Wanderer

Cures

AN: Well. I had hoped I would be updating this with an AN that was just me apologising profusely for being so busy and not updating in a very long time. I didn't imagine it would include a genuine appeal to look after yourself, stay at home, only go out when absolutely necessary, and just please, please, please be careful. These are truly unprecedented times. I'm still going to apologise for not updating, uni has been keeping me very busy that I've just had absolutely no time to write! So I'm very sorry for the wait. FINALLY, here is an update!!!

Chapter Thirty Three – Cures

Draco took a deep breath. He straightened the cuffs of his shirt, locked in place by silver serpent links his mother had gotten him for his birthday, smoothed down his black robes, patted his hair, shuffled some papers on his desk, straightened the pile of books, moved his chair so it was perfectly in line-

In a minute's time, he would have his first class. First Years. Draco had a feeling McGonagall had arranged his timetable to start him in the shallows. Even so, he felt his heart beating in his wrists, in his temples, thrumming around his body, his nerves threatening to paralyse him.

He took another breath. Then, in a frenzy, he wrenched the sleeve of his robe up, hastening to undo his cuff, pushing his shirt to his elbow-

His skin was smooth and pale and blank. Draco sighed shakily, repositioning his sleeves. Just in case he'd forgotten...

The bell rang, and he stood to attention. His palms were damp. His eyes flicked around the room to make sure that everything was in place. He straightened the pile of books, then moved them completely to the other corner of his desk.

Slowly, the students trickled in, one-by-one, followed by a small group, laughing, the tail-end of their conversation petering into the room, dissipating as they sat down. Draco tried to smile at the ones who caught his eye, but they looked away just as quickly, and his smile faded. He wiped his hands on his trousers. Only once the room was full, and quiet, did he clear his throat.

A class of eyes blinked up at him. Occasionally, one of them would shift and the proceeding rustle of a cloak or scrape of a stool broke the anticipatory silence.

Draco took a deep breath.

"Most of you will likely know who I am, from the Headmistress' introduction of me at dinner, but for those with failing memories, I am Professor Malfoy. I will be teaching you Potions whilst you're at Hogwarts." He paused. His eyes swept across the sea of blank faces. "Any questions?"

One girl, near the front, raised her hand. Draco nodded at her.

"Is it true you're a Death Eater?"

His jaw ticked. A sudden hush fell over the room, and he moved the books once more on his desk, leaning back against it. "I was," he said. Murmurs rippled, but he cut them off. "The war was a very different time... There was no black and white, no right and wrong, only life and death. I'm alive because I was a Death Eater... I'm here because I was a bad one. You'll probably hear a lot about me, about the war, and you can choose to believe it. I can't change your mind about that. But I can teach you Potions." Draco inhaled shakily. "If you'll let me."

The class remained silent.

"Any more questions?"

Nobody spoke. Or moved.

Draco nodded. His mouth was dry. "In that case, we'll get on with the lesson."

He moved from the desk, flicking his wrist and the books went floating over to the corresponding child, gently landing in front of them.