Archive of Our Own

Students were loud, they were noisy, and they didn’t know how to remain quiet, that wasn’t in their vocabulary. Harry knew that going into it, knew that being a professor meant that he’d have to be prepared for just about anything. For the most part it was easy. The younger students looked at him with stars in their eyes, but he knew from previous years that it would change as the year went by. After the first time he assigned them a three-foot essay the starry eyes would turn bitter and resigned and they would treat him like they treated every other professor.

Only not this time.

This year was different. This year was filled with buzzing chatter that centered around a new professor. Sure, Harry still got the occasional starry eyed first year, but it was nothing compared to the previous years. Which was fine—great even. He didn’t want the unneeded attention.

The usual chatter that filled his classroom was ten times worse. Harry allowed his students the chance to mingle as long as they were getting work done. He didn’t care what they did as long as they were still being productive.

“Enough,” Harry yelled, pleased when the noise came to a sudden stop. “What is with all of you today? No one is focusing, no one is working on their charts, no one is trying to divine, no one is reading tea leaves. I’m seeing nothing but moving mouths and silly giggles. I haven’t had a single person fake a prophecy all week. What gives?”

A lot of looks were traded, some slouched in their seats and a few look embarrassed.

“Sir?” One of his students, Craft, said as she raised a hand in the air. “If I may, we have Defense Against the Dark Arts after this and we’re all a bit excited.”

“Ah,” Harry nodded, everything finally clicking into place. “And what is on the schedule today?”

“Professor Malfoy said we’ll be learning the basics on how to cast a Patronus!”

That would do it.

Harry hadn’t had the opportunity to watch Malfoy in action, not that he made it a habit to sit in on other professors when they worked, but it happened from time to time. It never bothered him when Minerva would sit in on his lessons despite the fact that he knew she didn’t believe a word of Divination.

When Malfoy joined the staff, Harry hadn’t been pleased. He had assumed that they would bicker and fight and not agree on anything, and in the beginning it was like that. Harry thought that Malfoy’s approach to Defense Against the Dark Arts was counterproductive, but he was proven wrong as the results matched the effort. Malfoy had the best scores of the school. Not a single student was behind, no scores below Acceptable and the School Board of Governors were smitten with Malfoy.

Which amused him because the School Board of Governors hated Harry. Probably had something to do with him announcing on the first day of school that it didn’t matter to him if they passed or failed, that he didn’t even care if they believed in Divination because government sanctioned schooling was meaningless.

Can’t imagine why that would have bothered them.

Harry checked the time as he weighed his options. He didn’t think Malfoy would be too upset to have an audience but then again, the man was so damn prickly at times that he honestly didn’t know what the reception would be.

But as always, Harry didn’t care. He lived to make Malfoy miserable.

“I’d hate to delay you then,” Harry said, waving his wand and allowing the candles to flare brighter and all of the unused equipment to be returned to their proper place. “Class is dismissed—”

Cheers drowned him out until he barred the exit with a floating chair.

“And in gratitude for allowing you to leave early, I expect a one-foot essay on Cartomancy and how to spot fraud by counting cards.”

The parting groans were music to his ears. He honestly loved dampening their spirits. Who knew he’d have channeled Snape as a teacher. Harry waited just a few minutes past the time their class would have started before he made his way to Malfoy’s classroom. Unfortunately, the door was shut, and he gently pushed it open, hoping that no one noticed him.

His worries were for nothing because the entire class was absorbed in every word that Malfoy said.

“—robably have heard that Dark Wizards can’t perform a Patronus. Well, I’m here to tell you that it’s not true.”

Harry tilted his head curiously. He had heard from Remus and several texts on the subject that said the same thing. He had known that it was more complicated than the books made it out to be because Snape had been able to perform a Patronus and he had arguably been a Dark Wizard. Then again, he didn’t know if other Death Eaters had been able to perform a Patronus or not.

“Spells are spells. Dark or Light doesn’t matter. Any one of you could perform Dark Magic if you know the theory behind the spell and practice enough. Same thing with a Patronus. There is nothing stopping anyone from performing any bit of Magic that they want to.”

“But what about the law?” a Gryffindor—one that didn’t take Divination and therefore Harry couldn’t place who they were—asked without raising their hand.

Malfoy laughed, head shaking and lips twitching. “The law only applies when you get caught.”

Harry squinted. That was a stance that Ron—Department Head for the MLE—would not agree with at all.

“Look,” Malfoy began, folding his hands in front of him. “I’m not here to preach ethics. Adults like to lecture the youth to the point that it’s condescending. We all know right from wrong. You’re going to do whatever it is that you want to do, and no one is going to change your mind. I understand that. You don’t need someone twenty years older than you preaching about the morality of the world. I am not your parent, and to that extent, even they don’t have the final say on what you choose to do.

“I don’t care what you do outside of these walls. If you want to break the law, nothing I say will stop you. If you want to perform Dark Magic, nothing I say is going to stop you. If you want to become a Dark Wizard, nothing I say is going to stop you. I’m not here for that. I’m not here to beg you to rethink life decisions. I’m not here to convince you of anything. My job is teach you Defense Against the Dark Arts. And to properly do that, you have to understand just what Dark Magic is. Because you can not defend against what you don’t understand.”

Harry sat up straighter, intrigued. In theory, Malfoy was half right. Harry had never learned a single thing about Dark Magic and yet he still excelled at defending against it. If one practiced the spells, it didn’t matter if they understood the Magic behind it. But at the same time, someone had to have studied Dark Magic to even have ever come up with a defense in the first place.

“Sir?” Craft held up her hand, politely waiting for Malfoy to give her the okay to talk. “Can you expound on that more? Are you saying that you’re going to teach us Dark Magic?”

Malfoy moved backward until he was able to sit on top his desk, legs almost reaching the floor.

“To properly defend against the Dark Arts, you must understand the theory behind them.”

Harry wasn’t so sure that was right. That had been one of the things that he never agreed with when it came to their arguments.

“If I were to ask you, Craft, to name me a Dark spell that lights things on fire, what comes to mind.”

There was a moment of silence as Craft looked around the room, hoping someone else might have the answer that she clearly didn’t know. Not that he blamed her, the class was full of fourth years.

“Fiendfyre,” Harry said, lips curving when Malfoy’s eyes widened on him, and the class turned their heads to see him.

“And what makes it so dangerous, Professor Potter?”

“It can’t be put out once ignited.”

A few murmurs and quiet whispers broke out.

“That’s what they tell you,” Malfoy said with a little shake of his head. “However, it’s not true.”

Harry’s brows rose. That was news to him. “I didn’t realize there was a counter-spell.”

“Technically, there’s not.”

“I’m not following.”

Malfoy twirled his wand through his fingers as he watched Harry with a strange little smile, one that he wished wasn’t directed at him.

“That’s why understanding the mechanics of a spell, whether Dark Magic or not, matters. If I were to curse you with a spell twice, one time silently and one time out loud, which one is easier for you to defend against?”

“Obviously the second one.”

“Exactly,” Malfoy agreed with a nod. “Because you can hear the spell and know what to prepare for. Fiendfyre is similar. Without knowing the mechanics behind the spell, people think that you can’t put it out. But answer me this, Professor Potter, if I were to tell you that to properly cast the spell one has to give blood to it, does it change your opinion?”

Give blood? Harry’s mind flashed back to when he had been sixteen and Dumbledore had to give blood to enter the cave. If Fiendfyre required blood to work, then instead of countering the fire, all he’d have to do is—

“Stop the bleeding,” Harry said, huffing as he realized that Malfoy was right. That changed everything. “If I cut off the offer then the spell is unstable.”

“Ten points to Gryffindor,” Malfoy teased, smiling when the class laughed. Harry wished that his own lips wouldn’t smile on reflex. “An unstable spell will eventually go out on its own. Whether there are casualties or not when it happens, I can’t for certain say.”

One of the only times he had seen Fiendfyre had been in the Room of Requirement, and he couldn’t remember if Crabbe had put blood into the spell or not. If he hadn’t, then it was an unstable spell and would have gone out eventually. He wondered if that was why the Room of Requirement still worked.

“That is just one example of the many upon many Dark spells that can be defended against if you understand the mechanics behind it. Some people think that if you redact the Dark Arts out of the conversation then there never needs to be a defense against it in the first place. I am here to tell you how stupid that is and it is a disservice to your intelligence. You can’t just shelter your way through life. The Dark Arts exist. Dark Magic exists. Dark Wizards exist. The ethics behind it do not matter. The why and the reasons for someone performing Dark Magic does not matter. I’m not here to persuade you to do anything. I’m here to teach you how to defend against the Dark Arts. To do that, you have to understand the mechanics behind them in the first place.

“Otherwise, you end up trying to put out Fiendfyre with water and looking like a fool when it doesn’t work.”

Intrigue had long ago left Harry and all that remained was him being impressed. The best part of his job was teaching others, getting a sense of accomplishment when a student finally understood a concept or theory. But he also liked to be on the other side of it too, liked learning something new. He might not have liked Malfoy becoming the Defense of the Dark Arts professor in the beginning, but it was obvious that Minerva had made the right decision.

The next generation were in the right hands, even if those hands were Malfoy’s.

“Which is why it’s laughable when people pretend that spells have a morality to them that only allows a certain set of people with a strict criteria to be able to perform them. Again, spells are spells. Anyone can perform them with enough practice. Dark Wizards can perform a Patronus just as much as a Light Wizard. There is nothing stopping any of you from creating a Patronus. I believe in each and every one of you, or I wouldn’t be up here.”

Buzzing excitement broke out, whispers getting louder, and their excitement was palpable and contagious. Malfoy knew how to motivate his students, and it was no wonder that no one was left behind, that they all passed. Harry wished that there had been more professors like Malfoy when they were kids.

“Now, don’t get your hopes up,” Malfoy warned, Magic sparking from his fingers as he held up a hand. “None of you will be performing a Patronus today, your wands will not be used.”

A round of boos, and wasn’t that familiar? That was a daily occurrence in Harry’s classroom.

“Don’t be like that. You all know the rules of my classroom. What are they?” Malfoy paused, gesturing the class to say them with him. “Research, practice and theory come before any spell. I’m going to teach you about the function, history and the creation of the spell first and then you will learn the mechanics behind it. Then and only then will you have enough knowledge to perform a Patronus.”

That was a true professor. Harry wanted to dislike Malfoy, and sometimes when they bickered and the jabs hit a little too close to home, he did dislike him, but Malfoy made it difficult to hold a grudge when he was so good at his job. Harry liked the confidence that oozed out of Malfoy, how easily he could capture the attention of a room full of teenagers that sucked at concentrating.

“To first understand why the Patronus was created, you must understand Dementors. Can anyone tell me what a Dementor is?”

Several hands shot in the air and part of Harry was a little envious. Hardly anyone ever wanted to answer his questions.

“Archer, go ahead.”

“Dementors are wraith like creatures that feed on happiness.”

Malfoy closed one eye as he tossed his wand from hand to hand. “Sort of. I commend your insight, so I’ll still grant Slytherin ten points. Can anyone else offer any input?”

“But, sir,” Craft answered after Malfoy gestured for her to answer. “Dementors do take away happiness.”

“Ah, there it is,” Malfoy agreed, much to the confusion of the students around them. “They take happiness, but they don’t feed on it. Do you know what they do feed on?”

“Souls!” Someone in the back yelled. “They eat souls.”

“Ten points to Gryffindor. What else do they feed on?”

Silence. Heads turned as whispers broke out and the class as a collective tried to come together to get an answer.

“Dementors—” Malfoy began, feet swinging back and forth. “—take happiness, they steal any positive emotion from you that they can, but they don’t feed on that happiness. They take souls and feed on them, yes, but what Dementors truly thrive on is the despair that is left behind when the soul and that happiness is gone.”

That went against everything Harry had ever been told regarding Dementors.

“Where does that knowledge come from?” Harry asked, unable to curb his curiosity. He didn’t think that Malfoy was wrong necessarily, it just wasn’t something he had ever heard before. Remus, when teaching him the Patronus Charm had said the exact opposite of that.

“It’s a common misconception,” Malfoy explained, the corner of one lip curling upward. “Dementors are the horror stories that parents tell their children. It’s a threat of what could happen to them if they don’t follow the rules. The Ministry feared Dementors and with good reason. There is only one charm, one spell, one method to delay—not get rid of—delay a Dementor, and that is the Patronus Charm. Dementors cannot die, they do not age and they can procreate. A Patronus Charm is a delaying tactic that allows the caster a chance to flee.

“With that being said, if you can’t kill a Dementor and can only delay it, can someone tell me why it’s a mistake that the Ministry attempts to tie them to Azkaban year after year?”

“If they can procreate but not die, then their numbers will continue to grow beyond what the Ministry can handle.”

“What else?”

“They’re angry,” a student said. “They’ve been known to break out several times and it never ends well.”

“What else?”

“They have the will to think for themselves,” Harry said when the class went quiet. “The Ministry assumes that they are starving them enough that they won’t leave, but if what you say is true regarding what feeds them, then they aren’t starving at all. They are thriving. The fact that they can’t die but can continue to procreate means that statistically there’s no way the Ministry has them all contained. They are angry and easily susceptible to Dark Wizards with enough power to entice them to do their bidding.”

Malfoy locked eyes with him and there was so much intelligence reflected there that it had Harry breathless.

“Very good.”

Harry jolted at the praise, horrified that in unlocked something he had never known about himself, and he hated that he could feel his cheeks pinking up, but what he hated the most was the way that Malfoy’s eyes crinkled at the sight.

“When discussing Dementors—I’ve said this twice, but I need you all to understand how serious I am—you cannot win against them. You can only flee. Ego might make you think that just because you master an exceedingly difficult spell means that you can go wand to wand with a Dementor and that is just not the case. Dementors have always been a flee on sight regardless of the type of Wizard you are. Dark or Light doesn’t matter. Dementors see humans as food and don’t care who they come across. When casting a Patronus, please realize that your next move needs to be getting the hell out of there. There is no shame in running away from a Dementor, only a fool would stay. A fool to match the idiot who thinks you can put out a Fiendfyre with a bucket of water.”

Harry laughed along with the rest of class. He was impressed with the insight that Malfoy had, and he wanted to delve deeper into it, wanted to figure out where Malfoy got all of his knowledge from. Wanted to dig into just who Malfoy was.

Harry wanted to know Malfoy on a deeper level.

“If you were to believe the misconceptions and buy into the idea that Dementors feed on happiness, can you spot the biggest flaw of the Patronus Charm?”

Harry closed his eyes, wanting to smack himself in the face. Of course. Why had he never stopped to question that? Further proved that just because you can perform a spell doesn’t mean that you understand it. He wondered how many other instances there were. How many things he thought he understood when it came to Defense Against the Dark Arts that he didn’t fully grasp.

“It's happiness personified,” Malfoy continued, answering his own question. “Why in Merlin’s name would anyone summon a spell filled with happiness and pure emotion if that was exactly what the Dementors were after in the first place? Why would you offer them more food so willingly? It makes no sense, but that happens a lot when Light Wizards want to redact anything relating to Dark Magic out of defending against the Dark Arts. You get a lot incorrect theories and stances that can only be proven wrong by someone who understands the Dark Arts and what goes into Dark Magic.

“By that point, no Light Wizard wants to hear anything from them. Which is exactly what they want. Dark Wizards are banking on their opponents being naïve enough to have never looked deeper than the censored books that the Ministry and Hogwarts want to provide. If you do not understand the theory behind the Dark Arts then you are doomed to only ever be half arsed at defending against it.”

Part of him wanted to clap. Malfoy was right and he wondered what his younger self would have thought about that. Not just because it was Malfoy, but because he wouldn’t have wanted to learn the theories behind the Dark Arts at all. A younger Harry would have scoffed and started an argument, would have chosen to remain ignorant instead of learning the truth. There was something to be said about the ego of Light Wizards.

Malfoy was right. Dark Wizards did rely on the naivety and ignorance of Light Wizards. They were half arsed at defending against it because they thought themselves better, thought themselves above those that used Dark spells. That would be their downfall. He wondered how much could have gone differently if Light Wizards changed their approach when it came to tackling Dark Wizards and the Dark Arts in general.

There was so much to learn, and Harry couldn’t wait to figure it all out.

“We’re almost done with today’s lesson—” groans of disappointment filled the air and Harry was definitely envious. Most students wanted to get out of the Divination tower as soon as they could. Honestly, Divination was so misunderstood. If people would just open their minds a bit they would see all of the potential just waiting for them.

“—the last thing I will impart on you will also be your homework. So listen up.”

Harry stood up straighter, a little chagrined to realize that he had been mimicking the students as they did it too. Showed how good of a teacher Malfoy really was.

“Dementors feed off of anguish, negativity, and despair by suppressing all of your hope and happiness. Once that’s been taken, you are the meal they will feast on. The Patronus Charm works so well because it is the embodiment of happiness. When you cast a Patronus Charm, your happiness takes on the shape of an animal that is tied to the very soul that a Dementor would love to steal. When casting the spell, some people think that it’s the spell doing it, that it’s the Patronus animal scaring off the Dementor. That’s not true.

“It’s your happiness that’s driving the Dementor away. It’s your hope that stands in the way of you and a Dementor’s Kiss. It’s you. So, when casting a Patronus Charm you aren’t just saying a spell and hoping it’ll work. You have to conjure that hope, that happiness and the will to survive enough to flee. You have to bring forth every ounce of hope inside of you that you can. You have to embody every drop of happiness that you’ve ever possessed and throw it right back at them. They can’t get your despair if your hope is stronger. They can’t feed on your anguish if your happiness is louder. You are the defense, you are the spell, you are the only thing that can make it work.”

This time, Harry did clap. It was just him at first but soon the other students clapped too, and Malfoy actually blushed—cheeks bright and warm.

“But how do we do that?” Craft asked once Malfoy shushed the class, face still pink.

“That’s your homework,” Malfoy said, grinning when the class groaned. “You have to figure out what works for you. Some people use a memory, just one lone memory that is powerful enough to work. But not everyone can do that. I know I struggled with it myself when I was learning. I didn’t have one powerful big memory that was strong enough. And that’s okay. Some of you have lives that aren’t like your friends. Some of you don’t have the welcoming or understanding families that would make powerful memories a frequent occurrence. That’s okay. You don’t need to have one memory if you can find several of them.

“Combine them all. If you struggle with that then lessen your standards and settle for just fond memories. I don’t care if you combine a million small memories that just made you smile. It doesn’t matter how you find the happiness as long as you find it. It doesn’t matter how long it takes you, it doesn’t matter how many memories you use. None of that defines you or the spell. The memories themselves don’t even matter. Because when your Patronus charges a Dementor, they aren’t flinging your memory at them, they are flinging the hope and the happiness. The memories just serve as a reminder for what that happiness feels like. If you can summon happiness without a memory then go for it. I can’t tell you what memory to use or even how to go about it because it varies from person to person. Only you will know what works for you. That is your homework. Reflection. Study yourself and only then can we move on to the next step.” 

Malfoy finished right as a bell rang indicating the lesson was over and lunch had started. A lot of students hung back, eying Malfoy with awe and determination—something Harry could understand, he was feeling that too.

It wasn’t until the last student left, shutting the door behind them that Malfoy looked at Harry expectantly.

“Well,” Malfoy drawled, one brow arching. “Are you here to debate over my teaching practices again.”

Harry withheld a wince. It had been hard coming to grips with the changes Malfoy brought the castle and he had been an arse about it.

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head as he moved forward until they were only a foot or two apart. “When Craft said what you were going to be teaching them today, I knew I wanted to sit in and see it for myself.”

“And?” Malfoy waved an impatient hand. “Did it live up to your expectations?”

“Did more than that,” Harry admitted. “You are a really good teacher, Professor Malfoy.”

Malfoy’s cheeks pinked up again and he found it endearing. There was a lot to Malfoy that Harry found endearing.

“Not that I needed your approval but thank you.”

Harry rolled his eyes. The damn prick didn’t know how to be gracious at all.

“I wish we had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher like you when we were in school.”

“Would you have been open to it?” Malfoy asked curiously, head tilted. “Or would you have argued with them as you did me when I arrived? Or with Snape when he taught us sixth year?”

He wasn’t able to withhold the wince this time. He wasn’t ignorant enough to not realize that the issue had never been the teaching. His issue had been the professor, both times. Perhaps he let his judgment get clouded by grudges and animosity.

“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “I had anger issues back then.”

“Had,” Malfoy said slowly, lips quirked teasingly. “Not so sure it’s in the past.”

Fair, but he was a lot better at handling it now then he had been as an angry teenager with far too much angst to fit into his body.

“Life is all about learning and growing,” Harry shrugged. “I’m better now than I was before and in the future I’ll be better then than I am now.”

“How wise of you.”

“No need to act surprised.”

“But that’s the thing” Malfoy whispered. “You always manage to surprise me. Every single time.”

“It’s a gift.”

Malfoy shook his head minutely, lips still quirked. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You should, I say a lot of things that people often overlook.”

“Like what?”

“Everything,” Harry said, frowning a bit. “They look at me and wonder where all my potential went. Minerva tries not to show it, but I can tell that she thinks that it’s a waste for me to teach Divination. No one gets it, no one ever understands.”

No one. Ron tried to understand, would ask him questions but he could tell that Ron didn’t get it. Hermione absolutely didn’t get it, and she gave him similar looks as Minerva did. His best friends thought he was wasting his potential too, and it bothered him.

When Malfoy sat up straighter, legs stilling, Harry took notice of his serious expression.

“Your whole life was planned out the moment the Dark Lord targeted you. Whether intentional or not, the Wizarding world decided for you that you were the one who was going to have to take care of the Dark Lord should he ever come back. I’ve heard the stories and the whispers. A prophecy made about a child who would one day rival the Dark Lord.

“Only you never got to decide anything, it was chosen for you. To me, it makes sense that you sought out Divination. It was probably in an attempt to understand it better. To see if it really had been a destined fate that was unavoidable or if there was any stock in such things as prophecies to begin with.”

Harry had stopped breathing in the beginning, and he had to force himself to inhale. That was it. That was mostly why he chose to further a career in Divination—to understand why it had to be him. Why was he forced to endure everything that he went through? Why couldn’t someone else get rid of Voldemort? Why not someone more experienced or at the very least someone of age and not in bloody school? Why did the entire Wizarding world allow a child to be their salvation and sacrifice at the same time?

It wasn’t right.

“You’re right,” Harry said with a small nod, warmth filling him at the knowledge that someone understood. “And do you know what I discovered?”

“Tell me.”

Malfoy genuinely looked interested to hear what he had to say. Harry knew that most people thought that Divination was a load of hogwash, that they didn’t believe a word he had to say on the subject and just humored him by listening. As if that was enough. Harry didn’t just want to be listened to, he wanted to be heard and the distinction mattered.

“There are hundreds upon hundreds of different forms of Divination. Cartomancy—cards, Astrology—stars, Arithomancy—numbers, Hydromancy—water, Tasseomancy—tea leaves, Pyromancy—fire, Umbramancy—shadows. Scrying—whether it be smoke, a crystal ball or a pendulum and so much more. There are million different ways of divining the future and every single fucking one of them boils down to one thing. Do you know what that is?”

When Malfoy shook his head, Harry continued, unsurprised.

“Choice. Each and every time. I could use Osteomancy, the act of divining through bones. Tears, lines and fractures they all mean something, say something and show something. It can show me the future in that moment, a glimpse of a wave only for—”

“I’m sorry, a wave?” Malfoy interrupted, eyes and face showing confusion.

“The future is a wave, and waves are constantly moving. Only it’s not water pushing the future, it’s choice. Everything comes back to choice. For example, the bones. A fracture can paint me a story, one that could come true. Say I chose to divine about you—I wanted to know if I could avoid you for the entire day. I took those bones and watched as fissures and tears began to paint that picture, the one I was looking for. It showed me that yes, we’d unfortunately meet at breakfast in the Great Hall. Only, I do it again five minutes later and the picture has been redrawn already and now I meet you in the hallway at lunch. Because you changed your mind. Instead of going to the Great Hall for breakfast you chose to eat in your quarters.

“Any decision made is now a decision of the past. Meaning once you changed your mind, that future, the one I just saw is no longer viable. It can’t be changed because you can’t change a past decision that you never made; you can only change the future. But as with a wave, I can’t pinpoint a specific drop of water, I can’t find the drop once it’s splashed. A decision is but a drop of water. Say I predicted that we would cross paths at some point in the day and I prepare for it. Only it’s now nightfall and I didn’t see you once. What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t account for me,” Malfoy said, lips pursed slightly. “The future written in the fractures was true in that moment, wasn’t it? We were going to meet, weren’t we? But I did something, I told Minerva I was sick and would need someone to take over my classes.”

“Exactly,” Harry said, a little proud that someone was finally getting it. “The future can always be predicted but there’s no saying that by the time the event arrives, it hasn’t already been changed. The thing is, I could have taken your decisions into account. Some people are predictable, they are creatures of habit. You can easily predict any and all decisions they might make, and it narrows the future down considerably and if you can truly understand the subject matter that future might only ever have one outcome, just one and those are the only true prophecies.”

“But what are the odds that you can even narrow it down to one outcome?”

“Nearly impossible.”

“But,” Malfoy paused to bite his lip. “Then I don’t understand how divining helps if it’s that hard to find the drop of water in a wave.”

Fondness filled him at the use of his analogies being used back on him. Malfoy wasn’t just listening to him, but hearing him too, and it had Harry’s heart racing.

“Choices,” Harry said, smiling softly when grey eyes filled with understanding. “Divination shows us not only the future but all of the decisions that we can make to change it. Reminds us that nothing is ever set in stone, that the future can change at any given moment and all it takes is one simple choice.”

The prophecy hadn’t been real—at least until Harry let it be true. Not only had he not been named during it, but it had never been about him at all. The prophecy had been made for Voldemort. It was his choices not Harry’s that changed the future. When that was made clear, it was obvious that he had been deceived. Harry didn’t have to be the one to get rid of him. Anyone could have. Because with each choice Voldemort made he had changed the future. A future that was so far removed from the original prophecy that it was lost in the wave, there was no getting it back—that drop of water was gone. Harry could have chosen to leave, call in sick like Malfoy and created a new future, one that hadn’t been predicted because it wasn’t about Voldemort. That future was Harry’s choices. A future that Harry ended up proving Dumbledore right by choosing to fight Voldemort.

Harry’s future didn’t have to be the one in the prophecy, he could have said no. Except it did come true, and he only had himself to blame. It came true because he let himself believe that it was true. He chose to fight. It was his decision, whether guided to or not, it his choice. Trelawney made a horrible prophecy, a false one, and if Harry had known more about the subject he’d have realized that it was false, that it didn’t have to come true.

The future was made up of a million choices and all it takes is just one to change it.

“You divine to see your choices,” Malfoy whispered, voice a little awed. “There are those out there who want to be the next biggest Seer, the one to give the best prophecy of our time but not you.”

Harry snorted. Him a Seer? “No, I don’t want that. I don’t divine to change the future, I don’t even divine to predict it. I divine so that I know what my choices are. I want to know all available options at any given time.”

“Because yours had been taken away.”

“Yes,” Harry hissed. “Everything was presented to me as a fact, as the only way forward but they were lies. I had options, I had choices that I could have used if I had just been given the chance.”

That was the crux of it all. It might not have even changed anything, Harry still might have chosen to fight Voldemort, but given other options it could have changed things. It could have changed everything.

Only he’d never know because the past can’t be predicted.

“I like that,” Malfoy said, eyes bright. “I like that Divination doesn’t have to be about changing something that you might not even be able to. I like that you can use it to see your options. Proves that the future isn’t destined to come true, that fate is just a fancy word that has no bearing on anyone. The future is what you make it, isn’t it? It’s what you choose to do that defines your future.”

Harry blinked rapidly, heart beating faster. No one had ever gleaned so much from him before. He was used to being humored or outright ignored or even scoffed at. People tended to see Divination as fraud, something faked that had nothing of substance to it. There was substance to it. Prophecies existed, premonitions were real, scrying worked, divining was a legitimate form of predicting the future. All of them were real, but that didn’t mean that the future hadn’t already changed by the time you get to it.

That was the beauty of it. That was why Harry loved Divination so much. Divination showed him all of the ways something might come true but at the same time showed him that it didn’t have to. He could make a single decision and change it all.

Waves settle and so too will the future. It’ll become the present as the drops of water blend into the ocean.

“I could kiss you for that,” Harry blurted, feeling seen for the first time since he decided to pursue Divination.

Malfoy’s eyes brightened before crinkling at the corners. “It’s funny that you say that, because I wanted to ask you to divine something for me.”

“Oh?” Harry arched his brows. The only time someone had said something similar it had been a joke, only Harry had been the only one to not laugh.

“Can you scry for me? Can you tell me what the chances are of the Divination Professor agreeing to go on a date with me?”

A beat of silence as his heart skipped several beats and his face went hotter than it had in a long time.

“Depends,” Harry breathed, taking a step closer until Malfoy’s legs were on either side of him. “Are you going to call in sick?”

Malfoy laughed, eyes so bright and so damn beautiful. “I’ll be there fifteen minutes early.”

When Malfoy pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, Harry nodded over and over again. “Yes, please. I’d love to go out with you.”

Harry hadn’t predicted his future, never bothered to see what his day would have been like, and he was glad for it. If he had known that this would be the outcome, he might have made the wrong decision. He might have chosen to skip the Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson and chose to see Malfoy in the Great Hall instead. There was so much uncertainty to divining the future and he was grateful to have lived in the present instead.

There would be times when he would divine, would panic over where to take Malfoy on a date and need the comfort of what Divination could bring. But right now wasn’t that. Right now was letting himself be welcomed by strong arms and an even stronger embrace as gentle lips pressed gentler kisses to his face before finally capturing his lips in a breathtaking kiss.

There would be many times for the future going forward but Harry was going to live in the present now.

Harry was late, and it was entirely Draco’s fault. He had spent the night in Draco’s quarters instead of his own, something he did so often that he wondered if they should just ask Minerva for quarters designed for two. That brought a whole round of nerves that weren’t welcome, not when he had a day full of intense lessons planned out. Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe tomorrow he could bring it up to Draco. Harry could try scrying at lunch to see all of his options, see all of the outcomes, but that would mean skipping out on their daily lunch dates where they pretended that it wasn’t going to end in a heavy make out session like it did every single time.

“Settle down,” Harry yelled before the door was completely open. “Yes, I am late. No, I won’t be providing an excuse. I’m allowed to be late, you’re not, life is unfair—might as well get used to it now.”

Someone booed him and it had him laughing so hard he almost tripped over his foot. Merlin, he loved his job.

“Today,” Harry began, standing in the front of the class as he summoned a slew of crystal balls. “We will be scrying for your futures. I want all of you to try and see the outcome of your upcoming O.W.L examinations.”

Another boo. It wasn’t until he truly looked around the room in an attempt to gauge the rest of their reactions that he realized he had a different kind of audience in the back of the class.

Draco winked at him from an uncomfortable looking bean bag that Harry only kept to remember how dreadful Trelawney’s classes had been. On a floating table next to Draco was a set of books on Divination and a parchment and quill prepared to take notes.

A feeling that he wasn’t ready to name filled him and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed to not march over there and snog Draco breathless. He could tell by another wink directed at him that Draco knew anyway.

Screw scrying, Harry was going to ask Draco to move in with him the moment the class was over.

He’d save the crystal ball for another question, years later, when he didn’t even need it to know that Draco would say yes.

The future was great, but so was the present and that was Harry’s favorite place to be.

-fin-