The Wizarding Award Scheme Programme (or W.A.S.P. for short)

1. Set Up

Harry sighed and slung the tent bag down on the ground as Malfoy looked on haughtily and with utter distain.

He really didn't understand why Minerva had insisted that Malfoy accompany him and help to chaperone the eight youngsters who were currently at various stages of trying to erect their own tents around the central campfire spot. It wasn't as if Malfoy was an outdoorsy type. Merlin! It was laughable, his black walking boots obviously looked like they'd only just come out of the box and his equally black 'outdoor' clothes were brand new. Harry was fairly sure they had designer labels on them but he didn't want to study the man's slender arse too closely to check. Not with an audience of fifteen-year-olds anyway.

However, it really was the perfect spot and he wasn't going to let Malfoy ruin the trip with all his eye-rolling and lip-curling and nose-in-the-air performances. The hill they had Apparated to and walked over had gently run down to the flat grassland they were currently stood in the middle of. In front of them was a narrow corridor of trees which edged a perfect stream that would provide them with fresh water and there were a scattering of trees in the clearing which would provide welcome shade from the predicted hot weather they were due for the week.

Harry waved a hand impatiently at the bag and the tent rolled itself out, positioned itself correctly on the flattest piece of ground and self-erected.

Harry didn't fail to register Malfoy swallow down a barely suppressed whimper, his face losing its permanent sneer briefly before the mask set back on. Harry bit back a smirk; he knew full-well what his wandless and wordless magic did to the man.

Actually, he knew perfectly well why Minerva had set him up but he was trying very hard to forget the little smug smile on her tight lips when she suggested it might be beneficial for both young men to invest in some healthy 'getting-to-know-each-other-better' time, and besides, Harry needed someone to help him with the Wizarding Award Scheme Programme (or W.A.S.P. for short) and Professor Malfoy needed 'breaking in' a bit. Three birds with one stone, she'd said slyly, a cunning sparkle in her hazel eyes. Harry was entirely certain that Minerva had a wild streak of Slytherin running through her bones. He was also absolutely sure that he also knew what she was up to with her careful machinations of how often she pushed for Harry to spend time with Malfoy.

That bit was, at least, far easier within the walls of Hogwarts where they had their own space to escape to.

It wasn't that Professor Malfoy wasn't a good teacher, indeed, he was an excellent teacher, the potions results at Hogwarts were the best they'd been in years and this was before either the O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s exam results were in. It's just he wasn't a very good professor when it came to the pastoral side of things. He didn't connect with the students; he purposely avoided trying to relate with the students. Minerva had confided to Harry that she had wanted to entice Malfoy to stay on by offering him Head of Slytherin House in September but she was highly reluctant to do so until he proved himself more approachable. Harry thought that was unlikely to happen anytime soon, if the evidence of the last eighteen years were anything to go by. Needless to say, that was the additional task that Minerva had set her deputy head with over the forthcoming few days and Merlin knows how was he supposed to tell this man to loosen up with the kids?

Harry had been teaching at Hogwarts for eight and a half years. He'd stuck it out in the Auror office for three years, rising rapidly through the ranks until he was offered the position of Assistant-Head Auror at the grand age of twenty-one. He thought about it, quite seriously, for all of two minutes, and said thank you but no.

Perhaps he would have taken the job if he hadn't been interviewed by Minerva McGonagall less than a week earlier for the position of Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. She'd offered him the post on the spot, and he'd accepted without a second thought. He had a sneaky suspicion that Kingsley Shacklebolt had only offered him the position of Assistant Head Auror after he'd handed in his resignation because the Ministry didn't want to lose their poster boy. He was fairly certain he would have been no more than a puppet for the Ministry's PR Department and he remembered thinking that Ron was far more suited to the role of Assistant Head Auror, even Head Auror when Robards retired: the team loved him, he was clear-headed, sensible and a natural leader in the field. Harry tended to be too reflective and academic in the office; and, in the field, too impetuous and relied on instinct and his unyielding power to save the day, not that it didn't get him results, it just didn't make him the best Auror for the job of heading up the division. He wasn't mistaken, Ron had indeed been promoted to Head Auror five years previously – the youngest Head Auror in the history of the Ministry.