Tutors
The dining hall—contrary to his belief—was not where they were eating. They ate in a sitting room that overlooked their vast garden
The table was fit for six but still felt too small. It was more of a confrontation than anything, with Draco sitting directly across from him and his parents on either side.
He ate carefully. He wasn’t entirely convinced they wouldn’t poison him. But he couldn’t deny how delicious the food was. The time at the Dursleys’ and in the hospital made him forget what real food was.
It even looked good, with the delicate presentation of decorative herbs and sauces. It made him a little bitter on the inside.
“Your tutoring will begin tomorrow.” Narcissa slid him a scroll. “On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, you will have etiquette, academic tutoring, and dancing.”
Dancing?
“Tuesday and Thursday will be mind-healing and fencing. Saturday is a free day, and Sunday is heir training, which I will teach.” Narcissa pointed her wand at the words as she spoke.
“Heir training?” Harry asked. He could understand why dancing was a rehabilitation subject, but heir training?
“Traditionally, it would be taught by an older member of the family. You appeared surprised to see all your properties. At this point in your life, you should have been more than aware of that. I will teach you about managing your inheritance and the basics of Wizengamont.” She sipped her tea.
“Why?” It wasn’t something they promised to do.
Narcissa looked at him like he had insulted her. “Duty. If an heir is underprepared, it is up to the community to step up and provide information. It would also reflect poorly on us if you did not know how to conduct yourself.”
So it was for reputation. Oh well, he always wanted to know more about his inheritance, but he was clueless about where to search.
“On the first day,” Narcissa continued, “We will go to Gringotts and run a bloodline, inheritance, and health test. The goblins may recommend more. I will warn you, they require blood.”
“Okay.” The tests seemed self-explanatory. “But I already took a health test, at Saint Mungos.”
Narcissa shook her head. “The health test at Saint Mungos covers current ailments. The Gringotts test covers past ailments as well as highlights possible future problems, which is what we are looking for. Prevention is better than a cure.”
“Okay,” A headache brewed in his head. Either Voldemort was angry or all the information was overwhelming him. Maybe both.
Later that night, he slept lightly. A house elf had provided him with silk pyjamas as his items were still being searched for any “dangerous” paraphernalia. He only hoped they didn’t take his invisibility cloak.
______
Lucius nodded to Narcissa and Draco. A dark look crossed their faces, but they quickly concealed it. Both placed a hand on Lucius' arm, and they apparated away in a puff of black smoke.
Slytherin Manor was a foreboding place. A castle, while not very wide, reached to the stars with its towers. Everything was coated in dark magic, and the air was acidic.
The doors to the meeting hall were already open. Inside, Bellatrix sat next to the right-hand side of the table. She waved at them with something that was an imitation of a smile on her face and gestured to the seats next to her.
“Rodolphus and Rasbatin are on a mission, so you get to sit next to me today!” She clapped lightly.
Narcissa smiled tightly. “Of course, dear sister.”
Draco was placed between Narcissa and Lucius. Narcissa chatted aimlessly to her sister, talking but not revealing anything important. Bellatrix talked on and on about all the drama with the Death Eaters who stayed in the manor.
More and more Death Eaters came in. Some wore masks, while most showed their faces proudly. It seemed to be an inner-to-mid-circle meeting.
When most of the seats were filled, the talking died down. Silence filled the hall, a tenseness in the air.
An older Death Eater stumbled into the hall. He reeked of alcohol and couldn’t quite stand correctly.
“Crucio.” A voice called from the doors.
The man screamed, writhing on the floor. He clawed at his head, and his limbs curled up. After ten seconds, he was released from the curse.
The Dark Lord was in a sour mood.
“You dare disgrace my presence with your alcoholism? You will stay on the floor where you belong until I let you go.” Voldemort entered the hall.
His deep-green robes barely brushed against the floor. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone as he approached the head of the table.
“Is everyone accounted for, Bellatrix?” Voldemort asked, Nagini slithering up on the opposite end of the table.
“Besides Rodolphus and Rasbatin, everyone is here, My Lord.” Bellatrix smiled.
“Yaxley,” Voldemort wasted no time. “Report on the ministry.”
“Yes, My Lord. Dolores Umbridge is working to pass anti-creature bills and there’s been chatter on the next education bill making it harder for muggleborns to attend Hogwarts. Fudge is listening to the dark.” Yaxley reported, his voice strained.
“Get me both bills in full writing. Lucius, report on Wizengamont.”
Lucius swallowed, feeling dry. “We have now taken a firm majority in Wizengamont. I have the sworn dark and non-official dark numbers. The anti-creature bills have circulated through Wizengamont. Today, Wizengamont has decided to award Narcissa and me custody of Harry Potter.”
Quick and to the point—that’s what the Dark Lord desired. Lucius sat a parchment scroll on the table in front of him.
“Narcissa, there will be a health test done, and I will receive the results. Acquire his blood as well. Continue as usual. Should my suspicions be correct, he has far more significance than the prophecy foretold.”
The air turned anxious. The Dark Lord never suspected anything; he either didn’t know about it or knew it to be true or false. Suspicion was never good.
“Yes, My Lord.” Narcissa nodded.
“Avery, report on the Aurors.”
Only two more crucios were used, four less than average. Overall, it was a peaceful meeting.
______
The sun blinded Harry in the morning. He tried to rub the sunspots out of his eyes and swung his legs over the bed. His body ached. Would Narcissa have any pain relievers on hand? The large scabs on his thighs were bursting, and he could feel blood leaking out of them.
He glanced at the sun, willingly this time, and estimated it was around 5:30 in the morning. Ease filled him. No more waking up to make breakfast and breaking his back over chores. His tutoring would begin at 9:30, so he had four hours to do whatever he wanted.
Pain stabbed at him as he walked. Hopefully, he could find her soon—the manor was gigantic.
Luck would find him, as she was in the main longue sipping tea when he stumbled in.
“You are up early,” She commented, summoning another tea cup.
“It’s about on par for me. Do you have any pain relievers? I feel like I’m splitting open all of my skin.” He plopped down in the seat adjacent to her. She passed him a teacup, which he thanked her for.
“Yes, I do. Would you mind if I looked at your problem areas? You may need a different salve now that you’re moving around.”
Harry was stripped down to his briefs while Narcissa blotted his bloody wounds. He was right - they were cracking. It reminded him of technonic plates. She smeared a test strip of five different salves on his leg. They watched, waiting, to see if he had any reaction to them.
“Would you like any scar cream for your older injuries?” She asked, already digging around in her large bag.
“Yes,” It was an easy answer. Even with his burns, one could see the deep scars that ran underneath and poked out of the edges.
Narcissa smeared an eggy-smelling cream on his back, focusing first on the large horizontal lines. She didn’t say anything about them, which he was thankful for. While she did that, Harry was allowed to apply the rest of the salve to his burns. He worked on the more private areas first, pulling down his underwear ever so slightly.
“Mother - I simply can’t - “
Draco stood in the doorway, his bedhead messy and sticking up in all directions. The peacefulness in his eyes was an odd sight to see in him. Draco stared at him. staring at his burns, his scars, and just him in general. Tension filled the air.
“You can’t what?” Narcissa asked, placing a strip of gauze over his scars.
“Uh - “ Draco adverted his gaze, “Can’t sleep. I just need two or three more hours.”
“Don’t rely on dreamless sleep forever.” But as she said it, she levitated a small vial of blue liquid over to him.
“I won’t. Just tired.” Draco glanced at him again, seeming unable to take his eyes off of him, and backed out of the room without turning around.
Harry groaned.
______
Sitting in a spare room in the manor, Harry was restless. Etiquette. Harry was sure he had some, but obviously not enough for stuck-up purebloods.
The door opened almost inaudibly. A woman walked in, tall and plump, with her blonde hair stacked in a neat bun and her pristine blue robes without any wrinkles. She carried a brown briefcase that had a family crest on the side
“Mr Potter,” She replied, “I am Norma Balinsi, and I will be your etiquette tutor for the summer. We will see how you progress, and you may see me next summer as well.”
“Nice to meet you.” Harry extended his hand.
Norma’s face winced.
“As I am your mentor, it is traditional for me to extend a welcome.”
Merlin, this was going to be insufferable.
And it was! Harry found that nearly everything he did was some form of “impolite” or “not quite traditional enough”. Everything he thought he was doing right was considered wrong.
“I expect us to continue over next summer as well. I will ask Narcissa about Yule break.” Norma packed up her parchment and hurried out of the room.
Harry sighed. He couldn’t do anything right.
______
“I am Professor Aries, and you will address me as such.” Harry hardly blinked before his next tutor entered.
The man slammed down a stack of books in front of Harry. It went so high up that it obscured his view of Professor Aries. They were thick, with crisp edges and gleaming covers.
“We will complete all of these before the summer’s end.”
All of them?
Professor Aries placed a long scroll in front of him. Harry unrolled it, his eyes growing wide as it plopped to the floor. He stared up at Professor Aries, but was met with unsympathetic ocean eyes.
“This will be your placement test. It is to test how much you know about your subjects. From there, we will work our way up. I expect you to be on par with my Durmstrang fourth-years by the end of the summer.” Professor Aries slid into the chair across from him.
He was a tall man with impeccable red robes that somehow managed not to clash with his eyes. Wind-swept honey-blond hair reached down to his shoulders, fluffy but imposing like a lion’s mane.
“What are you waiting for? Start.” He squinted at him, his mouth in a thin line.
Harry’s brain hurt by the end of the placement test. Half of it he didn’t know, and the other half he barely knew. It didn’t make it better that the entire test was short-answer; there was no multiple choice in sight.
“Pity, you have more work ahead of you. I wouldn’t dare to pass you for a second year, except for in Defense Against the Dark Arts. You’re ahead on that; it's passable for a sixth year. I will talk to Narcissa about making this a Monday through Friday class and extending our time together.” Professor Aries rolled up his parchment and tucked it into a satchel that was big enough to fit an entire body inside.
“Great.” Harry sighed.
“Hush.” Professor Aries slammed down a book, Charms for Beginners, across the top. “Today we will go through Charms and Transfiguration. Next time we meet, we will solely focus on Potions.”
______
By the time dancing came around, Harry was exhausted. His brain was pulsing with fire, and his ass hurt from sitting down for hours on end. But he dragged himself to the ballroom, forcing himself to get through the day. He might even skip dinner to go to bed.
The Malfoy ballroom was massive. Big enough to hold a couple hundred people and decorated in all white and silver. The floor was a shiny marble, reflecting the light from the candles in the chandelier.
There were two people. One tall man and a short woman, both incredibly lean and dressed in formal dress robes, Draco stood next to them, an irritated but also smug expression on his face.
“Mr Potter. I am Anson,” The man said, gesturing to the woman, “and this is Diana. We will be your dance instructors. Narcissa has lent you Draco to use as a partner.”
Oh, Merlin, no. Anything but that.
Harry grimaced and glared at Draco. Draco smirked back.
“Now, Narcissa has told us that you are injured,” Diana eyed his bandages, “and said your range of motion may be limited. Dancing can be an intensive workout, so we will go slow today. Our goal is for you to successfully do the first ten steps of the Wizard’s Waltz from memory.”
At least his instructors seemed nice.
“Now, let’s get into the proper position. We will teach you to follow first, then to lead.”
They led him to the centre of the room, marked with a white circle, and placed a record on an old phonograph. Music blared from it, classical and with a slow, tittering sound.
Harry stepped up next to Draco. He shivered as Draco firmly placed a hand on his waist with another capturing Harry’s hand. Harry glanced nervously at Anson and Diana.
“Place your hand on his shoulder; you will learn other techniques as we advance.” They sent him encouraging looks.
“Fair warning, I’m terrible.” Harry hesitantly placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder, feeling the soft texture of his robes.
“I can confirm that.” Draco agreed. Harry stuck his tongue out.
“That’s okay, everyone starts somewhere.” Anson smiled at him.
“Let’s do the first five. The first step is forward, starting with your left foot. The second is sliding to the right, starting with your right. The third is backward and to the right, starting with your left. The fourth, you’ll slide up and to your right, starting with your right. The fifth, you will slide left, starting with your left.”
What?
Harry tried to remember the steps. Diana glanced over at him and shook her head.
“We’ll talk you through the steps. First, go forward; start with your left. Let Draco start to take the first step, as he is leading.” Diana nodded to Draco.
Draco waited a second before starting. He stepped back, and Harry stepped forward. To forward, he ended up on Draco’s foot. But Draco merely smirked.
“Steel-towed, covered with leather.” With a shite-eating grin, he said.
“Clever,” Harry admitted. It was a smart move.
“I didn’t want you to make my toes blue.” Draco rolled his eyes.
"All right, maybe take a step back. Again.”
There was only a marginal amount of success. Sure, he knew the ten steps, but he stumbled and stepped on Draco almost every other step. He’d sometimes confuse his left with his right and end up completely on Draco’s foot. An embarrassed blush crept its way to his cheeks.
“Okay, we have a start.” Diana said with a grimace. “Perhaps we can see if we have our guided sheets to put on the ground for next time.”
Harry groaned.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get better.” Anson said.
Harry waved, exiting with Draco, as they left.
“You really are awful.” Draco spoke as soon as they were out of earshot.
“I know,” Harry spat.
Draco looked like he was about to say something else but stopped. He, instead, slammed Harry into the wall.
“Look,” Draco growled. Harry kicked at Draco’s shins, but his exhaustion made them weak. “I don’t like being around you anymore than you do. I’ll pretend to be civil with you, and you do the same, got it?”
Harry hissed at him in parseltongue, Asshole. But he begrudgingly responded, “I won’t do anything if you don’t start anything.”
“Deal.” Harry's feet thumped on the floor as Draco dropped him.
Harry didn’t speak at dinner. Frankly, he was about to fall asleep at the table. He managed to eat a bread roll but nothing else. His stomach couldn’t handle much; even after a week in the hospital, his stomach still wasn’t big enough to fit three meals a day.
When he stood up from the table, his world spun. Spinning, spinning, spinning.
Darkness.
______
Draco never considered himself a hateful person. Pretentious, yes, of course, but not hateful. He didn’t hate the little muggleborn that outranked him in his year, but he loathed the way she interacted with the world. Like the magical world was antiquated and stuck in the worst era.
No, Draco Malfoy didn’t hate Hermione Granger.
Nor did he particularly hate the redhead head who followed her around like a lost puppy. No, he loathed the way his family turned away from the olde ways. They turned their nose at centuries-old traditions that kept magic alive. All in favour of his father’s muggle obsession.
No, Draco Malfoy didn’t hate Ron Weasley either.
But he found that he did hate Harry Potter.
The boy never strayed from his mind. Draco would try to meditate, and Harry Potter would be in his thoughts. As soon as Draco saw or heard him, everything else would be second-class to him.
His thoughts would run wild, and he found the rational side of his brain to be nonexistent. He could hear his heart racing and pounding in his chest every time he talked to him. And whenever either of them landed a hit or punch on the other, that area of him would itch and almost burn with a warm shiver.
He tried everything he could. Attacking him, mocking him, avoiding him—nothing seemed to work. In fact, they only made his constant presence worse. He tried to block him out with his occlumency shields, but no, nothing helped.
And then he just had to live at his home for the next two years.
Something brewed within him as he ate dinner with him that first day. How was Potter so important that he’d be getting all those tutoring classes for the summer? Potter was disgusted at the prospect of being taught by the best tutors in the country.
It only worsened during their dance lesson.
Potter was the worst dancer in the world. He’d step on Draco’s feet and never seemed to know his right from left. Draco’s stomach flipped every time Harry bumped into him. And the fire within him only burned brighter the longer they danced, if one could call fumbling around dancing.
Draco was sick of it.
That flip returned when he slammed Potter into the wall. It felt so wrong, somehow. But he was sick of the constant thought of Potter. Maybe, maybe being civil would finally let the boy leave Draco’s every thought.
Potter was abnormally silent during dinner. He didn’t take anything but a bread roll, and he picked at it like a pigeon throughout dinner. When he stood up to leave without being dismissed, he collapsed onto the floor.
Mother was the first to rush over to him. She cast spell after spell on him, but breathed a sigh of relief.
“He’s just terribly exhausted. I was worried that it would be an intensive first day, but he shouldn’t have collapsed—no, I shouldn’t have scheduled him.” Mother bit her lip.
“Will he be okay?” Draco asked. It wasn’t as if he wanted to see Potter injured. In fact, he found himself feeling quite the opposite.
“Yes. He just needs to rest. Will you take him to his room? I need to reschedule our meeting with the goblins; we were supposed to meet right after dinner. Hopefully, they’ll be understanding….” Mother rose and hurried out of the room, with Father quickly following.
Draco sighed as he looked at an unconscious Potter. His brow was scrunched, and a painful expression sat on his face. He thought that being unconscious was supposed to be relaxing.
With a begrudging step, Draco scooped Potter up in his arms.
Potter wiggled in his grasp, curling up under his chin. Draco hoped he couldn’t hear how fast his heart was racing. Stupid Potter, making his body react to his presence. A frown crossed Draco’s lips. Potter was far, far too light. He weighed as much as a second-year.
There, again, Potter occupied his thoughts.
He carried him to the guest wing. He wasn’t entirely sure where Potter’s room was, but he was sure that he could tell. And he was right, Potter's door was ajar. Just as he stepped through the threshold, Potter squirmed again. Sharply this time.
“Stop, stop it,” Potter mumbled, pathetically hitting Draco on his chest.
“Shut it, Potter,” Draco spat back.
Draco placed Potter in his bed, on top of his sheets. But when he drew back, Potter’s hands were tightly gripping his silk shirt. His face was twisted with sorrow.
“Don’t… no.” He slurred.
“Potter, let go of me.” Draco tried to yank his hand away, but it was clenched too tightly—like Potter was trying to rip a chunk out of his shirt.
“No….go.” No go?
Draco sighed. He was not going to have to replace one of his best shirts just to get away from Potter. The tailor would prod him and ask if he had gained weight. No, he wasn’t going to do that.
He crawled into bed next to Potter. In an instant, Potter was attached to him, snuggled up by his chest, his hair tickling Draco’s neck. He glanced down, barely able to see Potter.
But he could see the easing face, which had shifted from tense to more peaceful. His grip only tightened, and he nuzzled the fabric of Draco’s shirt. Potter let out a content hum, and his breathing levelled.
Something inside him burned.
No, Draco Malfoy didn’t hate Harry Potter.