Percabeth Teach at Hogwarts

Chapter Eleven

Harry

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Chase called lightly. "Pair up please."

Those weren't exactly the words Harry was hoping would start his day, but he groggily got to his feet and blinked at the front of the room. He hadn't slept very well the night before — nightmares still plagued his sleep, especially now that Ron had left. No one else could calm him down like Ron could.

When he met Malfoy's eyes, he wondered if they were more similar than he had once thought. His gray eyes reflected the bone deep tired that Harry felt himself, as well as the sorrow Harry hid from his friends with laughter and smiles.

Harry shook his head and looked away. It was just easier to hate Malfoy. He had been a Death Eater! That justified his hatred for Malfoy enough.

"Alright you two," Professor Jackson drawled, himself looking quite tired. "Hand-to-hand combat today. We want to see some of the moves we taught you last week. Be careful though."

Harry sighed, not looking forward to this in the slightest. He glanced over to Hermione who gave him an eager thumbs up; he watched Malfoy sneer at her and her sneer back.

"Begin!" Professor Chase called from the front of the room.

Malfoy may have looked tired but he was quick to take the offensive and it was all Harry could do to throw his hands up (one in front of his face, one to protect his stomach as the professors had taught him) before Malfoy slammed into him. Harry absorbed some of the impact but still winced as his teeth sung; he shoved away to regain his balance. When he glanced back up, he saw the expression on Malfoy's face had shifted from exhausted to invigorated as if the fighting energized him rather than drained him which was not something Harry could say for himself.

Nevertheless, he rallied and threw his forearm in Malfoy's face, but Malloy swiftly blocked. Fortunately, Harry put enough force behind it that Malfoy stumbled back. A wicked grin painted Malfoy's face and Harry had a bad feeling about what was coming next. Distantly, he could hear the Professors giving words of encouragement and aid, but Harry felt himself being sucked into the fight, as if no one was watching the two of them.

For a moment, he truly looked at Malfoy, and saw flashes of their rivalry in his gray eyes. The time they had first met, the time Hermione had hit him, the time he had joined Slytherin's Quidditch team, and the time he had been commissioned to kill Professor Dumbledore. A sad jolt flew through Harry when he realized much of their qualms had stemmed from Lucius Malfoy's cruel upbringing of his son. Right?

Something seemed different about Malfoy this year, as if he was a completely different person that was tired of keeping up old façades.

Harry came back down to Earth when Malfoy slammed into his legs so hard that they both tumbled to the ground. He let out a squeak of protest as Malfoy pinned him easily to the ground.

"Well," said Professor Jackson from the front of the room. "That was quite the show. Thank you to you both, and very well done. Ten points to Gryffindor and to Slytherin. Please take your seats!"

Harry ignored Malfoy's extended hand and picked himself up off the floor, avoiding Malfoy's eyes. Harry wasn't sure what to make of him anymore.

He trailed back to his seat behind Malfoy and Hermione, who, upon Malfoy's arrival, glared at him. Harry inconspicuously leaned forward to see if he could pick up a bit of their conversation.

"Give it a rest," Malfoy said, yawning as he rolled his eyes at Hermione. "It's not my fault I'm better trained than any of you."

This piqued Harry's interest — why had Malfoy been trained in hand-to-hand combat? Was it a stipulation of joining Voldemort's army last year? Or had his father simply demanded it of him?