Unwanted Partnerships
The air in the Great Hall buzzed with anticipation as Professor McGonagall strode to the front of the room, her sharp gaze silencing the low murmurs of the gathered students. Harry sat between Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table, trying not to let his nervousness show. A school-wide project, designed to encourage collaboration between houses, was bound to be a disaster. At least for him.
"As I’m sure you all know," McGonagall began, her voice carrying effortlessly, "this term, Hogwarts is implementing an initiative to foster inter-house cooperation. Each student will be paired with another from a different house, and together, you will complete a restoration project to benefit the school." She let the murmuring settle before continuing. "This is not optional. You will work with your partner for the entirety of the term. House rivalry will not be tolerated."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. He had nothing against working with other houses in theory—he’d gotten along fine with Cedric Diggory, Luna Lovegood, even some of the Slytherins. But he knew, deep down, that his luck wouldn’t hold out this time.
"The pairings have been selected based on a variety of factors, ensuring balance and compatibility where possible," McGonagall said, scanning the list in her hand. "Now, I will announce your partners."
Harry held his breath as names were called out. Dean was paired with Padma Patil, Seamus with a Slytherin girl whose name he didn’t catch. Hermione was assigned to Pansy Parkinson, which at least meant she’d have an intelligent—if somewhat prickly—partner. Then McGonagall’s gaze flickered to him, and she spoke the words he had dreaded.
"Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy."
The Great Hall seemed to collectively exhale. A few gasps, some amused snickers, and Ron muttering, "You’ve got to be joking," were the only sounds Harry registered. His stomach twisted as he forced himself to look across the room.
Draco Malfoy, sitting at the Slytherin table, looked equally horrified. His expression flickered between outrage and disbelief before settling into a smug smirk, as if he’d already decided how to make this miserable for both of them.
Harry’s first instinct was to protest, but McGonagall’s expression made it clear that no objections would be entertained. He swallowed the lump in his throat. There was no way this would work. The last time he and Malfoy had tried to collaborate on anything, it had ended in disaster—dueling in second-year, hexing each other in the corridors, Quidditch matches filled with dirty plays and near misses. They didn’t work together; they clashed.
And yet, McGonagall expected them to create something together? To function as a team for an entire term?
"You may now find your partners," McGonagall instructed, stepping back as the hall erupted into movement.
Harry stood, feeling a weight settle in his chest. He didn’t want to do this. Not because he was afraid of Malfoy, not because he doubted his own abilities—but because he didn’t want to fail. He didn’t want to disappoint McGonagall, who clearly believed in this ridiculous project, and he certainly didn’t want to give Malfoy the satisfaction of watching him struggle. But how could he possibly succeed when his so-called partner was the one person who had spent years making his life difficult?
Malfoy approached with lazy, measured steps, arms crossed over his chest. "Well, well, Potter," he drawled. "Looks like we’re stuck together. Try not to slow me down."
Harry forced a tight smile. "Right. Because working with you is such a dream come true."
Malfoy’s smirk widened, and for the first time, Harry felt a prick of something unsettling—not just frustration, but a flicker of doubt. Because as much as he hated to admit it, Malfoy was clever, resourceful, and annoyingly competent. If—somehow—they managed not to hex each other, they might actually stand a chance.
But that was a big if.