Neville probably shared, though his reasons were far different. His stomach churned unhappily now, and Harry wished he hadn't eaten what little he had. His body often had to adjust to having more food anyway during the first few weeks back from Privet Drive, and he knew his digestive system was always in a tizzy especially when he was upset.

In what Harry thought were mere moments, lunch was over and the students were all leaving to their respective destinations. Harry remained seated on the bench of the table, wringing his uniform vest and staring at the wood grain of the table that had since been cleared magically. Idly, Harry wondered if this was due to a set spell or if the elves kept track of a schedule and did it themselves. A hand clasped his, stopping his fidgeting. He looked up to see a concerned Hermione with Ron and Neville beside her.

"You coming, Harry?" Neville piped up, frankly surprised to see Harry in such a state; he was usually the brave one wasn't he? Not that he didn't seem brave anymore, but Harry usually got mad because of Potions class…not nervous.

"Yeah, I'm coming." Harry gulped, and let himself be led away by his friends.

It was with hushed wariness that the trio (and Neville) entered the dungeons. They spotted Malfoy just outside the doorway to their classroom chatting amicably with Theodore and Pansy. Malfoy darted a look to them before slipping inside. Harry noted the rather forced calm he was taking on. Harry could relate.

Looking around for seats proved unlucky as Harry's delay had caused them to be stuck with the front row. Glancing to his friends in pure remorse at making them suffer too, Harry mouthed a "sorry". Ron simply shrugged, Hermione's eyes downcast and Neville looking about as pale as the Bloody Baron.

The four slipped in, Neville punctuating their group by taking the aisle seat. Snape was at his desk during the whole affair of students walking in, scratching with a quill in red ink. Harry grimaced, feeling immediately sorry for whoever it was that essay belonged to; it was covered in corrections and likely scathing remarks on the content.

Harry looked around the room and caught Draco's eye. He was sitting in the aisle seat in his own row across from Neville. Theodore, Pansy and Blaise sat beside him; Vincent and Gregory right behind him like his dutiful body guards. The blonde Slytherin seemed completely at ease aside from his grey eyes that looked almost petrified. Harry's green ones softened and this eased his friend, who nodded slightly before their attention was turned to Snape who abruptly slammed the door closed with a flick of his wand—his eyes still on the essay he was correcting.

"You will be working on the potion outlined in page sixteen—Shrinking Solution." Snape called out, his tone of voice immediately dissuading any quiet chatter students dared to utter in his presence. He was standing now, tall as ever with his richly black robes falling over him like a depressing but majestic waterfall. It was surreal to Harry. Snape continued to talk and Harry found himself glued to his seat, unable to focus on anything but the man's voice.

"It is new to you only in its result; the process of its completion requires skills you should have by now mastered. You are in your Third Year, let's see if you can act like it." Snape ended rather nastily. Harry noticed the Gryffindors glare moodily at Snape, but the Slytherins seemed relatively calm. It figured as Harry knew Snape to favor his snakes more than any other house. But it was interesting to see a calculating gleam in their eyes. They were taking at as a challenge, and this was a thought Harry had never had occur to him in quite this way. Possibly because the first time he was too busy dealing with the hate the man radiated off him in waves, especially in this class. And with this, Harry's anxiety returned.

Snape flicked his wand to a board at the other end of the classroom and further instructions appeared in chalk. This also surprised Harry, as he had not noticed before the minuscule but clearly present attributes from the Muggle world that Snape had instilled in his classroom. An old but elegant blackboard sat on the wall behind the students, to peer at for any additional changes he often made to the text of their books. Charmed chalk sat on the shelf. On the other end of the room sat an old canister with an oddly shaped umbrella. Harry had never seen anyone in the wizarding world have use for the muggle contraption; the magical alternative took on the same shape but was employed by the wand to repel water. By another shelf, Harry squinted just in time to see a jar of plain old marbles next to a jar of armadillo bile and pixie wings. Odd.

"You will need only one rat spleen and a dash of leech juice for this potion." Sanpe quickly added, as if in an afterthought. Millicent raised her hand, and Snape went over to answer her question. In this distraction Harry let out a breath as he gathered some ingredients for his potion. First would be cutting some daisy roots. Returning to his station, Harry dutifully lost himself in his work.

In his own time, Harry had gotten quite good at potion making, in no small part thanks to Snape himself, though it was by proxy of the Half-Blood Prince. Harry stopped his cutting a moment to realize he still needed to find that book again. Turning back to his work, cutting deftly, his mind wondered again. The words of the book, or rather those scribbled in by the hand of a sixteen-year-old Snape, were kind in their instruction, concise and to the point. Well, perhaps not kind, but they lacked any insults and death-glares that Harry long remembered from the man. So they could be considered by Harry Potter as generally kind. Pushing these thoughts down into somewhere deep, Harry continued his work. If nothing else, focusing on his current task enabled him to ease his train of thought. Especially as ample distraction of knowing the man he saw die in a flash of blood and agony was here, standing just off to his left and walking back and forth slowly as he gauged the children at work. Harry did not want to think, only do. He was not ready to confront the man now, after all. In any form.

The class progressed dully, as Snape required almost absolute silence while the children worked. And as Malfoy had no "hurt" arm from Buckbeak this time, there was also no retaliation of him getting into a squabble with Ron. Harry quickly found it peaceful. Ron, as he had done the first time around, took advantage of the next half hour to carefully dice his own roots. He and Hermione worked seamlessly side by side, exchanging tools and ingredients in perfect silence, like a well-oiled muggle machine. Neville had taken to staring down at them, and then to Harry's progress. The tufty-haired Harry was also making quick work of his own potion. He lightly ran a finger along the small and cramped text of his book and deftly continued through each step without difficulty. This made Neville more scared than curious as to the change. His own wavering self-esteem faltered in his thoughts as he considered he may just be the only person in the room who did not know what to do next. He had skipped a line in reading his own potions text without realizing and now was afraid he was just too thick to understand why the next line of instructions did not make sense in the order he had been following.

And there was no force on earth save from Voldemort himself that could make Neville Longbottom ask Severus Snape a question in class.

That growing panic was quickly hindered by a soft "psst" coming from across the way. Harry glanced up to see Draco's piercing grey eyes staring at Neville who had a grip on something squishy about to plop into his cauldron. Draco glanced down the walkway, where Snape had glided to and out of earshot for a small whisper.

"One spleen, Longbottom. Not two." Draco nodded up at the tightly and slightly trembling hand above Neville's cauldron. Neville blinked, then glared slightly even in his own anxiety. He clearly did not believe any sort of advice coming from a boy who had often tormented him.

Draco's expression saddened just a bit, but he then jerked his head to the back of the room, where the instructions were written out about the rat spleens and leech juice. Neville was stock still, then dared a quick glance himself. He did this twice, before settling his gaze at Draco, who now had the eyes of Theodore Nott on him from his side, a calculating gleam in his own pale eyes.

Nott seemed to wonder what Malfoy was playing at; so was Neville in all honesty.

"He's right, Neville." Piped up Harry, much to Draco's relief. Neville turned to him and exhaled rather heavily, about to lower his hand when a stark shadow hovered above him. Snape had noted the lingering form of Neville and decided it was time to give him some rather unwanted attention by way of humiliation, much to Harry's dismay.

"Well, Longbottom, going to just hold your fist of crushed rat spleens above your cauldron, or will you be dropping them in sometime this century?" Snape sneered. Neville gulped. His entire body trembled and the entire class had stopped their quiet murmur of working to look on at the new spectacle between Snape and Longbottom. Harry couldn't quite believe it, though he really should not have been surprised. The man found fault in most anything if he tried.

"Go on, Neville—just the one, remember?" Harry commented in a normal voice, not even trying to hide he was helping his house mate, something he knew would tick off the old former death eater.

Neville nodded and dropped only one, with a rather anticlimactic splash into the bubbling potion in progress. But Snape's wrath was in full force via his stare at Harry.

"I seem to recall this was an individual practicum, Mr. Potter." Snape said in a deathly low tone. Some of the Slytherins looked eager to see him get ripped into again, aside from Malfoy who had, if possible, paled further as he looked on.

Harry tried to push his emotions deep into his chest and looked up at the man, his heart slightly breaking at seeing how much hate resided in the man's eyes for him. But his held his own as he certainly was not afraid of the man. Not anymore.

"I understand that, sir, but you're making him nervous. A little encouragement goes a long way, rather than expecting the worst of someone you have not even given the chance to prove himself." Harry replied evenly, even in eerily calm. Snape's glittered a moment, not expecting such sentiment from Potter of all people. And he clearly gathered the double meaning there, though he was not about to give into it.

"Your dear Mr. Longbottom has proven how inept he is in this particular subject, Mr. Potter." Snape countered in an awful grin. "And I would rather dissuade him from further atrocity in my classroom as his abysmal skill concerning my subject is very apparent." Neville wilted visibly at that. He did not know which was worse: being yelled at by Snape publicly, or the casual way Snape could strip him down with mere words.

Harry said nothing in return, just narrowed his gaze slightly, not deigning to play into the man's trap in trying to get a rise out of him. This seemed to sour the older wizard's mood however, unable to verbally release his anger on the whelps, and therefore barked irrational deductions and rule changes.

"Five points from Gryffindor for disobeying today's practical instruction." Snape spat, daring Harry to come out with an outburst. Harry however merely sighed and looked away. It was Weasley who looked murderous, but even he held back any retort. And the Granger girl had not looked up from staring at her hands.

Neville looked like he would cry but thankfully held that in as well.

"And Longbottom, take care with your sub-par skills as we will be testing the resulting glop on your precious little toad at the end of class." Snape added hatefully, then glanced at the room (which was still staring at the scene) and said (though this was directed pointedly to the Gryffindor side of the room),

"No one is to help him, am I understood?" No one dared argue with him and murmurs of "yessir" echoed in the damp, drafty old room.

Harry placed a hand on Neville's forearm and squeezed, a silent sign of support for his friend. Neville gulped, but nodded as he put on a brave face—an expression betrayed by the slight sheen on his forehead and still trembling hands. Right as Harry removed his hand however, Neville noticed a slight silver scarring there, and looked confused at a Harry that was now engrossed in skinning a shrivelfig.

Was it just a part of his imagination? Neville wondered so but was immediately distracted by Snape's constant sneer every time he passed their table in his rounds about the class. All thoughts concerning the glimpse of a hopefully-imaginary-scar disappeared. Trevor chirped in his pocket and Neville shushed him softly, his heart racing at the facts he did have: Snape hated his guts, he was pants at potions and that Trevor's life was on the line.

Meanwhile, Draco was cutting through his caterpillar, feeling pale eyes scrutinize his minute movements.

"May I help you with something, Theodore?" Draco murmured quietly without looking up.

"If you're not busy helping Longbottom, sure." Nott hissed back, and Draco looked up to merely raise an eyebrow at the accusation.

"Problem?"

"Yes, actually." Nott whispered before they both shot back to looking at their work as Snape passed again, uttering a slight clearing of the throat to deter them from chatting without taking points like he surely would have done if they were not in his house. Once he was gone further down the room once more, they continued in softer tones.

"Why help him? He's an imbecile." Nott continued, accidentally slicing off the head of a caterpillar in his anger.

"He's not an imbecile, Theo. It would do you well to remember that." Draco glared at the boy beside him. He did not like having issues with those in his house, but most of all Theodore. Draco found the stringy boy unusually intelligent for his age, with a quietness about him that did not mean he was shy; Theodore was merely contemplative…cunning. Having their fathers be relatively close had meant they too had grown up together, and Draco saw him as one of the few he could call an equal. But he came from a pure-blood family whose ideals coincided with those of darker perspectives of the wizarding world. And this concerned him greatly now.

"Yeah? He can barely utter an answer without adding ten syllables to each word in his stuttering." Blaise leaned over Pansy to put in, clearly eavesdropping on the conversation. Pansy shoved him aside, blowing on a strand of hair that had fallen out of her hair band and onto her face. Theodore nodded in agreement, turning to Draco with a bland expression, as if to disagreeing with that logic would make him a dunderhead. The other two leaned forward, expecting Draco's reply. Draco shifted a bit in his seat to face them more fully, caterpillar in hand, and glancing to Gregory and Vincent behind them. Those two were also looking at him expectantly. They may have been a bit thick, but they were still Slytherins for a reason.

Draco felt incredibly claustrophobic in that moment. Another clearing of the throat caught the group's attention at once however (letting Draco release a breath he had not realized he was holding) as Snape had once again snuck up on them. He stood at the end of the table, expression unfathomable aside from his own raised brow. The children immediately straightened their postures and turned their attention to their work.

Once Snape had moved again (to peer into Neville's cauldron with a distasteful look) Draco whispered one last time to the others.

"This is not the time to speak of this. We can talk in the courtyard after class." The others seemed pacified at this. Theodore did keep skirting glances at Draco though, a look of…concern on his face perhaps? Worry? Emotions Draco could not really remember seeing on his face. But then, the last time he saw Theodore Nott was at his trial.

And the only emotion that graced his face then had been pure and unhindered hatred…

"You traitorous trash, Malfoy! We trusted you! And you turned on us to help Potter?!" the snarling form of Theodore Nott gnashed his teeth and struggled in the grip of the Aurors leading him away. Draco sat there, in the stand where he had just voluntarily named several of his cohorts in the Battle of Hogwarts and beyond; those sympathetic to the Dark Lord. Harry was there, standing just off to the side, fingering his wand and looking tired and stricken from the sight. Nott let out a choked sob of anguish and it made Draco grip so hard his nails dug deep into his skin drawing blood. His testimony had sentenced Nott to prison—thankfully not Azkaban as he had not been made a Death Eater—for several years. But Nott's reputation and career were ruined without question. His pale green eyes flickered in the reflection of the torches and he cursed Malfoy's name to high heaven in his screams of sorrow. And Draco crumpled in silent sobs once the door had slammed shut on his once-friend. His heavy, broken breathing echoed in the room as Shacklebolt grimly called in the next named in Draco's testimony.

Draco's hands nearly let his brass scales slip in the memory's sharp turn, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and then continuing his work while pushing any memories of those horrible months away for the time being.

Snape had by now returned to his desk, scratching at his parchment once again. Seamus chanced to speak with Harry as he leaned over to borrow the brass scales beside him.

"Hey Harry, have you seen the Daily Prophet this morning?"

Harry looked up at him, having a terrible daze of dejavu. "Haven't had a chance, what happened?" Now remembering the answer, Harry tried to keep his face blank.

"They reckon Sirius Black's been sighted."

Harry shared a look with Ron, with the red-head taking up the next question. "Where?"

"Not too far from here." Seamus all excited now with the news. "'Was a Muggle that saw 'im. Didn't rightly understand though, now could she? Muggles just think he's a regular criminal, don't they? So she phoned the telephone hot line. Bloke was gone by the time the Ministry got any wind of it."

Seamus left to go back to his station after a right nasty look from Snape who noticed him standing far too long beside Harry's table.

"Not far from here…" Ron said significantly, and Harry sighed as this new worry was again brought to the forefront of his mind.

"We need to send him that letter." Hermione piped up quietly so only they could hear her.

Harry nodded, then flinched violently when something crashed down on their tabletop. Snape had slammed his hand on the top. Harry was breathing erratically at the sudden swift movement and noise and had his wand drawn out, looking at Snape for a moment as if he could not recognize the man. Snape blinked, surprised, but quickly drew himself up in an air of threatening, quiet menace.

"Put that wand away, you foolish boy. Or do you mean to hex your own teacher?" Snape hissed, eyes so narrowed that no light shone from the darkened orbs of his pupils.

"N-no sir." Harry sounded out of breath, and felt quite dizzy at the magic he was trying to control. His reflexes from the war were still quite active. He put the wand back into his robes, staring downward as his face remained rather paled.

"You startled him!" Ron spat back in such vitriol that everyone looked taken aback—even some Slytherins. Snape raised a brow, lips curling into a terrible and cruel smile. Neville meanwhile looked like he was going to faint straightaway from the stress.

And Draco's eyes had widened considerably at the confrontation. Even Theo, despite himself, looked impressed.

"Me? Startle the Boy Who Lived? Now I daresay this is a new feat." Snape sounded completely unapologetic, perhaps excited at finding a new way to torment the boy. Harry's cheeks tinged pink but he remained looking downward.

"I daresay I'll hex you into the next millennium if you EVER—" Ron almost lunged for the man, and Harry and Hermione had to stop him.

"Ron, stop!" Harry said in a forceful tone and Ron immediately ceased fighting their hold on him. However, the damage was done.

"Two weeks' detention for threatening a teacher. Maybe next time you'll think twice before uttering every fool thing that pops into that minuscule mind of yours, Weasley." Snape sneered, to his credit having not budged an inch from where he stood. "And a week for you, Potter, for pulling a wand on a teacher." Harry then looked up at him, his green eyes looking hurt and betrayed, for reasons beyond Severus's comprehension. But because of this, Snape quickly broke eye-contact, moving to glide to the back of the room, erasing the board with a flick of his wand. Almost as if he needed something to do.

Harry and Ron began to pack away their unused ingredients, as most of the others were now doing as the latest spectacle was over and the end of the lesson within sight. Harry went over to wash his ladle and hands in the basin in the corner, where a particularly gruesome gargoyle head served as the faucet. Harry had never understood why such a thing existed, and distractedly wondered if this was by Salazar Slytherin's design. This was his part of the castle…

"I'm sorry." Ron's voice whispered in melancholy when he joined in using the icy cold jet of water. "For making a scene, I mean. Not for threatening Snape. The git." He then swore, calling Snape a few very unpleasant names and making Harry wince.

"I appreciate your help, Ron, I really do. But he won't hurt me. You need to remember that. This…this was my fault." Harry tried to explain, digging a bit of crud out of the bowl of the ladle.

"Bloody likely. I don't care if he fought on our side, he's got it in for you. You've got nothin' to be at fault for." Ron huffed, tapping his ladle on the basin to clear some of its own gunk.

"He's just angry." Harry tried to justify, but his voice plainly said he was more hurt than he would care to admit. Now that he did not hate the man, what filled that hole was now respect. And being so hated by someone he greatly respected made Harry's chest heavy.

"We all are." Ron spat, then returned to their station. Harry sighed, flicked some water off his hands, then joined him. Snape eyed them as they slid in to their spots. Ron risked a hateful glare, but Harry ignored him completely.

No matter. Snape had a new target.

"Gather 'round everyone," Snape said in an even voice, as if nothing had happened mere minutes before. "and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink into a tadpole. If not, as I do not doubt, the toad will be poisoned."

Neville gulped fearfully as he held Trevor up and gently placed him in Snape's left hand. Snape then ladled a bit of the potion—which was a sickly acid green—onto the amphibian. Trevor gulped, not aware his very life was in danger, and with a quick pop! a wriggling tadpole was in his place. Neville sighed openly in relief and Snape rolled his eyes. Taking a phial of something from his inner robes he quickly put Trevor right once again, dropped him roughly on the table, then regarded Neville with a new look of hate. He then looked at all the gawking students then almost yelled,

"Well? Class is dismissed!" and a scuttering of feet and clinging of ladles and cauldrons filled the silence.

Harry was one of the first to slip out the door, not giving Draco a chance to pull him aside and see if he was okay. Sighing, and readying himself for the conversation he was to have with his own group of friends, he slung his pack on his shoulder and proceeded out the door. He chose not to look at Snape for fear he would also snap and lunge at the man as Ron had.

The courtyard was a beautiful place for students to do a bit of studying or hanging about outside. But it reminded Draco when he jumped from the tree near the middle of the yard in order to taunt Harry during Fourth Year, before he was turned into a ferret by that piece of human garbage, Crouch Jr masquerading as Mad Eye. It made his stomach turn to think of his own follies…to think how he himself used to think.

He knew he had been followed by his year-mates, and so he chose a spot a bit away from a couple of Hufflepuff seventh years who were making flower crowns as well as Diggory who was in a tutoring session with Cho Chang, though by the looks of it they weren't getting much studying done.

Typical, Draco thought. However, the sight of Diggory made Draco's hair stand on end and he quickly walked past their spot.

Settling on a place with a bench near a stone wall, he hopped on the wall to sit, carelessly dropping his book bag at his feet, looking on as his friends walked down to join him.

"Well, who's going to start?" Draco lazily called as the group gathered about him. Vince and Greg stood at his side, as they always did, but eyed him carefully as if uncertain of him now. Pansy flawlessly hopped to sit beside Draco, though enough space between them to give him room—or to distance herself as she too was concerned for his loyalties. Blaise leaned on the bench, arms folded and staring at Draco's form while Theodore stood at his side, hand clasped behind him and a calculating look once again gracing his features.

"I might as well lay it on the table then; What. The. Hell?" Blaise was never good at hiding his emotions and this made Theodore roll his eyes.

"Way to be subtle, Zabini." Theodore said as he pinched his nose in frustration. Draco almost smiled fondly though as the sight had he not been the subject of this teenage inquisition. It reminded him of Umbridge's little band of purebloods he had been a part of and the memory sobered him up quickly.

"You'll have to be more specific, Blaise." Draco drawled, causing Vince and Greg to snicker.

"Alright, fine. What were you thinking, helping Longbottom in Potions? In fact, while we're at it, why are you all of a sudden palling around with Potter and his Gryffindork friends?" Blaise accused. The others silently waited an explanation.

Draco sighed, running a hand through his platinum hair.

"I'm changing tactics." He said after a moment, finding the best way to explain himself in Slytherin terms. He had been hanging around Harry far too long, for he had taken to looking at things in his way—straightforward. But he was still a Slytherin, and he always would be. And he knew that the best way to gain his friends on his side—and eventually the side of the Light—would be to appeal to their inner Snake.

"We're listening." Theodore prompted, obviously intrigued by this answer. Just as Draco had hoped.

"We've all grown up hearing his name, Harry Potter. Correct?" Draco began, having gone over this speech for a while now since he had been back. This conversation had been inevitable.

"Yeah, so what?" Pansy asked as she pressed a tiny wrinkle out of her skirt.

"My point is, we've been looking at this the wrong way. Potter has had influence since he was almost a year old. None of us can say that for ourselves, no matter how distinguished we make our careers here at school and onward. He will always be known for who—and what—he is." Draco explained, kicking his trainers against the wall as he swung his legs. The action was to make him look relaxed but inside his heart was again beating very hard and very fast.

"You wish to use his popularity in some way? That seems a bit beneath you, Draco." Theodore commented, his expression looking almost disappointed if this were the case.

"No, I mean that we cannot afford to have him as an enemy. Don't you see?" Draco jumped off the wall and began pacing back and forth.

"Harry—Potter, I mean—not only defeated the most powerful dark wizard of our time, as an infant mind you, but he has since defeated him twice more in as many years." Draco continued. He of course knew this to be a partly half-truth, as Harry's mother's sacrifice had been what defeated Voldemort in the beginning (Harry had explained this during the trials with the Ministry) but he would use what weapons he had in his arsenal, twisting them to conform to his needs. As any Slytherin would.

"You really believe all that rot, about the Dark Lord coming back those times? That Potter really killed a Basilisk?" Blaise spat. Draco blinked.

"You do not?"

"I do." Theodore replied quietly, but his gaze every bit blazing in intensity. This was a dangerous point in their shared path, Draco knew.
"But I also know the Dark Lord was not to his full strength both times. If he had been, Potter might not even be alive."

Draco pursed his lips in thought. Then said with uncharacteristic conviction,

"He will be, one day. And I want to be on the winning side."

"How can you be so sure?" Theodore had taken up the role of inquisitor it seemed, and in Draco's stilled pacing had taken up circling him slowly, much like a buzzard that had sensed a dying animal.
"How can you be so certain that Potter will be strong enough, smart enough, clever enough to outwit the, as you said, greatest dark wizard of our age? If he indeed will come back."

"Because I am not a fool, Nott." Draco hissed. "I see the value in keeping Potter close."

Blaise's eyes narrowed at that, Theodore's brow furrowed.

"Then what proof do you have Potter's is a side you would risk status, family and friends to join?" Theo challenged, his expression betraying a hint of concern. All eyes trained on Draco once again, and he once again sighed.

"Because he's Harry Potter, that's why."

Vincent and Greggory seemed to take that as proof enough really, loathe as they were to admit it. But the others wanted more to go on.

"And you expect us to understand that kind of Gryffindorish logic because...?" Blaise prompted with an insult, rolling his hands in gesture for Draco to elaborate.

"I am not at liberty to say just now. I would rather not put all my dragon eggs in one basket, especially since you lot seem to think I've gone barmy." Draco spat.

"I simply wish to understand." Theodore replied softly. It was then that Draco caught the bit of fear there in his eyes. Fear and sadness. Draco though was fairly uncertain why Theodore would be sad of all things.

"What, is he your boyfriend now or something?" Blaise mocked, making Pansy gasp and look crushed. Vincent and Greggory looked scandalized. But again, Theodore looked calculating, as if truly measuring if this was a possibility.

"What?! No! Of course not, you idiot!" Draco threw up his hands in frustration. Of all things…!

"Then what?" Blaise pressed.

"Listen, all of you. Listen to me and listen good." Draco began in a voice he had heard his father use on several occasions when he was talking of something very important. It worked to capture his friends' attention.

"As Slytherins it's time to start thinking outside of the box." Draco saw some eyes widen or narrow in response, but was encouraged no one had interrupted yet. This meant they were willing to hear him out. Since birth, Draco knew, this particular group of his friends had been drilled on the ways of the Dark Lord. Not blatantly so, as most of the death eaters had believed Voldemort truly dead (or tried to deny him, as his own father had done). But there were still leanings in that direction none of them could readily deny having been taught, especially if their fathers had been in his inner circle, as all of them had been directly aside from Parkinson and Zabini.

"And I think the winning side is with Potter." Draco's voice was low as their group had attracted a bit of attention by now. Slytherins did not normally travel in groups—and they did not converse in them either.

"You keep talking about sides, what sides? Do you expect another war?" Blaise scoffed.

"You never know." Draco answered evenly, seriously. Blaise had the grace to look thrown off kilter.

"What on Merlin's green earth makes you believe that?" Pansy finally spoke up, her voice slightly scared.

"Inevitability, Pansy." Draco turned his head slightly to answer her. He flicked his eyes to the other boys. "The odds are against us and we will need a friend."

"Sentiment and kindness…even friends…are weaknesses." Theodore said hollowly, as if repeating something he had heard countless times rather than feeling them with his own conviction.

"Potter is able to use that as his strength." Draco countered easily.

"The kid can't even stand to be in Professor Snape's class without shying away like a ninny!" Blaise squawked, hands on his hips. "Did you see how he jumped? And he almost fainted on the train from a single Dementor!"

"There is a reason for that as well, one that is not my place to divulge." Draco kicked up some grass, his voice softer. He looked up again though after another moment. "Suffice it to say Potter has the power, whatever you may think of him personally. You can't deny he does when he's slain a bloody Basilisk."

"He's got a point." Theodore acknowledged, a finger to his lips as he considered the reasoning in that favor.

"I still don't believe that." Blaise mumbled. Draco was reminded of Finnigan all those years ago when the Irish boy had almost gotten into a fight with Harry when he too did not believe Voldemort had returned. It seemed Blaise was the "seeing is believing" type, small minded though it was. No matter, Draco had enough faith in Harry for the both of them.

"Ask him to show you the scar." Draco smiled almost wickedly—it was a veiled challenge.

"Alright, I will!" Blaise would not be one-upped by Malfoy of all people.

"So…" Pansy daintily tucked some hair behind her ear. "Back to the matter at hand. You've got some good reasons as to why you want to be on Potter's good side. Okay. But what about Longbottom?"

Draco sighed, once again, leaning on the wall in a huff. "I just figured I'd rather not have his cauldron explode on my new robes first day of class." The others laughed softly at that, Theo even managing a smirk. It made Draco feel bad, but he couldn't very well tell them he felt pity for the boy. Even comradery with him. No one here would understand it, as it had not happened yet. And Neville…he was also powerful. And Draco knew he did not want him as an enemy either. It would do him well to nurture that relationship, if he were able.

Of course, there was a better chance of seeing kneazles fly.

Pansy asked for Draco's help off the wall, with Blaise making obnoxious kissing noises that made Greg and Vice giggle once again and Draco cuff him good-naturedly.

"Now what?" Pansy asked with a flick of her pin-straight hair.

Draco peered at the sky, which was gloomy as ever. Overcast as well. It made it hard to determine what time it was, only that it was later than it had been as it was not so brightly lit. Theo cast a spell and determined they had about half an hour before dinner. So, they decided to drop their books off in their common room before the mealtime.

They happened past a distracted Peeves, wailing about something stuck in his nose and "Nasty Marauders" before popping through the walls. With a shared look of bewilderment, they continued on.

Draco, usually the lead, had let himself drift to the back as Pansy and Blaise got into a heated argument over whether the new Defense Professor was poor or just didn't have time to fix his clothing from his obvious dueling. Pansy thought the former, Blaise arguing the latter, surprisingly. Draco supposed he did not know the man was a member of the crimson and gold, or else he would not defend the man so heartily.

Vincent and Crabbe had trouble ping-ponging looks as the two bickered, unsure which was the right opinion among them. It was as they descended in the darker part of the castle where laid the dungeons that Draco noted Nott drift to his side.

"This conversation is only postponed, you know." Theo remarked quietly as they walked. Blaise exhaled dramatically and almost shouted something to the effect that even if the man was poor he at least didn't want them to buy multiple volumes of some ridiculous book he authored as Lockhart had done the year before. Pansy huffed and then tried to defend Lockhart because at least he knew how to dress properly in public.

"I gathered." Draco replied, hands stuffed in his pockets and books weighing down his shoulder.

"You will need to prove to us what you're doing is…" Theo seemed at a loss of words here, looking for the right one. Draco helped him.

"Wise?" Draco smirked. Theo gave in a true, if small, smile and nodded.

"We shall see." Draco replied with small smirk.

Little did Draco know that gaining the confidence of his fellow Slytherins would soon be the least of his—and Harry's—problems.