He turned when he stepped outside and Apparated to his spot at the front gates. He had never gotten comfortable walking blind into a floo, so he always had to arrive early to walk across the grounds. It took several minutes to make his way to the front entrance. Three years had gone by, and he still couldn't believe his luck. The laws were repealed, his money restored to him and reputation, and Professor McGonagall had summoned him to Hogwarts to finish his NEWTs. She had the testers modify the exams to Braille, and he passed them all orally or by casting the spells.
                              
Much to his surprise, she offered him an assistant professor post under Slughorn. Harry had to convince him to try, as he knew it would take a lot of work. He apprenticed under Slughorn for a full year, learning how to judge potions by smell, taste and touch alone. It was trying, but his nose was finely tuned to what potions should be. After a year of understudying, he started teaching first and second years Potions, and Horace taught the ones higher. This year he also was teaching third and fourth years.
                              
Draco couldn't thank the headmistress or Slughorn enough for the chance, and so far, it had been going along swimmingly. Half his students didn't believe he was actually blind, since he neglected to tell them about his Sensory Charms or his ability to sniff out bad potions and disruptive students. He kept them on their toes, that was for sure.
                              
But he burst into the classroom, and the talk idled down. He had to remember voices to names, and it was one of his hardest tasks.
                              
"Good morning, class. If you haven't done so, please put your essays on Wolfsbane on my desk, and here is the potion we will be practicing today! Shrinking Solution. You should have read up on it before today. Any questions?"
                              
"I forgot my book!"
                              
"That's not a question, Mr. Walkins. Ten points from Gryffindor for forgetting your book. Share with Miss Simmons."
                              
"Yeah! Take that Gryffindors!"
                              
"Mr. Hastings. I've warned you not to change your seat," Draco growled, as it was hard enough to keep track of them by their voices alone.
                              
"Oh, I brought this one over here, Professor."
                              
Draco glared at him until he slid his chair to the back row. "Ten points from Slytherin. Don't be a braggart either, Hastings. Now, get started."
                              
His second years went into a flurry of activity. The Slytherin students tended to treat him as a legend but occasionally tested him. He was determined to help ease the tensions between the two houses. He didn't pick favorites, nor allowed the rivalry to thrive in his classroom. But he let the students brew on their own, with a nurturing spirit that Snape had denied his classes. He showed them how to peel a shrivelfig and how to slice and cut their ingredients.
                              
"Orange, Mr. Benson?"
                              
"I'm sorry, sir!" shrieked the young boy.
                              
"How does he know it's orange?" whispered Danny Wood, a Gryffindor.
                              
"A little bird told me. Mr. Benson... do you like herbology?"
                              
"I love it, sir!"
                              
"I'll warn Professor Longbottom to look out for his job in a few years, then. Miss Asylum? Would you please help Mr. Benson fix his potion?"
                              
"Umm... yes, sir," muttered the Slytherin, who was best in the class. She didn't dare refuse him, and he was determined to help prevent mistakes of the past.
                              
Near the end of class, a bright light flashed in the room, and Draco blinked, dazed a bit, but didn't hear an explosion or a crack. The room seemed brighter, but nothing else seemed amiss.
                              
"Alright, who did that?"
                              
"Did what, professor?" asked a few students.
                              
He didn't bother to ask again. This sort of teasing behavior was usually done only in Slughorn's upper classes, where he served as an apprentice. One of the other reasons that McGonagall started him at the lower grades was that the children would respect him rather than play practical jokes on him. She had suggested that he needed a student aide a few times, but he was determined to do this by himself. He put the sensory spell on and saw no one doing anything suspicious.