I Don't Care

Chapter 2

Draco's chance came all too soon as October approached. He continued to watch and push Potter into the right direction when needed, but Draco was simply trying to survive. It had been a long and painful task of apologizing and trying to make amends with all of his fellow eighth years.

He had been so worried in his attempt to make sure it didn't sound like he was being emotionally manipulative that he overexplained nervously, stumbling over his words, proving to everyone that he had changed. Forgiveness was not something he expected and he wasn't trying to clearing his conscious. He had thought long and hard over his actions, realizing too late that he had chosen the wrong side. Harry speaking at his trial had only solidified that Draco was at least tolerable, unbeknownst to Harry himself.

October brought more clarity to Harry's mind than he would have thought it did. This was when he truly began to pick up on the interactions between Draco and everyone else. Sure, there were a lot of eighth year festivities, but Harry went to none of them. He couldn't bring himself to be surrounded by so few people, knowing that the numbers should have been greater, the laughter louder.

It was October first when Hermione forced him to attend the small gathering. He was out of his element, scowling in the corner as he stared into the fire, a butterbeer in his hand. His head only picked up as Hermione asked everyone which classes they had chosen to take.

The eighth years had cycled through all available subjects, including an independent research course, and were submitting their schedules to McGonagall in the morning for approval. That Monday is when they would begin their new, personalized schedules.

Feet moving before his mind, Harry sat out on the outskirts of the group, listening as everyone rattled off their timetables. He had already discussed this to great lengths with Ron and Hermione, but he was curious as to where everyone else was going to end up.

Harry listened, particularly interested in what classes Malfoy was going to take. Hermione asked him, and he shared his selection, much to Harry's surprise.

"Double potions, arithmancy, ancient runes, Herbology, defense, independent research, muggle studies, and that new arts class being offered."

"Harry, what are you taking?," Neville asked.

"Potions against my will, Herbology, independent research, care of magical creatures, defense, ancient runes, charms, transfiguration, and the arts class."

"I think the arts class is compulsory for us, as is defense," Hermione mused.

"We've already been defensive," Harry muttered, finishing his drink.

McGonagall had been covering the class for the few days they had tried it, often relying on Harry as her partner. He didn't mind very much, he would help her with absolutely anything she needed, she didn't even have to ask.

"Any word on the new teacher?," Ron asked.

"The Headmistress has found someone, I suppose we'll meet him at dinner tomorrow night."

That was enough for Harry, and he silently made his way up to bed, feeling the eyes on his back.

The month of October always carried such bitterness and sadness, try as Harry might to push it away. His feelings were only intensified as he came to the conclusion that at this age, just 19 years old, his parents were married, something he never thought he would experience. That morning at breakfast he was particularly irritable, and planned on speaking with no one.

It was a good plan, until he met the new DADA teacher. Midway through breakfast, McGonagall pulled Harry outside of the great hall, and introduced them.