Hey, so I've been out of the Harry Potter loop since DHP2 came out so forgive me if I make some dumb mistakes!
Hope ya'll enjoy reading~

HPOV

Harry blinked, vaguely aware that he'd heard a knock at his office door.
"Come in." The door opened and the bright face of one of his students flashed him a magnificent grin as she stepped into the room.
"Professor Potter!" she breathed and strode eagerly towards his desk, a heavy stack of books under her arm.
"Haigslea, we talked about this, I'm not a professor." At barely 22 years old and with no degree, he felt he had no right to claim such a title. Only through circumstance and a lot of begging from Rubeus Hagrid did he come to have his own office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His own job- well, at least until the year was done.
"Mr. Potter?" she asked thoughtfully.
"Like we discussed, yes." Harry sat up straight and stretched casually, fighting the urge to yawn. "Now what can I help you with?"
"I was hoping you could tell me something about this terms curriculum- what can I expect from this class?"
"Well, it's only the first week of class, but essentially I plan for us to cover 3 different species; two beasts, one creature." When she didn't speak he pressed on, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. "The first will be announced during class tomorrow."
"Alright, but, will we be working in teams? Will there be both practical and theoretical segments each class or will it alternate weekly? Will there be surprise quizzes I need to prepare for? Will we be focusing on their scientific elements or purely on their magical ones- will there be a dissection? What equipment should I bring-"
"Haigslea, calm down," he laughed and shook his head incredulously. She reminded him greatly of Hermione. "No surprise quizzes, I can promise that much, but just like everyone else you'll have to find out about the rest of the class plans, during class."
He thought he saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes when he said no quizzes but she steeled herself and sighed, nodding in acceptance. Definitely like Hermione.
"Alright. See you tomorrow, then."
"Tomorrow," he confirmed as she turned on her heel and left his office, the wooden door swinging silently shut behind her.
Harry sighed and put his face in his hands, a cold ball of dread welling in his stomach as he continued to consider Haigslea's questions.
"Bloody student knows more about running a class than I do," he groaned, wondering to himself why he ever accepted this job in the first place. The sight of a familiar letter near the edge of his desk reminded him of course, that this job was a favor for Hagrid who was on holiday in Romania, studying dragons. Harry smiled knowingly, wondering if he'd reunited with Norbit yet.

A stand-in professor. He could barely make sense of why Hagrid had asked him of all people to take this class. Harry Potter- the boy-who-lived, the Chosen One. What a joke. How were these students supposed to take him seriously at all with all the rumors and his ridiculous reputation. He strongly doubted he was professor material at all and yet, he still felt a small zing of pride knowing Hagrid at least believed in his ability. But he supposed he always had, right from day one.

Breakfast the following morning was slow, and yet went by too quickly. It was the strangest feeling eating at the teachers' table at the far end of the great hall, sitting next to professors who had educated him not that long ago. And now they were his colleagues.
An ocean of chattering students swarmed into the hall and out of it again in the space of an hour, eating breakfast and discussing their schedules. He almost wished to be back amongst the rabble- to be back in class. But now he had one to teach and that was no place to be lost in bittersweet memories.

He found himself outside Hagrid's hut 15 minutes later, shuffling awkwardly through a stack of papers. He thought to himself how different teaching a class of 13 year-olds about magical animals was to teaching a small band of rebellious teens his own age basic defensive magic. Vastly different it seemed.
Harry swallowed nervously as a pack of 20 or so robed students made their merry way down the green slope towards where he stood waiting, still holding a stack of papers.
Harry could hear fragments of individual conversations now that they were closer, but what caught his attention was the collection of the all too familiar 'Monster Book of Monsters'. Some students had theirs purring nicely, others were covered in scrapes and shallow cuts while holding the book at arms length, snarling and heavily bound.
A light, friendly chorus of 'good mornings' greeted him as the students came to a halt and he nodded in response, smiling automatically. Harry spotted Haigslea standing off to the side with one girl who was wind chafed and plain, but pretty. She wore her black hair in two long braids that fell in front of her shoulders, tied off with purple bands that matched the frames of her large square glasses. The scarf she wore around her neck bore the bright colours of house Hufflepuff while the large crest on Haigslea's robes read 'Ravenclaw'.
"Morning class. Today we will be going for a quick wander through the Forbidden Forest- not too far in though, of course." A light murmur broke through the huddled group, some expressions of concern. "It's not so bad," Harry started, uncertain of how to reassure his class he wasn't walking them to their deaths. "Really, it's daylight and we won't be going in too far, but there's someone I'd like you to meet." Harry flashed them a knowing grin and he was pleased when the unsettled murmuring didn't return.
Harry led his class around the side of the hut and towards the forest, walking quite briskly while the excited students seemed to buzz with conversation.

"Professor!" A familiar voice called out and Harry resisted the urge to groan.
"Haigslea, we've talked about this twice now."
"Sorry," she said, while seeming completely not sorry. "Mr. Potter," she corrected herself, though her tone bordered sarcastic levels.
"Yes, Haigslea."
"Will this person we're meeting tell us anything about what we're studying this term?"
"I'm hoping so, yes."
"'Hoping so'?" she repeated despondently.
"Well it depends on how much attention you pay him. I suggest you give him all your attention actually- that is, if you hope to really learn anything." Harry grinned but didn't look at her, choosing instead to stare straight ahead at the tree line where the Forbidden Forest began.
"I always pay attention!" Haigslea protested, sounding indignant.
"I'm sure you do," he nodded decisively as they walked past the first few trees which gave way to the rest of the forest that spiralled above them in a grey tangle of branches.
Haigslea seemed pleased with this and dropped back to walk with her Hufflepuff classmate whose name Harry had not yet memorized.

Some time passed as they walked amongst the slender black trunks, twigs snapping underfoot. A small group of Gryffindors trudged loudly behind Harry as he led the class through the trees, when he noticed them speaking about a very familiar topic.
"... Have you heard they still haven't found a defense against the dark arts teacher?"
"Didn't they say something about a new teacher?"
"A new teacher?"
"I never heard anything."
"Yeah, sure they did!"
"Did you catch a name?"
"Nah, just that he was moving from overseas."
"Overseas? You mean he'll have an accent?" The others laughed at the brown haired boy's question.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Nothin' I guess." He shrugged and that was the end of the conversation regarding the mysterious new teacher.

A new teacher? Harry hadn't heard anything from McGonagall but, of course, he hadn't really thought to ask either. He'd hardly talked to any of his fellow educators, in fact. Since arriving at Hogwarts he found himself spending a lot of his time alone, wandering around the grounds inspecting the Thestral and Hippogriff herds, trying to decide which would be best to show off to his class. Eventually he'd decided to follow in Hagrid's footsteps and introduce a Hippogriff, feeling confident it would go quite well provided his class didn't contain any Malfoys. Malfoy. Now that was a name he hadn't thought about in a long time. Harry scoffed to himself, a myriad of memories flashing through his mind of 'the Ferret'. His feelings of animosity towards Draco Malfoy had certainly faded but the subconscious dislike remained, integrated and stubborn.

"So childish," he muttered to himself before becoming aware he was still surrounded by students. Thankfully, no one seemed to hear him.

One paper, two papers- three. Every teacher along the table received some sort of newspaper, except it wasn't a newspaper at all. Thick, greedy letters stole up the page that seemed foggy whenever Harry tried to read them.
"More missing?"
"I thought they had a suspect already?"
"They had nothing to go on."
The room was lit with fretful nattering, the teachers cross-referencing information that Harry could barely make sense of.
"I'm sorry, but- what's going on?" Harry asked and McGonagall gave him a quick look before holding her hands up, signalling the others to quiet down.
"No one from Hogwarts has gone missing thus far, however that is not reason enough to dismiss taking precautions. This evening I shall inform the students a new set of regulations will be implemented into their schedules." She spoke briskly but with an air of calming finality that seemed to settle the room.
"What kind of precautions, Professor?" Harry spoke again, feeling horribly out of place amongst his new peers.
"I'm hoping to determine them now, Mr Potter." She spoke as matter-of-factly as ever and Harry sat back in his seat, still lost as to which disappearances they were referring.

Harry listened to the discussions, keywords catching his attention. 'Curfews'. 'Travelling only in groups'. 'Cancelled excursions'. Such extreme measures hadn't been taken since his third year at Hogwarts and Harry felt a tight knot clenching in his chest. What's going on?
After what seemed an eternity, they decided on a concise list of strict school-wide precautions that they themselves would be expected to abide by.
"Classes shall continue as normal today until I am able to address the entire school this evening." And with that, the teachers filed out of the room, already walking in huddled groups of 3 or more.
"Professor-"
"Mr. Potter. Do you expect me to believe you've not read a paper for the last 2 months?" Harry felt like he was in his first year again when McGonagall narrowed her eyes at him.
"I've been preoccupied," he answered honestly and she huffed, her eyes rolling.
"The Ministry has advised us to be on high alert, Mr. Potter. Students with magical talent all over Europe are going missing without a trace."
"Surely they couldn't get into Hogwarts to take anyone?" The idea seemed ludicrous to Harry that any ordinary kidnapper could successfully enter and leave Hogwarts without detection, let alone while stealing a student.
"I'm sure that's what Durmstrang Institute said as well."
"Durmstrang has students missing? We're only 9 days into the school year!"
"I know that, Harry," she sighed in frustration, obviously consumed with her own concerns. "All we can do, is be sensible and careful."
"Yes, Professor," he agreed, still feeling as if he was not fully aware of what was going on. After 2 whole months they still don't have any leads to go on? McGonagall turned to leave the conference room when Harry remembered an important question he'd been meaning to ask since his class with the third years last Thursday.
"Uh- Professor, I've been meaning to ask... Have you chosen anyone to teach the defense against the dark arts class?"
"Is that an offer, Mr. Potter?" She peered at him over the top of her glasses, a slight grin on her lips.
"No, I just heard my students saying something about a new teacher from overseas?" he spoke too fast, desperate to dissuade her from actually considering him for the notoriously shady job.
"You should know better than to listen to your students' gossiping," she gives him a stern look then, but it softens just before she turns around again and leaves the room. From out in the hall he hears her call out, "Doesn't mean they're not occasionally onto something."

The candles dipped low, the reflected sky a pit of pitch black, splattered with stars that seemed almost close enough to touch. The warmth in the room felt shadowed by the tumorous topic that crept its way, insidiously, into each and every conversation throughout the great hall. Teacher and student alike enthralled by fear, however lightly, as rumour and all relevant variations stole their attentions. Gasps and groans rattled the very walls of the hall as McGonagall read aloud from her podium.
"Until further notice, no student is to wander the grounds without the company of at least 2 other students. Curfew is now at 8pm, I expect you all in your dormitories by then. Quidditch practice will only be held on weekends under the supervision of at least 2 senior staff. And finally, all excursions to Hogsmede village will be cancelled." A loud, defiant roar of displeasure rose from all four house tables but subsided almost instantly when they caught the look on McGonagall's face. "Any student caught breaking any of these rules, will be expelled." There was such an emphasis on the last few words she spoke that the entire hall went silent.
'Expelled'. A verdict that had always been Harry's greatest fear. Even though it was no longer applicable to him, he felt just as threatened by the prospect as he had in his very first year. McGonagall took her seat and the food appeared en masse but everyone seemed slightly hesitant to begin this evenings feast.
Harry found himself sitting at the very far end of the teachers table next to Professor Slughorn, who seemed to be enjoying a very incomprehensible conversation about wormroot with Professor Sprout. Potions and herbology. Definitely not his strong points.
Dinner passed by as slowly as it had every night before this, sitting silent unless spoken to. Harry wasn't sure what he had expected things to be like when he returned to Hogwarts. It just wasn't the same without Ron and Hermione. Perhaps he'd firecall them later and catchup- no doubt Hermione would be interested to know how his first week of teaching at their school had gone.

At 7:36pm, Harry excused himself and exited the hall, thinking of all the things he'd like to tell Ron and Hermione. They were bound to have an endless stream of questions. Under normal circumstances he may have found the prospect overwhelming but this time he grinned broadly in anticipation, barely aware he was smiling at all. The halls were abuzz with nervous life as Harry walked briskly by, completely absorbed in his own task. He noted a number of familiar ghosts chatting in a group, they themselves apparently not immune to the trepidation now flooding the school. He nodded in acknowledgement of Nearly Headless Nick before he walked straight into someone, nearly knocked clean off his feet. The man didn't stop walking or even turn, instead choosing to swear something filthy under his breath as he kept moving along, almost jogging.
"Was that...?" He shook his head and straightened his glasses, before continuing to his quarters. "Nah."

DPOV

Is that...? Of course it was.
Draco Malfoy watched as Harry bloody Potter walked towards him in the crowded corridor, his attention seemingly on another planet. So much so he apparently didn't notice his own feet change direction, causing them to unceremoniously slam into each other. Potter stumbled clumsily, nearly landing on his arse while Draco kept facing forward, refusing to make eye contact.
"Fucking idiot."
He couldn't believe it. Potter himself walking through the halls of Hogwarts wearing that stupid grin across his face. What could he possibly be doing here? Of all the places in England, why did he have to be here? Wasn't he supposed to be working for the Ministry these days? In the Auror department? Yes, of course. He must be here about the disappearances.
Draco exhaled, unaware he'd been holding his breath as he entered the great hall. Minerva McGonagall sat in the headmaster's seat at the middle of the teachers table, engaged in conversation with a teacher he didn't recognize. As he approached the table McGonagall looked up, a slight smile on her tired face. Upon closer inspection, the entire party at the teachers' table seemed to be fighting blatant exhaustion, even at only 9 days into the first term.
The Headmistress stood up and extended her hand across the table for Draco to take it in greeting, forcing himself to smile politely.
"Mr. Malfoy, so good of you to come."
"Pleasure to be here, Headmistress." They released hands and she beckoned for him to follow her out of the hall through the back exit. Once they were out of the room she turned to face him again, looking almost... relieved.
"Malfoy, I trust your journey from France was a pleasant one?"
"Please, Professor, call me Draco." She seemed to understand the hidden meaning behind his request and merely nodded. "My journey could barely be counted as one. Portkey." He added with a chuckle, readjusting the coat slung neatly over his left forearm.
"Is your family adjusting well there?"
"As well as can be expected. Not many people seemed to even know a war was going on over here. Astounding, really, but it made the switch a lot smoother."
"I really do appreciate you coming back here, Draco," McGonagall said in a serious voice, causing him to lift a brow in mild surprise.
"Speaking of returns, were my eyes correct when they spotted Potter?"
"Yes." She answered simply, which only opened up room for more questions. Before he could ask she continued. "He's a teacher here, like you."
"A teacher? Potter could barely pay attention in class when he was a student." He meant each word but every syllable was laced with airy laughter, masking his genuine distaste.
"I know your past with Harry Potter is a complicated one, but I expect you both to behave professionally. This is no time for Hogwarts' teachers to be quarrelling." Her sharp tone was as sobering as it ever was, harsher and colder than ice. But she was right, of course.
"Yes, Professor." He nodded once, his right hand grasping the coat on his left forearm tensely. They stood in silence for a few moments- Draco still desperate for answers about Potter's unwelcome presence- before she spoke again.
"It is as bad as the papers say?"
"Worse." He swallowed, nails gripping the coat on his left arm, jaw set. "It's only a matter of time before it happens here."
"Are they that certain?"
"They can't see why Hogwarts would be an exception."
"Very well. Your office and your quarters are near the hospital wing. I trust you can find your way." She nodded as he gave a half bow and they left in opposite directions.

The population in the corridors had thinned out in the last 20 minutes and Draco was grateful for the calmer atmosphere.
How peculiar, he thought, that even though Hogwarts remained free of kidnappings, it too had become so wary. Fragments of fractions of conversations echoed in hushed tones off glistening walls, insipid and simple. Rumours running rampant without control, without sense, without fact. Perhaps that is why people find them so tantalizing. Pathetic.
The walls seemed to hum with a familiar energy, friendly and rhythmic, almost reaching out to him as he strode down corridor after corridor on his way to the hospital wing. A piece of folded parchment baring instructions was gripped in his left hand, the other absently rubbing his forearm through his neatly folded coat. Shining black shoes made sharp sounds against the stone floor, seeming to grow louder as less people wandered the halls. Eventually Draco found his new office and discovered his belongings, of course, had already arrived and were placed neatly about the room, clothes unpacked into drawers, his quill and inkwell atop the heavy-set mahogany desk. A door in the back of the room no doubt led to his private quarters and he caught himself longing to lie down and clear his head; organizing his living space would have to wait until tomorrow.

The sun hadn't risen yet but the gentle orange glow of dawn was beginning to seep into the darkened sky. Draco stayed rather still on his side, a mess of heavy blankets bunched on top of him as he watched the sun climb above the horizon, slightly blinding through a narrow parting in the curtains. He'd missed that English sunrise.
While France had been a beautiful place, truly suited to his refined tastes, it hadn't been right. It didn't feel like England. It didn't feel like Hogwarts. It didn't feel like home. Not that he'd ever tell anyone that.
He turned onto his back and pushed his hair out of his face, staring into the canopy of the four poster bed. The dust rose in swirls when he moved, dancing in the straining strands of sunlight that slipped between the curtains, seeming to glow against the darkness of his room. Draco exposed a single arm from beneath his blankets and lifted it to greet the floating particles; observing with keen interest how the air flow changed and carried the dust in between his fingertips.
His lidded eyes caught sight of his sleeve, torn and patched by layers of blood stains, old and new alike. Beneath the tattered cloth swam the blurry red mark, inert and unfeeling. Inert and unfeeling. Inert and unfeeling. Inert and unfeeling. The chorus began, overlapping and compulsive as he chanted silently those words he needed to remember. Inert and unfeeling.
He retracted his arm- his sin, his burden- and tore the blankets from his body, ready to set to work on making his office presentable.

Pencils and quills on proud display, papers stacked neatly on the desk. Ink wells carefully stored in impossibly deep drawers, his wand flicking skillfully between his fingers as he admired his work. The room was definitely more acceptable now with blatantly elegant decor touching every corner of the room. Vases, glass top tables, silver trim wherever you saw the colour green. Truly a Slytherin's paradise. Two chairs placed opposite his imposing desk ready for guests, a tea cart in the corner of the room. Hand crafted no doubt, intricate patterns carved into the wood paneling of the trolley. A cream coloured tea set sat on top, its delicate, wisping patterns an astounding shade of emerald that seemed to move as if alive. Perhaps they were.
With a flick of his wrist the trolley moved towards his desk and Draco sat down in silence, watching as a teacup and saucer glided smoothly to land in front of him on the wooden surface. Water. Black tea. 4 sugars; a nasty habit- his secret. Another gesture and the cup was painfully hot, ready to stir. His finger hovered above the cup, moving in tight but lazy circles as he urged the spoon to move. It obeyed. The sugar dissolved. The murky liquid cooled. A sip. A sigh.
Draco withdrew his pocketwatch and blankly stared at the numbers on the clock face as if he couldn't understand what they meant.
6:30 in the morning. Breakfast would be starting soon.
He took another sip of tea and despite its four cubes of sugar, it still tasted bitter. He finished the tea slowly and after a quick cleaning spell, left it clean and neatly placed once more on the tea cart.
He left the room and locked the door with his wand before tucking it away into his trouser pocket. Students he didn't recognize greeted him in the halls as 'Mister' and 'Sir', unwilling to call him 'professor' without knowing if it would be appropriate. He flashed them each a dazzling smile despite feeling the opposite as he walked towards the great hall for breakfast, his hand latched anxiously on his left forearm as usual. He looked where his hand rested and scowled at the all-too-obvious stitching he'd done to patch up the worn sleeve time and again, over and over. Inert and unfeeling. Perhaps no one would notice?

At each table there would have been no more than 5 students, some grouped, some alone. The warm fragrances of buttered toast, scrambled eggs and bacon filled the great hall, assorted muffin baskets placed almost decoratively amongst the steaming platters.
He found only 2 professors sitting at the teachers table, thankfully neither of them named 'Potter'. He didn't think he had the energy to deal with such a smug git so early in the day.
Draco took his seat and collected a muffin and a slice of quiche before pouring himself a half glass of orange juice. He swallowed a mouthful and grimaced, having forgotten he'd just drank hot tea. Unpleasant.
It didn't take long for more students to file into the room, some apparently needing to lean half asleep on their friends, others already filled with energy. It also didn't take long for more teachers turn up, one at a time, some carrying schedules, some wearing slippers. He sat with his arms crossed, his plate clean, his cup empty and he waited. 7 o'clock. 8 o'clock.
At 8:20 he saw him walk into the room, two young witches on his tail talking avidly about Merlin knows what. Even now he's still the fan favourite.
"Tch." Potter was dressed casually in a dark red shirt that seemed far too big for him; not that he was by any means still the scrawny teenage boy he once was. Those ridiculous round frames switched out for rectangular ones, much more suited to his face. Faded black and white sneakers and, my god, has he ever seen a comb in his life?
As they got closer Draco could hear them speaking.
"If you would just answer, Professor-!"
"Haigslea! Please-"
"Sorry!"
"Haigslea. It's eight in the morning. Go eat your breakfast. If you have relevant questions about my class, ask me in the evening- in my office- like everyone else. That goes for you as well, Castra." The girls looked let down but obeyed regardless, opting to sit together at the Hufflepuff table. Potter watched them leave, apparently relieved, and turned to continue his way towards the table. Before he'd made it to the podium he'd stopped walking, instead choosing to stare directly at Draco who stared back, face set, eyes cold. Potter's poker face was non-existent with that slack jaw and wide eyes. Idiot.
A calm grin and a nod of acknowledgment, then, obviously had Potter reeling. His mouth moved as if he was going to speak but, from this distance it'd be almost pointless. After mere seconds that felt like weeks, he finally broke eye contact and took his own seat, supposedly uninterested in eating anything.

HPOV

As soon as he'd stepped out of his office he'd found Haisglea and her Hufflepuff friend Castra waiting for him. He sighed inwardly and returned their words of greeting.
"How can I help today, girls."
"Mr. Potter, we were really hoping if you'd tell us more about why these new rules are being introduced. We know it's because of the disappearances at Durmstrang and Beaxbatons. but we want to know more!"
"I'm not saying anything until our next class, Castra, and by then a different teacher or student may have told you anything else you haven't heard yet. Why are you even asking me?"
"We figured you'd know, you're the Headmistress's favourite."
"Haigslea." Harry started to wonder if that wasn't the most often word he spoke every day anymore.
"It's true though, isn't it?" she laughed and elbowed Castra who yelped quietly in surprise. It was obvious who the ringleader was between these two.
"It is most certainly not true," he sighed and didn't bother to hide it as he walked through the doors to the great hall, the girls still in tow.
"Are you sure you won't tell us anything?"
"Yes. Definitely."
"Aw, if you would just answer, Professor-!"
"Haigslea! Please-"
"Sorry!"
"Haigslea. It's eight in the morning. Go eat your breakfast. If you have relevant questions about my class, ask me in the evening- in my office- like everyone else. That goes for you as well, Castra." With some frustrated grumbling the girls seemed defeated, finally, and they walked to the Hufflepuff table in a discontented silence.
"Why is it always me they pester." Harry spoke quietly to himself; not really asking, not really knowing. He glanced at the teacher's table for a spare seat when his eyes noticed a familiar shade of white. He stopped walking and focused, unable to confirm nor deny what- who- he saw.
Draco. Malfoy. What's a bloody Malfoy doing back here in Englan-... The teacher from overseas. Oh, no. Oh, why! The man nods and smirks, not harshly, not kindly. His hair is the same brilliant glow of white it always was, perhaps an inch or two longer now but no less immaculate. His dress was nothing short of flawless, smart and clean.
And probably hideously expensive.