[Harry]

Harry couldn't help but dwell on the fact of how ironic it was to be limping after sleeping in the same bed with Draco. His bump on his forehead and his ankle were both covered in bandages, reeking strongly of wormwood.

Just apparating seconds ago, after writing down his address on a slip of parchment at Draco's and receiving a very specific lecture on how to treat his wounds if they ever got out of hand from him, he nearly toppled over again as he landed on the grounds of the Ministry. Straightening his posture, he gingerly limped over to the lift.

Several people goggled at him as he stumbled unsteadily from the apparition point to the elevator that seemed so far away. The familiar feeling of everyone staring at his forehead felt extremely uncomfortable. Even though it wasn't because of his scar.

Finally, after twenty pairs of eyes staring at his bump for a very awkward twenty-second lift ride to the second floor, he arrived in front of the Auror's office.

"Good, Potter, you're early. Here's- Merlin's Beard!"

"Good morning, Auror Travailler," he said meekly to his shocked trainer.

"What the bloody hell happened to you? When you owled for a sick leave I thought you were avoiding another scheme, for Merlin's sake!"

Harry felt a twinge of guilt as he said, "Oh, I um, tripped and fell." Thank Merlin he wasn't at St. Mungo's, they would see through him in a blink of an eye.

"Goodness, Potter, if we were on the practical course I would've murdered you,"

No doubt, Harry thought.

"Right then. Never let a little of that bother you. You should know by now, we get blasted left and right," he eyed Harry up and down, from his forehead to ankle. "With this level of clumsiness, you remind me of an Auror here before," he said quietly, unlike his usual stern self.

A lump rose to Harry's throat as he knew he was talking about Tonks. "Bright witch, she was," he let out a sigh. "Never you mind. Auror duties, Potter," Travailler straightened his collar and wordlessly retrieved a huge stack of paperwork and loaded them onto Harry's desk with his wand.

"Work from today and yesterday. Potions. Your potions works were always unusual, Potter," his trainer said. "Acing the hard ones, failing the easy ones. What's the deal?"

Travailler didn't wait for him to answer. "Got to learn the Basics, Potter, really important. Great that you know Polyjuice and Living Death like the back of your hand, still need the foundation. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"I compiled all the old-but-gold stuff here," he continued, lifting up half the stack. "See... Doxycide, Cure for Boils, Skele-Gro... ah, here's an important one, Sleeping Draught... well, that's the only elementary one you passed with no problem... anyways, you'll need to know how to brew and use them. Basics like these are likely to pop up on your final Auror exam."

Harry made a mental note about the exams and also shivered at the mention of Skele-Gro. It was not pleasant.

"And here-" Travailler picked up the remaining of the stack of parchment. "The list of ingredients of the potions. They are the reasons behind the brews and usages, Potter. Now then," he dropped the whole load back onto his desk.

"Study hard, Potter. The potions room will be open after lunch. Practice in it and I'll come by to test you before you leave, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, Potter. I expect great things from you," he concluded, as he did every morning before they set off to work. Travailler settled over at his huge desk, poring over a detailed map of London, evidently working on a case.

Harry sank back to his seat in his tiny cubicle. It was way too early for this. He wondered how much work he would be having if he did come yesterday. Better get on with it, he thought. He didn't want to be held back again because his cauldron exploded. Also, he had dinner with Draco tonight.

He smiled at the thought, humming as he started flicking through a list of ingredients, his eyes settling on wormwood.

"For the love of Merlin, stop staring! He tripped and fell! I repeat, he tripped and fell!" Travailler's voice rang through the whole Auror's office. All the minor Aurors scurried, bowing their heads down, and pretended to work as Travailler was someone whom everyone feared.

That was one of the many reasons he didn't hate being stuck with him.

---

Harry sat on a small wooden chair in the potions room, brewing a cure for boils. There was only another trainee in the room, which Harry was grateful for. And Chris Paisible happened to be Harry's best mate at Auror training. What was unfortunate was that they equally sucked at potions.

"Ravenclaws are supposed to be smart," Harry smirked as Chris's mixture of Doxycide shot out of his cauldron and splashed all over him. They smartly sat a table apart before they started brewing anything, both knowing perfectly well of their strengths. Chris scowled as he muttered evanesco.

"Gryffindors are not supposed to be prats," he snapped.

It was nice to be with Chris. He never minded the Golden Boy frenzy and treated him the same way he treated everybody- cool, calm, and collected. Also, a little snarky.

Harry cracked a grin as he added the fourth measure of crushed fangs to his cauldron.

"Whatever happened to your forehead and ankle, though?"

Harry waved his wand and was pleased to find his cauldron was the right shade of murky green. He set the timer to half an hour and rose to tend to his other cauldron, which had been simmering steadily for an hour. "You heard Travailler," he said.

"We both know you're lying," Chris commented as a matter of factly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I knew you would say that. It's partly true anyway," he replied as he unscrewed the cap of Standard Ingredient. Instantly his nostrils were filled with the familiar smell of dried herbs that was also leaking from his forehead and ankle.

"I bet it's something embarrassing," Chris cackled as he dumped the ground streeler shells into his new batch of Doxycide brew. It was an extremely unnatural shade of glowing yellow, which Chris failed to notice.

"As a matter of fact, it is," Harry retorted, causing Chris's hand to shake violently of laughter. The jet of fire he meant to shoot under his cauldron missed by several inches, igniting a nearby table which he put out lazily.

Harry ignored the commotion and stirred anti-clockwise five times. Carefully, he pointed his wand at the mixture and flicked just a tiny bit, striving to angle the perfect five degrees. He let out a giant whoop of triumph as the cauldron appeared bright orange.

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes!" he cheered. Forgetfulness potion, success.

"We really shouldn't be celebrating over first-year potions," Chris commented as Harry danced around the room. "Oh, wait, I meant to ask- is it true? The Prophet? You're gay?"

Harry stopped mid-dance, watching his cure of boils bubble soundlessly in his other cauldron. "Ah, crap," he said as he threw down his arms. "Not you, too! I was already thoroughly harassed during lunch since Travailler wasn't there to shoo off those nasty gossipers," he sniffed. "Anyway, the statement's true, article's not. As always."

However, Chris seemed as if he couldn't care less. That was probably the truth anyways. "Nah, I just wanted to check if it was a Skeeter scheme again," he waved a hand lazily and sparks erupted from his cauldron. Harry grinned and resumed watching over his cure for boils' brew. Chris was never someone to dig around one's personal life.

Meanwhile, Chris's cauldron melted and his second attempt to make Doxycide flowed across the potions room, bubbling before vanishing into thin air.