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Chapter Three

"I've prepared a review activity of today's lesson. Copy these lines from the board. Once you've made it through all of them twice, you are free to go." Slughorn gestures to a wall full of notes. It's definitely twice if not three times as much as the material we actually covered in class today. "I have some things to attend to for preparation for the tournament, but I expect to see impressive progress by the time I return."

I start writing, as fast as I can, refusing to look at Potter. I see him lazily writing out of the corner of my eye, slowly. What a bloody menace. I keep writing as I hear him tear a piece of paper. I don't care what he's doing. More tearing sounds. It's already been an hour, but I've written ¾ of the notes once through. All I have to do is spend another hour here, maybe a little more.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" A paper aeroplane swerves in front of my face, knocking the quill from my hand. Potter twirls his wand, and it dips up, careening around the room. I pick up my quill and keep writing. The plane dives at me again, and I smack it angrily away from me.

"Potter, leave me the bloody hell alone."

"Or what?" Potter swerves the plane at me again. This time I catch it. It wiggles, trying to pull out of my grasp. I crumple it into a ball. "You know it doesn't have to be shaped like a plane for it to fly, right?"

"Incendio." I release the paper as it bursts into flames and shrivels away. Potter looks disappointed for a moment before shrugging.

"I have more paper."

"You're a bloody lunatic." I start writing again. I just want to get out of here. I've finished my first go through the notes when I feel a tap of paper against my arm, then another, then another. My mild annoyance grows until saving the Dark Lord the trouble of murdering this miserable slag seems like a marvelous idea. I wheel around and push him as hard as I can. He stumbles backward, falling from his chair and barely catching himself against one of the desks. His eyes flash at me, and I'm reminded of why I told Crabbe and Goyle we should leave this loony psychopath alone.

He barrels toward me. I consider running, but instead I duck to the side slightly, hoping to sleep past him or throw him off balance. His hand catches the back of my robe. I stumble, and my toe smacks painfully against the leg of a desk. I grab blindly to whatever part of Potter's shirt I'm able to hold onto as I start falling, struggling to pull myself up, but it's too late. We roll to the floor, a senseless tangle of limbs.

I try to hit him, but we're too close together. We wind up for the most part aimlessly rolling about while ineffectively swatting at one another. Finally, I knee him as hard as I can. I'm pleased with my victory until his elbow jabs hard into my ribs. I try to pull away from him to gain more room to hit him back, but he seems to follow my train of thought. Potter quickly rolls, trapping my hands beneath his as he pins me to the floor. I can't breathe. Why can't I breathe?
I freeze for a moment. I know how to get out of this, but my body won't listen. The corner of his mouth quirks up into a taunting smile. I glare back at him before quickly turning, rolling him as he struggles against me. He wiggles out from under me before I'm able to pin him, but his head smacks painfully against mine in the crossfire. I groan in response as I try to avoid his next attempt to hit me.

I manage to roll away from him finally and scurry to my feet before he can drag me back down. He scrambles after me. He tries to hit me, but I duck and my fist connects with his upper arm. He darts toward me quickly, and pain darts through my cheek. I try to tackle him, but he spins me around, grabbing me by the collar of my shirt and pinning me against the wall. Chalk clatters to the floor. I notice for the first time that the room is covered in paper. My notes are everywhere and completely trampled. One of the desks is overturned. It would be sort of comical if it wasn't so bloody infuriating.