Friendly Competition

[4] And So It Begins

Draco sat beside him at dinner the next night too.

"You know, I had the sixth years today," Draco said casually.

"Okay," Harry answered uninterestedly, stuffing more mashed potatoes in his mouth. He really didn't feel the need for conversation with Draco, and he had the feeling that the pompous prat was going to try to one-up his comment yesterday about them liking him.

"Yes. Funny, they didn't give me any trouble at all. One of the Gryffindors even told me I was cool at the end of the lesson."

Harry snorted. Fat fucking chance. That was a lie — had to be. But still, trying to call him on it wouldn't get him anywhere; the little shit would probably just dig his heels in. "Okay, great Mal— Draco. They like you too. They probably like everyone."

"They don't just like me too, they like me better."

Oh, Draco was really trying his grace, wasn't he? Did he want Harry to break their stupid fucking little truce and get them both fired? It would be his own fault, and Harry would tell him so.

"Okay, well all of my students like me. Most of yours probably just cower in fear."

"They do not." Draco sounded miffed. "I'm willing to bet all of my students like me better than they like you. I'm an excellent teacher. You're just a bumbling fool who got tired of chasing villains for too long."

Oh fuck off. He wasn't entirely wrong, but Harry wouldn't admit that over his dead body, and he didn't have to be so smug about it. (A small part of Harry noticed that Draco actually did not seem very smug at all, but a larger part of him did not care very much about listening to that part at the moment, thank you.)

"Excellent my arse," Harry muttered.

And then, more intelligible, "I'm also an excellent teacher, and I have experience. I was already teaching people Defence before we even left Hogwarts, plus I helped train new Aurors!"

Draco pressed his lips together in a disgruntled frown.

"Experience isn't everything. That doesn't mean I'm not good," he finally said. "I know some people think nobody can hold a candle to the legendary Harry Potter, but I did a very long and intensive Potions apprenticeship in France, and I'm good at what I do, thank you very much."

Harry scoffed as he took another bite of his potatoes, and pointedly ignored Draco's wrinkled nose as he talked with his mouth full, "Yeah, okay."

That didn't mean he was good with kids, though, or good at teaching, and that was even if Harry believed that he was so amazing at Potions to begin with. He believed McGonagall (Minerva, he really, really needed to start remembering to call her Minerva, or she would keep giving him that look) wouldn't hire someone utterly unqualified for the job, but the pickings could be slim sometimes, and that didn't mean he was anything special.

~*~

Harry's classes over the coming weeks went more smoothly, and he found that most of his students did indeed really like him, even once the awe of Harry Potter teaching them started to wear off and they saw that he was just another boring teacher.

They were hardly over a month into the term now, but he felt like he was getting to know them fairly well already. There were a lot of students to keep track of, but he had the general feel of each class and how to handle them, and also a newfound respect for all of his old teachers going through all of this every year.

The other thing he was still having to get used to was Hogwarts. In general.

He constantly went back and forth in his head about whether he had simply misremembered so many things with time, or whether it was fucking impossible for him to misremember this much about what had been his home for six years of his life — the routes and rules that had been ingrained into him from years of habit. He found himself relying on the Marauder's Map quite often for the first few weeks, having to discreetly step aside and hide in one of the many small alcoves behind a tapestry to take a quick glance at where the fuck he was supposed to be going. He was still having to look at it occasionally, and he'd fallen through that goddamn trick step twice now, because he was used to skipping the step two up from that. He was sure, he was sure of it. Right? Pretty sure, at least. Sometimes he wanted to ask Draco, but Draco never said anything about it or looked lost, so Harry kept his mouth shut and just kept wondering.