Monachopsis • Harry Potter • Book II

.7.

The third-year Slytherins had to deal with Pansy's griping and moaning for three whole days before Draco was released from the hospital wing. After his initial anger, Theo had come around to find the situation rather funny. It was the perfect karma for the youngest heir to the Malfoy family.

Draco burst into class halfway through Double Potions with the Gryffindors, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling. He swaggered around the classroom like some sort of heroic survivor. This effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that everybody in the room, apart from Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle, knew his injury was his own fault.

"How is it, Draco?" simpered Pansy, putting on her best doe eyes. "Does it hurt much?"

Keziah pretended to vomit into her cauldron, making Blaise accidentally tip too much shrivelfig into his potion. The result was nearly instantaneous and orangey soot splattered the boy's face.

Thankfully, Draco's entrance distracted Snape enough that he didn't notice the two hastily wiping down Blaise's face and desk.

"I've got to start over now," Blaise moaned, mournfully picking up his excess daisy roots.

Grimacing in sympathy, Keziah got started on her own roots. She absolutely loved Potions and, if not for the fact Snape hated anything with 'Potter' attached to it, she would've been declared best in the class.

Not that she cared, of course.

As her Shrinking Solution bubbled along, spitting acid green sparks every other second, Keziah carefully sliced the knobs of daisy root into perfectly even sections.

A loud bang nearly made her knife slip. Whipping her head up, she saw Draco had slammed his cauldron onto the table next to her. It was no coincidence that Harry and Ron also sat there. She watched the boys carefully, waiting for the fight.

"Sir," Draco called, "sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm —"

"Weasley, cut up Malfoy's roots for him," said Snape without looking up.

Ron went brick red and hissed something at Draco. Keziah strained to hear what was going on, edging her chair ever so slightly to the right.

"Weasley, you heard Professor Snape; cut up these roots."

Ron seized his knife, pulled Draco's roots toward him, and began to chop them roughly so that they were all different sizes.

"Professor," drawled Draco. "Weasley's mutilating my roots, sir."

Snape approached the table, stared down his hooked nose at the roots, then gave Ron an unpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair.

"Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley."

"But, sir —!"

"Draco can have mine!" Keziah interrupted, gathering all her roots into one hand and shuffling over to the table. "I can do more."

"What?" said Snape dangerously.

"I can cut these really quickly," she said. "It's perfectly fine, Professor. I just have a question. How come Draco gets special treatment?"

"Excuse me?" said Snape, eyes narrowed.

"Last year, when I couldn't carry all my ingredients in one hand because of my cane," she said, "you told me to suck it up and figure out a different way. You said I wouldn't get treated differently because I was stupid enough to let a beast harm me. How come you aren't saying that to Draco?"

Snape's eyes narrowed further while Keziah blinked innocently.

"Ten points from Slytherin, Miss Potter," he said icily. "Give Malfoy your roots and skin his shrivelfig if you are so confident."