Harry Potter and Claire Smith Adventures: Book Three

The Fender, The Drums, and The Solo

Chapter 7: The Fender, The Drums, and The Solo

The next day in their double Potion class, Malfoy sauntered into the room with his bandaged up arm, acting as though he were the heroic survivor of some dreadful battle.

"How is it, Draco?" Pansy simpered. "Does it feel better than it did yesterday?"

"Yeah," Malfoy said, putting on a brave sort of grimace. But Claire saw him wink at Crabbe and Goyle when Pansy had looked away. Claire rolled her eyes and suppressed the temptation of cursing Malfoy for faking his injury.

"Settle down, settle down," Professor Snape said idly. "Today you will be brewing a new potion today. A Shrinking Solution."

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

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

Really of all the people? Claire thought angrily. She glared at Malfoy as she went over to his table.

"There's nothing wrong with your arm," Claire hissed at Malfoy.

Malfoy smirked at her.

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

Claire seized his knife, pulled Malfoy's roots towards her, and began to chop them roughly.

"Professor," drawled Malfoy, "Smith's mutilating my roots, sir."

Oh, I'll show you mutilating. Claire thought.

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

"Change roots with Malfoy, Smith."

"No, it's his own damn fault he 'hurt' his arm!" Claire said, getting fed up.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for foul language." Snape sneered. "Now, change roots with Malfoy, Smith or you'll be joining me for detention."

Claire didn't want to do either but decided to take the first option. It was probably a good thing Snape couldn't read her mind at that moment because he would've given her detention for the choice of words she was using. She grabbed her daisy roots and began cutting them up properly.

"And, sir, I'll need this shrivelfig skinned," Malfoy said, his voice full of malicious laughter.

"Potter, you can skin Malfoy's shrivelfig," Snape said, giving Harry the look of loathing he always reserved just for him.

Harry took Malfoy's shrivelfig and skinned it as fast as possible. He flung it back across the table at Malfoy without speaking. Malfoy was smirking more broadly than ever.

"Seen your pal Hagrid lately?" he asked them quietly.

"I don't see how that's any of your business, Malfoy," Claire said jerkily.

"I'm afraid he won't be a teacher much longer," Malfoy said in a tone of mock sorrow. "Father's not very happy about my injury—"

"Keep talking, Malfoy, and I'll give you a real injury," Claire snarled.

"—he's complained to the school governors. And to the Ministry of Magic. Father's got a lot of influence, you know. And a lasting injury like this"—he gave a huge, fake sigh— "who knows if my arm'll ever be the same again?"

"So that's why you're putting it on," Harry said, accidentally beheading a dead caterpillar because his hand was shaking in anger. "To try to get Hagrid fired."