________________________________________<br/><br/>When Harry finally got to seat himself for dinner, he did so with his heart in his throat. Harry had already been on edge at the prospect of facing the entire student body of Hogwarts at once; this, at least, he had been able to mentally prepare himself for. An introduction was inevitable, and Harry had, over the course of the last few weeks, come to terms with the fact that doing McGonagall this favor would require him settling back into the role of being a public feature.<br/>Harry, however, found that it was the well-meaning Arithmancy professor that had managed to spike Harry’s already looming anxiety to the brink of being unmanageable.<br/>Professor Maurice Culpepper had been hired to teach the course the year following the War, and, though the ageing professor thus would celebrate his first decade at Hogwarts, he had insisted beyond reasoning that Harry took his seat. It had made Harry’s stomach turn, knowing exactly which seat he was being offered – or forced into, rather.<br/>“Professor,” Harry muttered, marking his presence known as he edged into the heavy wooden chair, two seats from the center point of the high table. Seated immediately to Harry's left was Draco Malfoy, who could only have been sat at the Slytherin House chair for a week; the real reason Harry’s heart was so unexpectedly in his throat.<br/>Harry felt utterly unprepared for this position, both physically and socially. Malfoy had made it plenty clear that he had no interest in socializing with Harry, and though it had stung every time Malfoy had dismissed him, Harry had intended on respecting that decision. That was, however, made difficult as Harry found unwillingly forcing himself into the distance Malfoy so intently had created between them.<br/>Frazzled by the growing pressure to his chest, Harry barely looked at Malfoy, readjusting his robes as they got caught beneath him while seating himself.<br/>“Culpepper insisted,” he said, brushing a flat palm down the buttons of his robe. Even through the brief touch across his chest he felt his quickened heart rate, and he forced himself to take a steadied inhale. Only then did he turn to look at Malfoy, albeit the glance was brief. Malfoy, of all, must have known Harry wasn’t supposed to be here, and Harry didn’t want to witness how the inevitable disappointment appeared across Malfoy’s features. “Says he prefers the foot end of the table anyway, and I couldn’t talk him out of it.”