Transition

Harry paced the corridor, somewhat impatient for the blond devil to appear. In a fit of temper and disbelief that he was going to be supervised by the one person who hated him most, he kicked the shin of an armored knight. A loud clang filled his ears and he winced as a jolt of pain traveled up his own leg.

“Are you mad, laddie?” one of the portraits that decorated the foreboding walls inquired. “You’re lucky those are just plain metalwork, else you’d be clubbed and hacked to death!” he exclaimed. The Gryffindor ignored him and the speculative looks from the other paintings. He shrugged off his robe, hung it over one arm, and continued to pace. A faint breeze blew over him; instinctively, he traced the source of the wind and came upon an open window. Actually, it was more like a verandah than anything else. Harry couldn’t care less about its description, but after making sure it was perfectly safe to stand - and lean - he just stood there and examined the clear night sky. It had stopped raining a few hours ago, and he breathed in the scent of rain and damp earth.

He saw the small dots of people moving about and watched in amusement as a pair of boys danced in the courtyard. It didn’t bother him in the slightest that even when everyone else was enjoying and having fun, he was stuck up here with a pureblood brat, probably to study. It’s not as if I’m too proud not to know that I need help with the subject. He sighed and wondered why Snape had accepted him to be in his NEWT class in the first place.

“Potter!” an imperious voice called and Harry whirled around. Malfoy didn’t look pleased. The Slytherin continued walking and Harry followed him warily, his left hand poised to draw out his wand at any given moment. The silver-haired wizard disappeared from view as he entered a classroom and by the time Harry stepped through the threshold, Draco was already comfortably seated behind a huge desk.

Not wanting to make it look like Malfoy had any control over him, he sat across his tutor, uninvited. The Slytherin raised an eyebrow, but didn’t give any biting comments. “Now, I’ll be free on Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings. Snape has decreed that you’ll devote two nights, no matter how long, on his subject. So when is it going to be?” Malfoy asked abruptly.

Harry stared at his peer through narrowed eyes. He leaned back in his chair and considered his options. Friday was out of the question since he had Quidditch practice and wouldn’t bet on himself being able to concentrate after those tiring sessions. Moreover, he was not going to use his Sundays to study such a frustrating subject. The weekend was for him to relax and even if he must study something, it would always be Professor Lupin’s lessons.

Nowadays, nobody cared if their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was a werewolf. After having a half-Veela posing as a harmless but exotic Russian wizard in their sixth year, who also had helped in Voldemort’s final death-duel, students and parents stopped complaining altogether about Dumbledore’s choices over his teachers. At least Professor Starkmind and Remus had taught the students very useful things - all of which certainly helped when Death Eaters stormed Hogwarts in surprise.

The Gryffindor turned to look at the window. It was too bad Starkmind had to leave. He was a very good teacher, as far as Harry was concerned, and he was also intimidating to Slytherins and not intimidated by Snape. He did not practice favoritism and was unforgiving to those who were lazy to learn. In a way, he was much like McGonagall. Unfortunately, for all of them, Elaviel Starkmind had of the mistake letting his instincts and hunger rule him. When a dozen students - both male and female - missed classes due to depleted energy states, a lot of them began to have second thoughts about being happy with the professor.

No one could replace the professor at such short notice and Dumbledore, with a heavy heart, had approached Harry for a possible solution. It was certainly logical, since Voldemort was still running amok at that time. The Boy Who Lived would have the alien protection of the Veela if he sacrificed a bit of energy to Professor Starkmind at regular intervals. So the liaison was made. Unknown to the rest of his friends, Harry and Starkmind had engaged in sexual intercourse. After stumbling across a passage that Hermione had actually shown him, Harry had presented the idea of transmuted sexual energies to the fine-looking wizard. It was a much better solution since Harry was energetic enough to resume practicing Quidditch with the rest of his team members.

What in the hell am I doing? Harry shook himself. “I’ll take Wednesday and Saturday,” he replied belatedly, not looking directly into Malfoy’s eyes. Being the lover of a very seductive wizard for several months had taught him several things, and it included Harry’s own awareness that he could as much be attracted to another male as well as female. No matter that Starkmind had been ridiculously flamboyant during classes, but Harry knew that the man was very masculine, not to mention, very domineering.

He could still hear Starkmind’s smooth, soothing voice in the back of his mind. “Never stare directly into your opponent’s eyes, Remarkable One. I know you’d sooner die rather than face the fact that Voldemort could truly be your soulmate,” Starkmind had told him seriously. “Take those two friends of yours for example; there’s not a day that goes without some sort of argument occurring between them. Both were rather unwilling to accept fact and truth that they liked each other.” Harry smiled to himself, oblivious to Malfoy’s puzzled expression. The green-eyed Gryffindor saw himself being in the half-Veela’s comfortable quarters, seated on Starkmind’s lap as he read a book of Transfiguration by Emeric Switch. “Then all it took for them to acknowledge their feelings was a simple staring match with some delicate music,” Starkmind had said mildly, as though he found the courtship between the two very amusing.

Harry’s emerald eyes grew distant as he thought about his ex-lover and Starkmind’s mate, a purebred male Veela. They had actually visited Harry - while the Gryffindor was recuperating - during the summer holidays in Privet Drive, surprising the young man and his ignorant relatives. The Gryffindor felt a little guilty about his relationship with Starkmind, but both adults reassured him that there was no harm done. In fact, they actually hinted that there might be room for another lover, which made Harry flush as crimson as his Quidditch robes.

“Oi, Potter! I’m not being paid to baby-sit you, you know,” Malfoy said coolly.

Paid? Harry looked blankly at his adversary. “The bloody hell I’m paying for your services!” he yelped.

Malfoy snorted derisively. “Snape’s paying me ten Sickles every hour I spend drilling you. Bloody good rate, I must admit.”

Ten Sickles?! Harry was too well disciplined not to show his surprise. When did this scheme come up?

“Since we’re here and I assume you’re free, we can start our revision,” Malfoy said. “And call me Draco.” That last bit came out almost in a whisper and Harry thought he had imagined it being said at all.

“But I haven’t … brought any books,” Harry replied dubiously but Malfoy - well, Draco, waved his hand dismissively.

“We don’t need books, at least not for tonight’s session.” Draco pointed his wand at a cupboard; its doors flung open and a scroll of unused parchment, a bottle of ink and several quills jumped out of it, and settled neatly on the table. “Let’s see just how much information about Potions is retained in that thick skull of yours.”

Harry stared at him for a moment before tearing off a bit of parchment and quickly dipping the tip of his quill into the bottle of ink. He quickly wrote a message for his friends not to come looking for him or wait up. He stood up and strode over to the window.

“What are you doing?” The Slytherin sounded curious. Harry did not reply but instead, whistled into the air. Hedwig’s snowy white form slowly became visible and she finally landed on the windowsill, nibbling Harry’s finger affectionately in greeting.

“Give this to Ron - I think he’ll be in the courtyard, as usual,” he said quietly, stroking his owl fondly. Hedwig gave a deep hoot of assent and took the folded scrap of parchment in her beak before flying off.

“I give this to you; you do have a strong bond with your familiar,” Draco said suddenly. Then he smiled. Well, sneered was more like it. Harry had never seen the latter with a genuine smile. “But I don’t have to whistle to call for Shadow.” A thoughtful look passed over his pale, pointed face. “You should mention it to Weasel, that having one pet each makes you a more effective witch or wizard.” Silver eyes gazed shrewdly at him. “That’s why you and your owl are able to work flawlessly, as did the phoenix and Dumbledore.”

Harry blinked. That was certainly quite a remarkable bit of information. Perhaps being a pureblood, with ancient history like the Malfoys had, counted for something after all. He went back to his seat and looked attentively at the Slytherin. With the major exams just months away, Harry could afford to ignore the years of enmity between him and Draco Malfoy. He wanted to do well in his exams no matter what, and, perhaps, beat the Slytherin’s grades, but he had to be more serious in his studies than he had ever been. The only question he had was if Snape’s handpicked tutor qualified enough to teach him. I’d rather be in Hermione’s intense coaching sessions if he is planning to waste Snape’s money.

Silence deepened in the classroom, with the two boys staring at each other. Finally, Harry shifted in his chair and dragged it closer to the table. “So … how are we going about this?” he asked, mockery quite clearly in his voice.

“As I’ve mentioned, Potter, we are revising. First lesson in first year; what is aconite and its properties?” Draco drawled, silver eyes glinting eerily with … sadism? Harry couldn’t find a word to describe it. The Slytherin looked positively wicked if nothing else.

“Aconite; a poisonous plant. In the old Muggle world, people used it to kill wolves. Also known as Wolf’s Bane or Monkshood,” Harry supplied.

“That’s very basic information, Po - Harry. This question is probably worth five percentage of Snape’s paper and I doubt he’d be charitable to give you one percent. Details, Gryffindor. He wants details.”

So Harry spent hours closeted with Draco in the quite comfortable classroom. The Slytherin quickly changed his tactic and told the emerald-eyed wizard to take note of the questions that he asked and scribble the answers in point form. Harry tried his best to answer the Slytherin’s questions and at one point of time, he felt Snape’s presence in the room but did not turn to greet the Potions Master. Harry didn’t even realize when the ebony-haired professor left, so absorbed in the task that Draco had given him.

Several hours later, Harry stopped writing and raised his arm to massage his neck. At the same time, Draco stood up and walked around the classroom. The Gryffindor was just about to resume jotting down notes when his tutor spoke up, “That’s enough, Harry. You can carry on if you want, but it’s late, and I’m quite tired.”

Harry turned around in his chair and saw that Draco was rubbing his temples as though the blonde-haired wizard had a headache. He checked the pocket watch Remus gave him and was shocked to see that it was one in the morning. Then he looked down and was even more surprised.

I don’t think I’ve ever written so many notes! He stared at the stack in mild disbelief.

“I’ll see you around, Potter,” Draco said and Harry heard the door open and then closed.

Harry was still too stunned to take offense at the Slytherin’s sudden departure. He stayed in the classroom for a while longer to write down the few bits of information he knew about the Sleeping Draught. He had the sinking feeling that he would need to spend several extra hours reconfirming what he wrote with Hermione.

And that means I have to tell her, at least, about my tutorial session, Harry thought. Ron shouldn’t know about this though … he’ll scream at me for even accepting Snape’s decision.