A/N: For some random reason, I decided to repost this story. It's my first fic, and so far the only complete one, but I wanted to see if it got better results this go 'round, probably because I rather like this story. Go ahead. Call me biased.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his lovely little world belong to JK Rowling.

A frustrated groan echoed through the empty corridors of the third floor of Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy stood leaning his forehead to the cool glass panes of one of the many windows. He frowned at the rain that was sliding down the glass, turning the world beyond it into a blur of greens and grays. Draco's broomstick dangled loosely from his right hand; his left was drawing patterns in the fog left on the window by his breath.

It just wasn't fair. The first time all semester that he'd finally had the free time to escape from his students and from the heavy load of homework to be graded and it had to be the middle of a downpour. His hand tightened into a fist and he punched at the wall, cursing at the bolt of pain that traveled up through his arm.

Turning to leave, Draco brought his abused hand up to the feeble light to examine it more closely. Lightening flashed and Draco caught a glimpse of something out the corner of his eye. His injury all but forgotten, the blonde Head of Slytherin pressed his face against the glass, feeling ridiculously like a pathetic first-year. But there it was again, visible only when lightening tore across the stormy sky.

Draco held his breath and wiped the remaining mist off the window, waiting anxiously for a better view of ….of what? He didn't know but it felt like something he had to see. The lightening flashed again and Draco came to a decision before the light had even faded. Gripping his broom tightly, he ran down the corridors, down several flights of stairs and into the entrance hall almost before he realized it.

The man opened the huge door enough to slip through and paused for a moment under the protection of the building. The rain was thundering down, heavy enough to make sight near impossible except during those short flashes where lightening ripped the sky in two. His eyebrows came together in thought and Draco looked in the direction he knew the Quidditch pitch to be, not that he could actually see a single pole.

Normally, Draco Malfoy was not one to believe in fate or destiny, even if he did live in a world of magic. He thought a person controlled their own life and was responsible for their own actions. He knew he hadn't always felt that way but since his deflection to the so-called "light" side and the defeat of Voldemort only two years ago, he had changed his world view. He had even been granted a position at the school, that of potions professor, and tried to adjust to his new life as a colleague of people he had once thought himself to be better than.

Hermione Granger, now Hermione Weasley, taught Transfigurations following the appointment of McGonagall to Headmistress. Her husband Ron took over flying classes and Quidditch refereeing after the retirement of Madame Hooch, who had sustained a major injury during a fight with a Death Eater, paralyzing her right arm and causing blindness in her left eye. Neville Longbottom was even now being trained by Professor Sprout to take charge of Herbology while his fiancée, Luna Lovegood, taught Divination with the centaur Firenze. The great savior himself, Harry Potter, had even broken the one-year curse on DADA teaching position and was on his second year as possibly the most qualified teacher for the class. He was still someone Draco tried to avoid at all costs.

It was an odd assortment of teachers but not one parent had complained, nor was any likely to do so. It was the life they had made for themselves, the life he had made for himself. Destiny had done nothing for him, neither had fate. But he did know that something was pulling him towards the pitch. Draco took a deep breath and entered the downpour, breaking into a run after two steps.

By the time he made it to the stands, Draco was soaked through to the skin and was shivering with cold. He was close enough now to see what had caught his eye. Breathing hard, he looked up and almost choked on the last gulp of air. The so-called "boy who lived," the man who had defeated the Dark Lord and had become the most powerful wizard alive, was flying around the pitch, soaring though the air, pelted by raindrops and performing moves that were dangerous under good conditions and life-threatening under these. To top it all off, he was laughing like a first-year under a tickling charm.

Draco jumped as another bolt of lightening lit through the clouds and thunder crashed. Glaring at Potter, it was his fault Draco was out here after all, he took a in a mouthful of air and prepared to yell up at the fool. Before a word left his mouth however, said fool was standing in front of him, dismounting from his broom.

The potions instructor released the air in a huff and glowered down at the shorter man. Harry Potter ran a hand through his wet hair, flicking the dark strands from his face, before looking up at the older blonde. For a moment, the two stared at each other in a way reminiscent of their schooldays, rivalry in full swing.

Then Potter tossed him a grin and began to walk past the stunned professor. He stopped right next to him and, putting his hand on Draco's shoulder, said calmly "Quidditch pitch is all yours now, Malfoy. Careful though. It's a bit wet." The taller man turned and watched, speechless, as the other strode away, his laughter ringing out above the sounds of the pouring rain.

The rain was falling more softly and Draco realized he was still standing next to the stands. Shaking his head, he started toward the school and was nearly to his dungeon level rooms before a strange sensation took him. He stopped abruptly and examined his symptoms. His heart was pounding faster than normal, his stomach felt queasy, and his face felt hot, as though he'd been standing next to a warm fire for the past hour. A mental image of Potter popped into his head and he frowned, the look on his face sending a Hufflepuff second year scurrying away unnoticed by the preoccupied potions master.

The same Hufflepuff had reached the end of the corridor and was about to climb the stairs when a loud angry voice boomed around him. He yelped and tripped up the stairs, not even pausing to wonder why his teacher had yelled out "Bloody Gryffindor!"

A/N: I know its an older story, but let me know what you think about it anyway. Thanks, all!