Co-Author's Note: I wasn't suppose to write this, I hadn't even entered this Fest, but the prompt was too delicious and my dearest friend was just too dear (She made me do it! She threatened to rape me otherwise! *snicker*) Anyway, here it is. It's not all mine, so sorry. It also belongs to Arineat, who, if you haven't read her already, shame on you. But I love her, and would do anything for her. Including writing a fic I had no intention of writing. Dammit.

Part 1

"Mr. Potter, do come in."

Minerva McGonagall looked up from her desk to greet Harry with a smile as he entered the Headmistress' office. Gesturing to the chair directly opposite her, she took a moment to call a house-elf, requesting afternoon tea for two before turning back to him. "It's wonderful to see you again, Harry."

"It's great to see you, too, Professor," Harry replied, an answering smile on his face.

The Headmistress waved her hand dismissively at the title as the house-elf returned with a large trolley filled with the tea service and cakes. "Harry, we're colleagues now, please call me Minerva"

Harry flushed a bit but nodded. "Okay, Minerva." The name sounded foreign on his tongue, but he smiled anyways. He'd get used to it. Probably.

Minerva nodded once and handed him his cup. Once they had fixed their respective teas; Harry with two sugars and milk, hers with just a smattering of cream, she sat back and regarded the man before her.

"I was sorry to hear about your accident. I do hope you're feeling better," she said, a motherly look of concern on her face.

Harry shifted in his seat, a small twinge of pain shooting through his hip and lower back. "It's been hard, but I'm getting there."

"Well, Puddlemere's loss is Hogwarts' gain it seems. I'm glad you decided to take me up on my offer, Merlin knows you are more than qualified for the position."

Harry smiled and sipped his tea, nodding as Minerva began to outline the list of his duties.

"You'll head classes during the week and supervise the occasional practice, and of course there is refereeing the matches. Madam Hooch left a few notes and details for her successor," she said with an arched brow as she handed Harry a rather thick file.

Harry's eyes widened a bit behind his glasses as he reached for the heavy folder. Taking a brief peek inside he let out a soft chuckle at Madam Hooch's thoroughness. The old bird wouldn't leave her post to just anyone, nor did she appear ready to let Hogwarts Quidditch deteriorate in her absence.

"I'll give it a thorough read-through," Harry promised with a smile as he closed the folder.

"Very good. Now, if you're finished with your tea I'll show you to your quarters."

Harry nodded and set his empty cup aside. Rising, he followed the Headmistress down the spiral staircase and through the hallowed halls of his former school. The ex-Gryffindor smiled as they made their way down to the first floor, nodding at the familiar portraits as he passed. He shook his head lightly as the portraits began to leave their frames, following his progress and whispering excitedly to one another, eagerly spreading the word of his return. It was good to be home.

They came to a stop in the second floor corridor outside of a very familiar portrait. Harry looked once and found himself doing a double take.

"Sir Cadogan?"

"Harry Potter, we meet again." The small knight bowed low. "Never fear, Mr. Potter, I shall guard you with the honour and fervour befitting a hero such as yourself! No villains shall dare to challenge Sir Cadogan!"

Harry bit back a laugh as the painting brandished his sword at an imaginary foe. Minerva rolled her eyes lightly and spoke up. "Do calm yourself, Sir Cadogan. Valiant Steed." She said the password with obvious exasperation.

The knight looked a tad deflated at her rebuke but he acquiesced and begrudgingly swung the portrait open to reveal the entrance to Harry's new chambers. Without bothering to acknowledge Sir Cadogan's loud mutterings about the proper respect befitting a knight of his stature, Minerva swept through the portal, beckoning Harry to follow her.

Harry entered the room beyond the painting, still shaking his head in amusement. "It's good to know that some things never change."

"Indeed," Minerva replied with a wry smile. "These are your quarters. Your bedchamber is through that door there and the door at the back leads to your private office." She gestured around the room, pointing out the various features.

"The fireplace is connected to the inter-school Floo network and you'll be able to reach most of the staff that way. There will be a staff meeting tomorrow morning at eight before the students arrive, please make sure you are on time. The house-elves will have already brought your personal affects up, of course. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Hm? Oh, no, nothing, thanks," Harry replied absently as he looked about the room.

"Very well. If you should need anything you have only to call a house-elf. Dobby is always eager to help the great Harry Potter," she said with an amused look. "In any case, I'll let you get settled."

She paused and turned back with a warm smile as she reached the portrait. "It's good to have you back, Harry."

"Thank you, Prof-Minerva," he said with a grin, stumbling over her first name once more. He doubted he would ever get used to thinking of her as 'Minerva' instead of 'Professor McGonagall'.

With a friendly nod, the Headmistress exited the room, leaving Harry to familiarize himself with his new quarters.

After a cursory glance around his bedroom, Harry dropped to the bed with a pleased sigh. Yes, it was very good to be home.

Harry woke with a dreaded certainty that he was late. Grabbing his wand from the bedside locker, he cast a iTempus/i and swore. He had fifteen minutes to shower, change and get to the staff meeting.

Rolling out of the bed with a litany of curses, he stripped off his clothes and cast a full body Cleansing Charm, wincing at the sting of having a layer of skin and dirt removed. He didn't have time for the hot shower he so longed for. Harry hurried to his wardrobe and fumbled his way into a set of new robes.

He straightened them as he made his way to his private bathroom and brushed his teeth. Frowning at his reflection, he wasted a few precious minutes trying to tackle the crow's nest that was his hair. He finally gave up when the mirror laughed at him. Glaring at the glass, he slid on his shoes and rushed out the door.

By the time Harry finally made it to the meeting he was more than ten minutes late. He tried to enter quietly, but his stealthy appearance was ruined by the stabbing pains shooting through his lower back and a weakness in his hip that sent him scrambling loudly for the first available chair. Hanging his head, he waited as the sharp shooting pains lessened to a dull, throbbing ache. When he looked up, his eyes met shocked grey. Harry stared, unblinking, at Draco Malfoy from barely a foot away. His heart gave a strange lurch at the expression of surprise and curiosity on Malfoy's face.

After a long moment, the blond seemed to remember where they were and the surprised expression melted into the cool unreadable Malfoy mask that Harry remembered from his school days.

"Are you so famous now that you can just burst into a room whenever the mood arises?" Draco commented blandly. "Or is there some explanation for why you're stumbling into our staff meeting like a drunken idiot?"

Harry shot him a dark look, but before he could answer, Minerva stepped forward, clearing her throat. "As I mentioned, we have a number of topics to discuss this morning. First and foremost, is the newest addition to our staff. Mr. Potter will be Hogwarts' new Quidditch coach."

The was a smattering of applause and congratulations, which Harry accepted through gritted teeth and a false smile, partly because of the pain still lingering in his muscles and partly in response to Malfoy's rude welcome.

"You can't be serious," Malfoy asked, rising from his chair just beside the pained Potter. "How are the students to learn when they'll be too busy being besotted by his celebrity? It's hard enough to get their short attention spans to focus on their lessons."

"I doubt you'll have to worry about that, Mr. Malfoy," Minerva cooed in a firm, authoritative voice as she settled a hand on Malfoy's shoulder. "Once the students get to know him, they'll realize that Harry is just like any other professor. He'll be strict, yet kind, friendly, but professional and I'm sure he'll hold the utmost regard for being. On. Time. Am I correct, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded like a chastised student; ignoring the smug grin Malfoy shot him when McGonagall wasn't looking. "Of course, Headmistress," he answered dutifully.

"There, you see?" she chimed, squeezing Malfoy's shoulder gently. "Nothing to worry about. Unless of course you're concerned that iyou/i might become besotted with Harry's celebrity, Mr. Malfoy?"

The gathered staff tittered softly, as did some of the portraits that were awake enough to have heard the exchange. Malfoy rolled his eyes and slumped gracefully into his seat, glaring at the table just shy of where Harry looked back triumphantly. "I hardly think that's likely," he muttered darkly.

"Excellent. So, if there are no more concerns about our newest staff member, I'd like to move on to the Forbidden Forest. As you know, it's been a problematic area for some of our older, thrill-seeking students. Just because the war is over, doesn't make it any less perilous," she pointed out. From there Harry only heard a portion of what the Headmistress droned on about. She didn't have quite the flair for capturing an audience that Dumbledore had had, and Harry's mind – and gaze - kept wandering to the blond beside him.

How could Draco Malfoy still hold such animosity for him after so many years?

He assumed the blond taught potions, unless of course they'd started lessons on how to be an arrogant arse since they'd graduated. The thought of Malfoy conducting a classroom in the art of schooling one's face into a sneer made him smile softly and he looked up to find the Slytherin staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Harry's grin turned wide and crooked and he nearly laughed aloud when Malfoy's eyes widened slightly and his cheeks flushed a pale pink.

Malfoy quickly glanced away, his face set in its usual haughty indifference, but it was too late. Harry had caught him, noticed that there was real emotion underneath that stony mask, and he was determined to see more.

XXX

When the staff meeting released, Draco stood swiftly, his mind still trying to process the man who had waltzed – or rather tumbled unceremoniously - back into his life. Potter looked different. His hair was still an unruly mess, but his features had matured nicely and his eyes seemed to sparkle even more than they had when he was a boy. To say Potter was handsome would have been stating the glaringly obvious.

But the most disarming thing about Potter's presence wasn't how different he was physically, but how unchanged Draco felt about him. After ten years worth of distance from him, Draco thought he had squashed the romantic feelings he'd had toward Harry Potter. It was blasphemous that he'd had them at all, but here he was, a grown man, and iblushing/i at the slightest hint of the man's attention. It was absurd.

He fled the meeting without a word to any of his fellow staff. Usually Draco got along fine with them, but he couldn't risk any further exposure to Potter until he had sorted out this crush nonsense. He was no longer a schoolboy, no longer under the strain of war and fear for his life. There was absolutely no excuse for Potter's smile to make him tingly and feverish. He simply had to retire to his quarters and remind himself of all the reasons that Potter was an insufferable arse, all while trying desperately not to actually think iabout/i his arse.

"No, not yet, Creevey!" Harry called as the tiny first year was fairly abducted by his broom with a rather girlish scream.

Barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes to himself, Harry mounted his own Nimbus Platinum and caught up to the wailing student. Wrapping his hand around the end of the broom, he gained control and steered a terrified David Creevey back down to Earth. The blond boy stumbled and fell on his arse in his haste to get off of the offending piece of wood.

"All right, Mr. Creevey?"

"Yes, Professor Potter," muttered the boy, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as his classmates chortled around him.

Harry offered the boy a hand up and a kind smile. After his first week of classes, David seemed to be the student most prone to accidents. To say that he wouldn't be winning the Quidditch cup anytime soon was a severe understatement. Just this past week the poor boy had suffered a number of bumps and scrapes, numerous falls, and a broken nose. Harry suspected quite a lot of the problem lay with the boy's insecurities and fear to fail in front of his classmates.

The noises of ridicule and amusement from the other first years were silenced with a single stern look from Harry, though a general sense of restlessness remained. Knowing he wasn't likely to get much more done in the final ten minutes of class and more than conscious of the stabbing pains shooting through his hip, he blew his whistle and released the students early. His last class of the day left eagerly with talk of the weekend rising excitedly in the air.

Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, Harry cast a spell to gather the equipment and headed to the Quidditch storage shed. Replacing the brooms, he locked the door, mounted his broom with a wince and flew gingerly to the front door of the castle. Before his accident, Harry would have loved nothing more than to make the long trek across the well-tended lawns of Hogwarts, enjoying the sunshine and smell of fresh cut grass, but there was no way he could make it all the way back without the pain in his body becoming too much to bear.

Harry cursed his weakness as he stumbled off of his broom and limped to open the doors of the Entrance Hall. He'd been berating himself for most of the day for leaving his pain potion in his rooms that morning as he slowly made his way toward the staircase. The potion wasn't great, but it served to take the more severe pain away and had allowed him to at least make it back to his quarters at the end of the day without too much trouble. His hip hadn't felt this bad since he had stopped using his cane a few months ago and he swore he could hear Hermione's voice shrieking in his head, calling him a stubborn idiot for overtaxing himself.

Gritting his teeth, Harry limped to the wall next to the staircase, barely managing to keep himself upright long enough to slump against it. Sweat beaded on his face and neck as he took deep, calming breaths and willed the pain away. He just had to make it to the second floor and he'd be fine.

After a few minutes, he let out a painful huff, shoved himself away from the wall and took a tentative step forward. Just as Harry moved, he found himself slamming into a hard, unyielding body and was suddenly tumbling backward. Strong hands shot out to grip his arms, steadying him before he could slam painfully to the polished marble floor. Harry's hands automatically clung to the person's forearms as he righted himself and looked up into startled grey eyes. His heart beat heavily against his ribcage, surely a product of his near fall, as Malfoy continued to stand there, holding him.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Malfoy blushed and pulled back with a sneer. "Why don't you watch where you're going, Potter, or do you expect everyone to just bow out of your way and allow your perfect arse to pass through?"

"My perfect arse?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I...oh fuck off, Scarhead."

"Whatever, Malfoy," he grumbled, rolling his eyes as he awkwardly shoved past Draco and continued limping painfully toward the stairs.

He'd barely made it more than a few feet before Malfoy spoke again.

"Why are you limping, Potter?"

Harry gritted his teeth and continued on without answering, refusing to let Malfoy break his concentration. He was just a few feet from the banister now and he could use that to pull himself up the rest of the way if need be. Harry had almost managed to make it to the first step before his hip gave out and sent him stumbling, only to be saved yet again by the insufferable blond man at his side.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Have you been at the pub?"

"Nothing is wrong with me, Malfoy, and of course I haven't been out getting pissed. Believe it or not I take this job very seriously, now bugger off." The bite was taken from Harry's words by the pain that laced his tone.

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy moved to put his arm around Harry's waist. "Let me help you, you git, or you'll fall and break your neck and I don't fancy explaining to McGonagall why the Great Gryffindor Savior and conqueror of the most powerful Dark Lord in a century was defeated by a measly set of stairs."

"I can walk just fine, you prat, now let me go."

Harry pulled forcefully away from Malfoy's arms with a growl, lost his grip on the banister and would have fallen backward off the stairs were it not for Draco's quick reflexes and strong arms enfolding around him.

"Oh yes, you're more than capable," Malfoy drawled with obvious exasperation as he regarded the shaking man. Rolling his eyes, the blond tightened his grip on Harry's waist and pulled him close as if to stabilize him.

"Come on, Potty, my chambers are closest."

With that, Malfoy began hauling Harry up the stairs, ignoring his glower.

By the time they reached the door to Malfoy's chambers, Harry was panting and leaning fully against the blond, much to his disgust. Sharp, breath-stealing pains were stabbing through his back and legs and it was all he could do to limp the last few feet to the chair in Malfoy's office rather than let the man carry him bodily into the room. Harry's stubborn pride was the only thing that kept him from further embarrassment.

"Sit here and don't move," Malfoy ordered as he deposited him into a plush armchair in front of the fireplace.

XXX

Ignoring the part of him that mourned the loss of being so close to Potter, Draco made his way to his chambers and into his potions stores. Selecting a high-grade pain and anti-inflammatory potion, he returned to find Potter struggling to rise from the chair. Letting out an irritated huff, he strode forward and pushed him forcefully back into the armchair, thrusting the vial at him.

"Drink this."

Potter's eyes narrowed to slits at the order, but he obeyed.

"Better?" Draco asked, a haughty undertone lacing the word. He knew his potions were unrivaled for potency and quality. A smug satisfaction settled over him as he realized that he was pleased to be the one to take Potter's pain away. He frowned slightly at that. He was supposed to enjoy tormenting Potter and iinflicting/i pain, not helping to relieve it. Curse this stupid infatuation.

"Much," Potter replied reluctantly as he moved to rise from the chair again. Draco resisted the urge to reach out and help him. "Thanks, Malfoy."

Draco blinked and stared at him for a moment before inclining his head in response.

They stood in silence, regarding each other awkwardly for a moment before Harry finally tore his gaze from Malfoy's and moved toward the door, his limp all but gone.

"Potter," Draco called just as the brunet was about to close the door behind him.

"Yes?" Potter called, stepping back into the room.

"I could make you a potion that works far better than what you just took. If you wanted," he offered, trying to sound as casual and disinterested as possible.

Potter gaped at him for a moment before nodding slowly. "Uh, sure, yeah. That would be great, actually. Do you need me to do anything?"

"What, like help me stir? I think that would be quite unnecessary, especially given what I remember from your potions scores," he quipped, an amused smirk on his features.

Potter scowled. "Right. Of course. I only meant, would you need to know anything, or would I need to give you any ingredients for it. Hair or something?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Draco gave an exasperated sigh. "Please tell me you don't just go around offering up your hair to Potions Masters, Potter. Do you realize what someone could do with that kind of personal ingredient?"

"They could Polyjuice themselves as me," Potter replied with a shrug.

"If they were even half as skilled as I am, they could also tailor a poison that would kill you instantly and without a trace." He seethed, unsure why Potter being so careless with his follicles mattered to him at all. It would be a blessing if someone were to finally smite him off this Earth, especially if it were in direct response to Potter's own stupidity.

Potter rolled his eyes, as he was prone to do when someone was making ridiculous statements. "Should I warn McGonagall? So that she'll know who to lock up if I turn up dead in your quarters?"

"Of course not." Draco huffed. "I was merely pointing out that one day your ignorance will get you killed."

"It can take a number," Potter replied, his tone bitter. "There is a long line of people and problems that want a piece of me." He stared down at his body with a pained expression. "Seven times. Seven times I faced off with Voldemort directly without so much as a broken bone, but flying…the one thing I was actually talented in, the one thing that could take my mind off of everything else, and that's what crippled me?"

Draco just stared at Potter in muted surprise as he ranted, confusion and concern threatening to rise up within him. He forced them back down, his face showing nothing of his thoughts. Finally, Potter fell silent, a muddled expression falling over his features.

"You'd best get up to bed, Potter," Draco said, his voice softening without his permission. "The drought has a mild relaxing agent that, given your exhaustion, will likely put you to sleep rather quickly." It also had the tendency to lower inhibitions and make people say things they normally wouldn't, but Draco kept that to himself.

"Right. G'night Malfoy," Potter whispered as he turned away.

"My quarters directly after dinner tomorrow, Potter. Don't be late. I only have a tiny window for altruistic behavior each day and I'd hate for you to miss it," Draco ordered, a subtle grin quirking the edge of his mouth.

A small laugh bubbled up before Potter could stop it and he shook his head wryly. "Noted," he said before he turned and left, closing the door firmly behind him.

Author's Note: I know I have been MIA for awhile, and I hope that changes eventually. I'm trying to strike a balance between RL and FF...it's tough. But in the meantime, this story will be several parts long.