Draco snuck back to his dungeon room early that morning so that he could be ready for his first class after breakfast. Today was first years in the morning and fourth years in the afternoon. He bathed, dressed in his black garb, and swallowed down what the house elves left for him. Harry's borrowed cloak was still on the end of the bed and he picked it up to toss it on the chair when he noticed a dead beetle attached to the right shoulder. He ticked his head at it (he hadn't cleaned his room as well as Harry's), plucked it off, and flicked it to the floor.

Adjusting his long robes, he left his apartment, walked through his study and stood in the potions dungeon. He looked over the empty seats and wondered if he should make an entrance or simply be here as they entered. He thought about it a moment and decided that simply being in the room might seem more intimidating…just what he wanted.

It was almost time and Draco checked the potions book on the podium before he settled into his position in the chair. He heard them approach and sat back, his hands steepled, his eyes narrowed.

The first students entered and immediately stopped upon finding Draco there. A log jam began with other students stopped in the doorway by the first. They quickly unjammed themselves and moved into the room, the first few taking seats as far in the back as they could get. As more entered they reluctantly took the seats left in front. No one made a sound and when they were all seated, they looked up nervously at Draco with stark, wide eyes.

He smirked and unfolded his long limbs from the chair. He sauntered to the front of the class and swept them with his gaze. God they're small! "This is Potions. We will learn a great deal in here that will be useful to you. But don't kid yourselves; if you don't work hard you won't learn it. No amount of bookwork will help unless you actually do the potions yourself. Some will be dangerous--very dangerous. Some powerful in other ways. And all of them useful. Now. Before we begin. Are there any questions?"

A girl in the front row with a cocky expression raised her hand. "Name?" asked Draco.

"Antonia Adams. Sir, my mother says that you should have been sent to Azkaban with the other Death Eaters. Why weren't you?"

The students gasped, but Antonia never wavered, her chin high.

A flick toward her badge told Draco what he already knew: Slytherin. Draco stepped closer until he towered over her. He gave her his best sneer. "Your mother doesn't know very much, Adams. My trial was very clear and very public. Anyone can look up the facts." He turned away but then suddenly turned back. "By the way, ten points from Slytherin."

She opened her mouth to protest but he raised a finger to silence her.

"Insolence to a teacher." He lifted his face to the room. "Anyone else have any more questions about my private life?" He scanned the stark faces. "No? Good. Turn to page two hundred and twelve in your potions book. Someone read the explanation on the top of the page."

Draco retreated to the podium and grabbed the potions book to keep his hands from trembling. Damn. Into the fire first day. He chose someone to read aloud and while they did, he ran through the names of Death Eaters in his mind. Adams, Adams. He didn't remember an Adams. But he'd have to watch her. She reminded him a little too much of himself at that age.

It was a simple headache potion and he had them work on it right away. He walked amongst them, looking over their shoulders.

"No, no," he said to a dark-haired boy that reminded him of Harry though he was from Hufflepuff. "Name?"

"B-baskem, sir. Reggie Baskem."

"Well Mr. Baskem. What does the book say to do with this pod?"

"Um…" the boy ran his shaky finger over the printed words and read aloud, "'The seed pod of the Bayern tree should be carefully crushed-'"

"And are you carefully crushing it, Baskem?"

The boy looked at the pod he had cut into small squares. "No, sir."

Draco dropped his finger to the book and thumped it. "You've got to read the text. These are only going to get harder. But no harm done. Just use the side of your knife and crush them. There's a lad."

Baskem raised his eyes to Draco worshipfully. Hmm. It had just come out that way. He took it for granted that he would be a little like Snape, always a little angry. Perhaps Snape was. Perhaps he really hated children. Draco found he didn't. And though Adams had needed taking down a notch or two, he found he really wanted to help the students learn this, enjoy it as much as he always had. And it didn't require him to be particularly mean to do it. That surprised him. He looked across the class of achingly young students, their heads bent over their books and cauldrons, hands busily chopping or crushing, and only a few cut fingers. He found himself looking for familiar faces, for the Longbottoms and Weasleys and Grangers, but they weren't really there. Other faces took their place. There was Baskem and Rogers and Twillum and Florenz. And Adams, of course. Draco wondered what they would report back to their parents about their first day with the frightening Professor Malfoy. Would they say that he wasn't as bad as they thought? Would they one day write that he was their favorite teacher? Or might they say the opposite? He picked up his quill and twirled it in his fingers. He hadn't thought before about being an influence on a young mind, but the thought gave him pause. And he wondered about Adams and whether he should take her under his wing now. If Snape had done so early on, if he had taught him how much better it was outside of Voldemort's influence, how different Draco's life would have been. But it was hard to know. Maybe Adams was only posturing in front of her friends. Maybe it was the quiet Baskem you had to watch out for. But no. He couldn't begin to second guess every student or it would drive him crazy. That was something he'd have to talk to Dumbledore about when he had a moment.

The class was nearly over and Draco made the circuit of the room peering into cauldrons, his hands clasped behind his back. Most of the students earned his praise (it was a very simple potion and a good one to start with) when he got to Adams' cauldron. She'd obviously stirred it too much and the color was murky instead of clear. It would still work but she hadn't followed directions. Cruel or kind? He looked her in the eye. She wasn't backing down. "What happened here, Adams?"

She looked at the cauldron next to hers. "I don't see a difference."

"Don't you? Well what if I took this block-" and he grabbed her wooden cutting block and raised it over her head as if to strike. Some nearby students shrieked and shrank back. Not Adams. Her cold eyes were fixed on Draco. "And what if I coshed you on the head with it? Do you think your potion would relieve your headache?"

She looked into her cauldron and pursed her lips. Now it didn't seem she wanted to look up. Draco lowered the cutting block and tossed it back to her table. It landed with a bang. "Do you think you deserve a zero for it?"

She opened her mouth to protest but then suddenly thought better and snapped it shut. She lowered her eyes. "I don't know. Sir."

He looked around at the anxious faces. "Actually, the potion will work well enough even if it isn't completely clear. But that's not the point, is it? It's about following directions to the nth degree. Because on some potions it can make the difference between a potent potion and a potent poison. Keep that in mind when you read your directions." Adams' face reddened. "I'll give you half a grade, Adams. But next time, follow the directions. Class dismissed."

The students vanished their potions, gathered their things as quickly as they could, and nearly ran out of the door. Adams lagged behind and shuffled slowly toward the exit. She looked back once at Draco, gave him a sneer, and left.

Draco collapsed in his chair and huffed his relief. "And only two hundred and seventy-four more days to go."


On to Chapter Twelve
"Defense Against the Dark Arts"

Back to Chapter Ten
"The Welcoming Feast"

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