𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭 & 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 | drarry

7

Two weeks had passed since the start of term, and Draco had come to a realization that surprised him: he quite enjoyed teaching the first years.

They were eager, willing to listen, and, unlike the older students, they didn't seem to judge him solely by his last name. They looked up to him, perhaps even admired him, and it was a feeling that Draco found strangely fulfilling.

The fourth years remained a challenge, their resistance still simmering beneath every lesson, but the first years—there was something pure about their curiosity. They reminded him of the time before everything had become so complicated, before expectations and family legacies. And there was one student in particular who had caught his attention.

The boy's name was Mathias Fawley—a small, wiry Gryffindor with dark, unruly hair and wide eyes that were constantly filled with curiosity. He reminded Draco so much of Harry at that age—the same determination, the same stubbornness that bordered on rashness.

It was bloody hilarious, really, to see a bouncy mini-Harry all over again—this time, with Draco himself as a grown adult watching it unfold. Mathias had that same spark Harry had always had, the same reckless bravery, the same relentless determination. It was like staring back into the past, seeing a smaller, younger version of Harry—one that was just as stubborn, just as eager to prove himself, no matter the cost.

And in a strange way, it reminded Draco of why, all those years ago, he had wanted so badly to be Harry's friend during their first year. Harry had something about him—something magnetic, something that made people want to be near him. He was reckless, yes, but he was also courageous in a way that inspired others, even if Draco hadn't been able to admit it then. Mathias had that same quality—an innate desire to stand on his own two feet, to make his mark.

Draco found it ironic, really—how things had come full circle. How, back then, he had wanted Harry's friendship, only to find himself years later in the position of guiding someone who was so much like Harry had once been. He couldn't help but feel an odd sort of fondness for Mathias, a recognition of that unpolished courage, that stubbornness to keep going despite the odds. It was endearing in a way Draco couldn't fully articulate—perhaps because he understood it now in a way he hadn't before.

Draco had noticed the boy lingering after class one day, his eyes fixed on his cauldron, his brow furrowed in concentration as the other students filed out. Draco had stayed back, watching silently, and eventually, Mathias had looked up, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"Professor Malfoy?" he had said, his voice hesitant. "I—um, I think I messed up the potion. It doesn't look like everyone else's."

Harry always sucked at Potions too. At least until sixth year.

Draco had moved closer, looking into the cauldron. The liquid inside was an odd, murky green, the consistency all wrong. He could see where Mathias had gone wrong—he hadn't let the dragonfly thoraxes simmer long enough before adding the powdered silverweed.

"It's alright," Draco had said, his voice softer than usual. He picked up a stirrer, demonstrating the correct way to adjust the mixture, and Mathias had watched, his eyes wide and attentive.

The next day, Draco found Mathias waiting for him after class again, his face a mix of determination and nerves. He asked Draco about the properties of one of the ingredients they'd used, and Draco had answered, a sense of unexpected pride welling up as the boy nodded, absorbing his every word.

It became a pattern— Mathias lingering after lessons, asking questions, seeking guidance. And Draco found himself giving it, his patience growing as the days went on.

It was strange—being a mentor, having someone look up to him. He'd never thought of himself as someone who could guide others, not after everything he had done, not after all the mistakes he'd made. But Mathias seemed to look at him without judgment, his eyes full of respect, and Draco couldn't help but see a bit of himself in the boy. Not the arrogant, cruel side that he had once shown to the world, but the part of him that had once been eager to learn, desperate to prove himself.