Small opportunities are often the beginning of great enterprises.
~ Demosthenes

"Does this look blue to you?" Draco asked and cocked his head, staring pensively at his cauldron.

"It looks green," Blaise said, though Draco suspected he didn't even bother to look over.

"It could be blue," Derwent Harper said bracingly. Unlike Blaise, he inspected the potion carefully and Draco found his personal space dangerously invaded; Harper leaned in entirely too close for comfort.

"Yes, it could be." Blaise looked irritated. "But, it's not."

"It looks cyan to me," Draco claimed and looked at Blaise hopefully.

"I believe you." Blaise's big eyes became even larger, giving him a deceptively innocent expression. "I also believe you're colour-blind."

"Yes, it's definitely cyan," Harper exclaimed.

Draco looked sideways at the smiling, round-cheeked boy and scowled. His scowl deepened as he caught sight of Harper's cauldron. His Gregory's Unctuous Unction was the perfect aqua blue.

Bloody youngsters. They were such annoying little suck-ups and such overachievers. The decision to combine the returning seventh-years with the new generation was a complete disaster. The N.E.W.T classrooms were too full and too loud; in the end they would all receive substandard education. The crowded classrooms were one of the reasons Draco couldn't concentrate properly and even his potion work suffered. The other reason was the fact that the majority of the students and professors hated him for escaping Azkaban. Draco would believe himself paranoid, but Malfoys weren't prone to paranoia. Two thirds of the school definitely hated him. Which wouldn't be a problem, except Draco really didn't like the remaining third.

"Slughorn's coming," Blaise mumbled. He sighed and stopped stirring his cauldron. His unction was yellow and looked more like chicken soup than anything. It made Draco feel a little better about his own failure.

Slughorn leaned over Ernie Macmillan's cauldron, nearly knocking over both the cauldron and Ernie with his enormous belly. Seizing the moment while Slughorn was distracted, Draco quickly grabbed his copy of Advanced Potion-Making and scanned the instructions. If he could only figure out what went wrong, then maybe he could at least justify the green colour. That ought to be worth a point or two. The instructions clearly stated that if the unction turned green instead of blue, the drinker wouldn't think that the giver was his or hers best friend as intended, but he would merely find the giver awfully smelly, and that could only happen if the Unction was left to simmer more than five minutes after adding belladonna leaves. Draco frowned. He had been so careful. He clearly remembered adding the leaves and then checking his watch and then . . . Draco's frown deepened. And then Potter had gasped because he had cut his finger while slicing ginger roots. After that, all Draco could remember was how full and red Potter's lips looked around his injured finger as he sucked it, but for the life of him he simply couldn't recall extinguishing the flames beneath his cauldron.

Draco turned toward the end of the classroom to throw a nasty glare at Potter. However, too busy staring at his Unction with a worried frown, Potter didn't notice him. Fucking Potter. It was all his fault, as usual.

"Ah, Mr Zabini!" Slughorn exclaimed.

Draco tensed and slowly dragged his gaze away from Potter's messy hair.

"You should have used fresh belladonna leaves, not dried." Slughorn grimaced. "Well, that was a human mistake. I suppose this is Acceptable." He made a note on his parchment, giving Blaise a fond smile.

Draco's hands clenched into fists. Of course. Members of the Slug Club could get away with yellow.

"Hmm," Slughorn commented as he leaned over Draco's cauldron. Pressing his lips together, Draco braced himself. He knew better than to expect mercy from Slughorn. "Mr Malfoy," Slughorn said sadly and shook his head, his moustache twitching. "I'm afraid you won't be making any new friends any time soon." With that, he scribbled something that looked suspiciously like a T on his parchment.

Theodore Nott turned around to sneer at Draco as someone snickered loudly. The sound came from the Gryffindor side of the classroom, but Draco didn't look around to investigate. He imagined it was Potter.

"Oh, who cares about Slughorn and his grades?" Harper whispered after he had received a smile and an O for his Unction. "You excel at Potions and everyone will know that when you get an E on your N.E.W.T. exam."

Draco's jaw hurt something fierce. He had been gritting his teeth too hard. Slughorn paused at Potter's desk and Draco narrowed his eyes at Potter's faintly embarrassed expression.

"I'll get an O," Draco answered Harper absentmindedly. Draco's hand flew upward to toy with the small pendant that hung on a silver chain around his neck.

"Of course!" Harper said quickly. "That's what I meant!"

Draco ignored him. Potter's fingers were twined into that awful messy hair, toying with the jet-black strands.

"It looks a bit green," Potter mumbled. He eyed his cauldron with his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Nonsense!" Slughorn cried. "It looks cyan to me." He made a note on his parchment. "And that certainly exceeds my expectation, because I can see quite clearly, Mr Potter, that you're in love again. I can always tell." Slughorn tapped his nose.

Potter blinked at him stupidly.

"No, no! Don't even try to deny it," Slughorn argued passionately even though Potter hadn't said a word. "Sadly, Miss Weasley abandoned us for Quidditch, but you have someone else on your mind." Slughorn leaned in closer to Potter, who automatically leaned backwards. "I can see it in your eyes," Slughorn added in a loud whisper. He beamed as a couple of students giggled. Potter dropped his gaze, but remained silent, his cheeks reddening.

"Draco!"

Draco's gaze snapped to Blaise, who was shaking his head at him. "You're growling. Stop it!" Blaise snapped. "Slughorn will never like you. Accept it and let it go."

Draco opened his mouth to inform Blaise he didn't give a flying fuck about Slughorn and that he was more annoyed by Potter's attempts to look coy, but Slughorn's voice boomed through the classroom.

"Settle down! Settle down!" he cried, walking back toward his desk. "I know it's Friday afternoon, but we have five more minutes and I have important news to impart."

Uninterested, Draco sighed and concentrated on meticulously tidying up his workspace. Slughorn continued, sounding unreasonably excited.

"Next week we'll be brewing Memory Potions. I know we said they were highly ineffective and they're unlikely to appear on your N.E.W.T. exams, but there has been a breakthrough recently . . ." Slughorn paused. "Does anyone here read Potions Weekly?"

Draco almost raised his hand, but then he noticed no one - not even Granger - had done so. He crossed his arms on his chest, displeased that he couldn't brag about reading the prestigious magazine. Apparently, the fact would only earn him some odd looks and he had enough of those lately.

He knew exactly what Slughorn was talking about. Merwyn Borage, the most respected living Potion master in Wizarding Britain, discovered that Jobberknoll feathers preserved much more memory magic if soaked in Firewhiskey for twenty-four hours prior to use. The article had made Draco formulate some vague plans of earning a small fortune by brewing and selling the Memory Potion to frantic students during exam weeks. His plan quickly solidified. If they were to brew the potion next week it would be possible he could swipe some from his cauldron unnoticed.

Slughorn was talking again and this time Draco paid closer attention.

"No one?" Slughorn looked disappointed. He glanced at Granger, who seemed to feel guilty upon discovering there were written words in the world she had never read. "Well, never mind, then." Slughorn shrugged sadly. "The point is, I've been told that Memory Potions could indeed come up on your exams. However, I'm afraid we have a small problem. Hogwarts potion supply dangerously lacks Jobberknoll feathers." Slughorn looked inordinately pleased by that fact. It made Draco feel wary. Somehow, it seemed unlikely Slughorn would end his tale with the words, "And so I decided to buy some." Jobberknoll feathers were rare and valuable and Slughorn had already complained more than once about lack of funds. Draco wouldn't be surprised to discover that Slughorn swiped and sold as many potions ingredients as he could from the Hogwarts storeroom. Severus Snape had never complained about a 'dangerous lack' of valuable ingredients.

"Therefore . . ." Slughorn paused dramatically. "Tomorrow afternoon we will head out for a little field trip and gather some Jobberknoll feathers." Several students cried out in joy - Hufflepuffs, no doubt - but most of them looked uncertain. Slughorn continued to smile widely. "But that's not all. I plan to divide you into teams and the team that gathers the most feathers will receive a vial of Memory Potion, guaranteed to enhance your memory for a month." Slughorn gave the whole class a sly look. "It could do wonders for your grades."

"But Professor Slughorn!" Hermione Granger's voice rose above the cheers. "Isn't using Memory Potions for that purpose . . . er, illegal?"

Slughorn stopped smiling and remained silent for nearly a minute. "Nonsense!" he cried eventually. He treated them all to a fairly creepy smile. "However, let us not mention anything about the contest to the Headmistress. We can't have her thinking you're not eager for a little recreation and I had to bribe you." He laughed loudly, but eventually crumbled under Granger's glare and began to inspect his knuckles carefully.

Draco would find it amusing if he didn't have other, more troubling things on his mind.

"And where exactly will we gather these feathers?" he asked loudly.

"Why, the Forbidden Forest, Mr Malfoy. Where else?" Slughorn said in a no-nonsense voice, but the terror on some students' faces forced him to elaborate. "Oh, come now. The Forbidden Forest is not the same dangerous place it once was. The centaurs are being quite friendly and the werewolves . . . Well, those tales were always a lie. The Headmistress has given us her permission as long as we don't go too far and we return before dark."

Draco seethed, but he knew better than to voice his concerns out loud. The centaurs weren't harmless creatures worthy of trust and he knew for a fact that a pack of werewolves was still roaming through the forest. Not to mention that dozens of various dangerous creatures had been spotted there. They were all going to die. His only consolation was that if the werewolves attacked them, they'd go after Slughorn first and would inescapably choke on him.

Draco's classmates, the gullible fools, looked appeased and some of them - Gryffindors, naturally - actually looked excited. Granger, alone, seemed distressed. She moaned into her hands. "Not the woods, again. I'll die of boredom and I planned to study this weekend."

Draco couldn't help sharing her sentiments. Studying seemed like a splendid idea suddenly.

Nott turned to sneer at Draco again. He snapped his jaw and made childish grimaces, undoubtedly trying to imitate a werewolf. Draco scowled at him. Nott was becoming more and more insufferable with every passing day.

The bell rang and the students leapt out of their seats as though burned.

"Wait! Wait!" Slughorn cried over the racket and, defeated, the students sat back down. "A few more things. We'll meet in front of the entrance at noon. Be sharp and dress warmly."

"About that, Professor," Ernie Macmillan said tentatively. "Is it not a bit cold for a field trip? It has been snowing rather fierce."

Slughorn ignored him. "Before I forget," he said, "if you find any unicorn tail hair, bring those to me. And remember, Jobberknolls are protected creatures, you can't kill them and pluck their feathers - that's cheating." Slughorn's expression turned pensive. "Though, I suppose, you could Stun them . . ."

Someone cleared their throat and Slughorn snapped out of his reverie. "Only joking, Miss Granger. Aren't we lucky we have you to remind us all about legalities?" Slughorn gave her a wide toothy smile. "Discarded feathers are our only legal option, I'm afraid. But Jobberknolls nest during winter, so I'm sure we'll gather as much as we need. Perhaps even more."

Brilliant. Draco sighed, hardly able to believe that Slughorn planned to drag them to the Forbidden Forest during winter. It seemed he had carefully planned the trip so he could use the students as a free workforce and earn a few extra Galleons.

Irritated and eager to leave, Draco stood up suddenly. The whole class rose a second later, as though they were just waiting for a trigger. However, it wasn't their lucky day.

"Wait! Wait!" Slughorn raised his hands into the air and the students dropped back into their chairs. "This will take just a moment, I promise. I must divide you into pairs." Slughorn twirled his moustache and gave them a shrewd look as though pairing up students for a field trip was a special, difficult discipline.

Draco sank deeper into his chair. He knew in advance that the whole thing wouldn't end well.

"I hate my life," Draco grumbled. He sat on the floor a little farther away from the rest of the students that milled in front of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. The fact that it was their final class of the week was a small comfort considering he had tomorrow's field trip to look forward to. He could think of a hundred more entertaining things to do on a Saturday afternoon than traipsing through a monster-infested forest with his feather-hunting partner. For example, mindlessly staring at the ceiling and decapitating flobberworms sounded much more promising. "I can't believe McGonagall let Slughorn exploit us like this. And what was Slughorn thinking pairing me off with Potter? Is he not afraid I'll sully his little perfect hero with my evil presence?"

Goyle, sitting on Draco's left, made an indistinct grunting sound and Pansy, who was leaning her head on Draco's right shoulder, gave a disinterested shrug.

"Pansy!" Draco snapped.

Pansy's head shot up and she blinked at him owlishly. Her dark eyes looked innocent as she said, "I'm sorry, Draco, was that not a rhetorical rant? I assumed you were talking to yourself. You rarely need any input on the subject of Harry Potter."

Draco scowled. "I was talking about Slughorn, not Potter. And I don't need input, I need sympathy."

"Hmm." Pansy's smile looked all-knowing. "I'm afraid I'm incapable of the latter on Friday afternoons. So, to answer your question, Slughorn paired you off with Potter either because he thinks you two would make a great team . . ." Pansy paused to snicker. "Or because he hopes Potter will stop you from keeping every single Jobberknoll feather and unicorn hair for yourself."

"Of course I'm keeping everything to myself! And Potter won't stop me!" Draco scoffed. "I don't plan to help Slughorn earn so much as a Knut. He can go fuck himself with his contest and his prize and his bloody feathers." Draco glared at the pack of Gryffindors that stood farther down the corridor. Potter laughed merrily at something Weasley said; he was clearly untroubled by tomorrow's outing.

"Stupid Slughorn," Draco fumed. "And stupid Potter. Can you believe my bad luck?"

"Oh yes, it's so hard to be you," a voice sneered.

Surprised, Draco looked up to see Theodore Nott looming over him.

"You lost your right to whine two years ago," Nott spat and turned around with a flourish, moving to stand a few feet away, next to a smiling Derwent Harper.

Draco blinked. "Thank you for that spectacularly random remark, Nott. It has made my day joyous," he deadpanned, before turning toward Pansy. "What's his problem?"

Pansy waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, ignore him - he's just poor," she said in a stage whisper. Nott scowled at her.

"Oh, that's right." Draco grinned gleefully. "I hear you're living with your Squib aunt in a Muggle flat. Is that true, Nott?"

Nott's glare was murderous. He mumbled something, but Draco didn't hear him; his ears were full of Pansy's giggles and Goyle's guffaws. Draco suspected Goyle didn't really know what had been said, but he laughed loyally, nonetheless. Bless him.

"I hear the neighbourhood is so substandard even the Muggles abhor it," Pansy added, not bothering to keep her voice down.

"That's terrible!" Draco gasped, feigning shock. He was well aware of Nott's pathetic situation, but couldn't feel sorry for him. He had never liked Nott. The idiot had always been a creepy loner who did nothing but glare and scowl at other students. He had never even laughed at Draco's jokes. Not to mention that Nott's father was a conniving bastard who constantly tried to turn the Dark Lord against the Malfoys, and Nott's mother was a complete psychopath who could give Draco's aunt a run for the money. And that was saying something.

"You think that's funny, do you?" Nott took a few steps forward and leaned down to whisper, "My family's misfortunes are all your fault. You and your family screwed up and now we all have to put up with that." Nott scowled in Granger's direction. "You're nothing but a traitor."

Blood rushed into Draco's cheeks as he tried to calm himself by listing possible curses he could throw at Nott. Pansy hissed like an angry cat and Goyle flexed his knuckles. Draco grabbed Goyle's forearm. They couldn't risk drawing attention to themselves, not while Nott insisted on discussing such a dangerous topic in public. Several students were already looking their way; Potter among them.

"You have a lot of nerve accusing my family of treason," Draco said, forcing his voice to sound calm and steady. "As I recall, the Dark Lord dealt with your father because he had failed him."

Nott paled and Draco winced. He remembered his father telling him that the Dark Lord cursed the elder Nott with the Entrail-expelling Curse. He had suffered a terrible, gruesome death. Draco almost felt guilty for bringing that up, but his guilt vanished as Nott narrowed his eyes and spat, "Your father, not mine screwed up in the Department of Mysteries. The Dark Lord should have punished him."

"Obviously, that's not what the Dark Lord thought. Isn't doubting his judgement a mark of a traitor?"

Nott's whole face turned red. "You know what the mark of traitors is, Malfoy? Keeping all your assets and escaping persecution during a Death Eater hunt. Tell me, how exactly did that happen?"

Furious, Draco shot up, his hand flying toward his wand.

"Merrythought!" Pansy whispered furiously, standing up.

Draco forced himself to relax his stance and Nott took a hurried step back. Professor Merrythought passed them without a single glance, her nose high in the air. As she unlocked the classroom door, Nott looked like he wanted to say something else, but Pansy grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him forward sharply.

"Don't waste your time on him. He's a bitter idiot," she said under her breath.

"He called me a traitor just because my family was smart enough to keep their heads down and avoid Azkaban," Draco whispered back as he followed Pansy into the classroom.

"Who cares, Draco? The Dark Lord is gone for good, either way. There's no one to betray anymore."

"And that's not my fault; that's all I'm saying," Draco said a bit defensively. Of course, technically, it was. Had he captured Potter that day in the Room of Requirement, had his father managed to keep him in his dungeon, had his mother refused to lie to the Dark Lord in the forest, then the Dark Lord would be alive and Potter would be dead. But Pansy - nor anyone else - needn't know that. Additionally, no one would ever find out that despite his family's ruined reputation and Draco's questionable career options, he preferred the final outcome of the Battle as it was to grovelling in front of a maniac for the rest of his life.

"It's not my fault his mother is a lunatic," Draco continued his defence as they sat down. "She should have realised that yelling, 'The Dark Lord will return and punish you all!' during her trial wouldn't help her case."

Pansy shushed him and Draco reluctantly focused on their smiling Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Then, remembering he hated her, he sighed and tossed his bag aside.

Professor Eunice Merrythought was a pleasant looking woman in her thirties, whose brown hair was always arranged into an elaborate bun and whose last name was fairly appropriate. Though, Draco preferred to call her Professor Dirtythought in his mind. Despite her acceptable skill in Defence, it was hard to take her seriously. All her virtues could not hide an appalling flaw that, more than once, had made Draco feel like he would lose his lunch right there in the classroom. Eunice Merrythought had no shame, and much to the students' distress. she left no room for doubt of her dirty little crush.

"It's Friday," Professor Merrythought informed them needlessly, "and I know you're eager to stop thinking for the week so I thought we could have some fun and practice our duelling skills." She smiled widely and then directed a soppy sort of look toward the end of the classroom.

"Here we go," Pansy muttered.

"I'm sure that will make you happy, Mr Potter!" Professor Merrythought simpered, batting her long eyelashes. "I know how much you love duelling." To everyone's horror, she threw back her shoulders, exposing her impressive cleavage.

Draco's stomach rolled. He was sure that this time he would throw up. He didn't have to look behind to know Potter probably looked mortified and as red as a tomato, but even the thought of Potter's mortification couldn't lessen the pain of seeing a grow-up woman fawning over their 'young and dashing Saviour' as she liked to call him. By the looks of it, the rest of the students shared Draco's sentiments. Parvati Patil's dark eyes were shooting daggers at Merrythought.

Pansy poked Draco's ribs. "Stop growling and help me move the desk aside," she said, standing up.

Draco stood up reluctantly and sneaked a glance in Potter's direction. His cheeks flaming, Potter looked as though he was trying to hide behind Granger and Weasley as they dragged a desk aside to free the centre of the classroom for duelling.

"Thanks for your help," Pansy snapped and Draco quickly turned toward her. She was scowling at him and he realised she had already moved the desk by herself. Draco would have been impressed by her strength and agility if he wasn't busy trying to find Merrythought in the commotion so he could glare at her some more.

"If she pairs me off with Potter, I might have to murder someone," he said as Merrythought began shouting names.

"I'll murder someone if I hear the name Potter again," Pansy grumbled, but Draco was barely listening; instead, he wondered whether he would have to stare at Potter for the next hour.

However, Draco needn't have worried. Apparently, it was Professor Merrythought's lucky day, because since Longbottom was in the Hospital Wing, recovering from the flu, their numbers were uneven.

"Oh, Mr Potter," Merrythought cried after she paired off Draco with Ron Weasley. "It seems we'll have to practice together!"

Potter looked like he was being sent to the gallows, but he stood opposite Merrythought without a word.

"Malfoy, you're growling in the wrong direction."

Draco's gaze snapped to his opponent. Ron Weasley grinned at him toothily and twirled his wand, looking confident.

Instead of responding, Draco shot a curse at him. Weasley's eyes widened and he ducked instead of defending himself.

"We're practicing Defence, Weasley," Draco chastised. "Not avoiding it."

Weasley narrowed his eyes and shot a Knee-twisting Curse at Draco's legs. Draco deflected it with ease, but was robbed of his gloating moment of victory when Professor Merrythought cried, "Oh dear, Mr Potter, are you all right?"

Draco's gaze snapped toward Potter just as Potter jumped backwards as though burned. He eyed Merrythought's outstretched hand with trepidation. "No, honestly, Professor, you missed. I'm fine! I'm fine!" he cried and pressed his back to the wall as Merrythought attempted to inspect his chest.

Busy shaking his head disapprovingly, Draco yelped as a spell hit him squarely in the mouth. Furious, he raised his wand to curse Weasley, but his mumbled incantation was ineffective. His upper lip felt heavy under the weight of the quickly-growing blond moustache. Weasley howled with laughter and several students joined him, staring at Draco with tears in their eyes. Draco couldn't blame them for laughing. He must have looked ridiculous. On the bright side, however, Weasley was too busy laughing to even try to defend himself from Draco's non-verbally cast curse.

Draco grinned as Weasley yelped, flailing around madly as his hands turned to jelly. The students around them redirected their laughter at Weasley. Pleased, Draco calmly reached upward and twirled his long moustache evilly.

"Mr Malfoy, Jelly-hands Curse is off limits!" Professor Merrythought yelled over the racket as she hurried toward Weasley.

"Oh, right. Sorry, Professor. I forgot," Draco said unrepentantly.

Merrythought quickly cancelled the curse, but Weasley's left hand was still flapping around uselessly.

"Hmm. Hospital Wing, Mr Weasley. And do come back the moment you feel better."

Weasley left, but not before he scowled at Draco. Grinning, Draco twirled his moustache again, eliciting more laughter from the students around him. Another spell hit him in his mouth and Draco cringed, almost firing a curse at Professor Merrythought. He stopped himself on time, however, realising she had cancelled the hex. His moustache vanished promptly.

Professor Merrythought narrowed his eyes. "Go and duel, Mr Potter. I'm sure he can handle you," she said primly, clearly unhappy she was pulled away from her young and dashing Saviour.

Turning around, Draco rolled his eyes and stomped off toward Potter.

Even though his friend had just been sent to the Hospital Wing, Potter looked relieved. He smiled widely at Draco.

"I loved the moustache. Very fetching."

Draco shot a hex at him.

Potter reacted immediately; he deflected the hex and sent a barrage of jinxes at Draco. Soon, the air around them was filled with multicoloured spells. Draco concentrated on firing curses at Potter's smiling face, determined to win. Potter's confident expression wavered and Draco could smell victory, but in the next moment he nearly dropped his wand as pain shot through his hand.

Smoke and magic around them cleared to display Potter's smug expression. Defeat stinging him more than his hand, Draco rubbed his sore skin and glared.

"A Stinging Hex?" he scoffed. "Really, Potter, is that the best you can do? You didn't even make me bleed. I won't even have a scar." He stared at Potter, increasingly displeased by Potter's guilt-free expression. References to the day Potter had nearly murdered him with the Sectumsempra Curse usually made Potter drop his gaze in distress.

"Malfoy," Potter sighed exasperatedly. "You bring that up every time we duel. It's getting old."

"Is that so? You know what's not getting old, Potter? My scars. You mutilated me. Isn't it nice you're able to forget?" Draco pressed his lips together in anger, though, technically, he was lying. The scars were barely visible. The truth was he could only see them through a magnifying glass. Nonetheless, Potter ought to have felt guilty. Forever.

"I don't believe you," Potter said flatly. "Snape said you wouldn't have any scarring."

Draco fumed. His hand flew to the top button of his shirt. "You're sure about that? Want to see them?" Draco unfastened the button.

Potter's eyebrows rose. Mouth twitching, he crossed his arms on his chest and cocked his head. "Sure. Go on, then, Malfoy. Take off your shirt."

Fuck. Why did Potter have to be so difficult? Stalling, Draco slowly unfastened the second button, trying to think of a way to avoid taking off his shirt without making it look like he was hiding something. Potter's gaze flickered toward the patch of skin Draco's parted shirt revealed and Draco's fingers shook.

"Mr Potter! Mr Malfoy!" Professor Merrythought cried from the distance. "Stop staring at each other and practice!"

Thanking Merlin for Merrythought's jealousy, Draco abandoned his unwanted task as Potter righted his stance and pointed his wand at him.

Potter was still grinning. "Perhaps you can take off your shirt for me tomorrow in the forest and show me your mutilated chest."

"Oh, don't worry, Potter." Draco gritted his teeth. "I do plan to show you something in the forest tomorrow."

Potter blinked. "Was that a threat or some sort of innuendo?"

"A threat!" Draco spluttered. "We'll be all alone tomorrow in a big dark forest. A lot could happen, Potter, and there will be no witnesses."

Instead of looking worried, Potter seemed amused. "And again. Was that a threat or -"

"Yes, it was threat! For fuck's sake, what's wrong with you?" Draco all but yelled. Potter's calm demeanour was infuriating. Where was that indignant Gryffindor fury? Steam should have been coming out of Potter's ears by now. "I'd watch my back tomorrow if I were you, Potter. If I have it my way, you won't come out of that forest alive!"

Utter silence greeted his words. Draco winced, realising he had yelled just a bit too loudly and every student had heard him. They stopped casting curses to stare at him.

Shit.

"Mr Malfoy!" Professor Merrythought whispered, sounding stunned, and inexplicably standing right in front of Draco. "What did you just say?"

Draco looked around at the silent students. Fuck fuck fuck. He shouldn't have said that. It occurred to him that at one point, mere months ago, everyone thought Potter had died in the Forbidden Forest. It was a sore subject.

Potter, alone, looked untroubled. "Oh, don't mind him, Professor," he said sweetly. "He just likes the sound of his dangerous, threatening voice. He didn't mean it."

"I meant it!" Draco snapped before he could stop himself.

Professor Merrythought gasped.

Draco glared at Potter, who had the nerve to roll his eyes behind Merrythought's back. And then Potter did the oddest thing: he shook his head furiously and mouthed, "Shut up!"

Perplexed that Potter acted as though he was trying to help him, Draco opened his mouth to snap at him and inform him he didn't need his help, but Professor Merrythought's shocked glare turned murderous. Perhaps it was unwise to threaten her precious Saviour in front of her. She was a Professor and that gave her certain powers.

Swallowing heavily, Draco forced himself to smile. "I was joking."

"Were you?" Merrythought sounded unimpressed. "It wasn't funny. I will speak to Professor Slughorn -"

"He really was joking." Potter cut her off. "He says silly things like that all the time." He smiled beatifically.

Intense hatred washed over Draco, but surprisingly it wasn't directed at Potter, who had just called him silly and dismissed him as a harmless idiot, but at Merrythought, who melted on the spot in the face of Harry Potter's smile.

The classroom door burst open and Weasley stepped inside. Everyone looked at him and he took a wary step back.

"What?" he asked defensively.

Nobody answered him.

Merrythought shot a glare at Draco and said, "Off you go, Mr Malfoy. Your duelling partner has returned."

Potter grimaced as Merrythought took Draco's place, but he managed to smile a little as Draco passed him by. His lips barely moved as he murmured, "Can't wait to see what you'll show me tomorrow, Malfoy."

Blinking rapidly, Draco hurried toward Weasley, shaking his head to get rid of his ridiculous thoughts. If he didn't know better, he'd think Potter was flirting with him.

Draco stared at the ceiling as he toyed with the silver pendant his mother had given him that summer. Crazy thoughts swirled through his mind. He considered all sorts of things he could do with the pendant; however, his mother, father and he had agreed on when and why Draco would use it. He needed it for his N.E.W.T.s.

Though the Malfoy family fortune was intact, their reputation was ruined. Nott was wrong to envy him. Draco's father had already lost his job at the Ministry and Draco was the only one who could salvage their status. Galleons stashed away in their vault at Gringotts wouldn't last forever. Draco needed a job, a respectable, well-paying job, but no one would hire him unless - maybe - if they decided that his skills were impressive enough that the Death Eater connections could be overlooked. That was why Draco needed to achieve the perfect score. Es and As wouldn't help him, but a shiny row of Outstandings could open doors for him; doors that would remain closed otherwise.

Sure, technically, he planned to cheat, but he suspected that the N.E.W.T. examiners would be as impartial as Hogwarts Professors were toward a former Death Eater. It was a good plan and more than one person depended on its success, so Draco couldn't understand his irrational desire to open the pendant before the proper time. Like tomorrow, for example.

Potter's odd behaviour had messed with his mind. Potter was probably just taking the piss.

Of course, there were other things he could do tomorrow. He might not need the pendant. He could try to get along with Potter - Potter almost seemed willing. He could gather as many feathers as he could and win the contest. It might make Slughorn like him better. He could use the Memory Potion a month before the exams and avoid the risky cheating business. Use of the Memory Potion was still cheating, but that would have been Slughorn's responsibility, so it was much safer.

That plan seemed smarter at first glance, but Draco knew better than to rely on Slughorn's and Potter's willingness to be nice to him.

Draco scoffed in the darkness and pulled the covers to his chin. It had been frighteningly cold these last few days. If Potter fell down tomorrow and Draco left him to freeze to death, no one could blame him. Draco grinned at the image of Potter shivering on the snowy ground and shouting for help. That would wipe the smug smile from Potter's face. He wouldn't call Draco silly again.

Draco grumbled and fluffed his pillow, sinking deeper beneath the covers. He should stop thinking about Potter; thinking about him before sleep tended to give him odd dreams. Determinedly closing his eyes, Draco cleared his mind and drifted to sleep.

If he dreamed about Potter that night, he did not remember it.