In third-year halls, their paths first crossed,
A Raven boy, a Blonde girl lost.
"Stay out of my way," she warned with a glare,
But something lingered in the frosty air.
Crimson with his scar and fame,
Emerald with her secrets untamed.
Two worlds ap...
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Malfoy didn't reappear in classes until late on Thursday morning when the Slytherins andGryffindors were halfway through double Potions.
He swaggered into the dungeon, his right armcovered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting, in Aria's opinion, as though he were the heroic survivor of some dreadful battle.
"How is it, Draco?" simpered Pansy Parkinson. "Does it hurt much?" "Yeah," said Malfoy, putting on a brave sort of grimace.
But Aria saw him wink at Crabbe andGoyle when Pansy had looked away.
"Settle down, settle down," said Professor Snape idly.
Malfoy had always been able to get away withanything in Snape's classes; Snape was head of Slytherin House and generally favoured his ownstudents above all others. Aria thought this was very wrong, he's a TEACHER. He can't discriminate.
They were making a new potion today, a Shrinking solution. Aria rather excelled in potions, so she already knew how to make it by heart, since she had made it many times at home.
Malfoy set up his cauldron rightnext to Harry and Ron so that they were preparing their ingredients on the same table.
"Sir," Malfoy 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.
Aria actually felt bad for the ginger then.
"There's nothing wrong with your arm," he hissed at Malfoy. Malfoy smirked across the table.
"Weasley, you heard Professor Snape; cut up these roots."
Ron seized his knife, pulled Malfoy's roots toward him, and began to chop them roughly so thatthey were all different sizes.
"Professor," drawled Malfoy, "Weasley's mutilating my roots, sir."
Snape approached their table, stared down his hooked nose at the roots, then gave Ron anunpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair. "Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley."
"But, sir -!" Ron had spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding his own roots into exactly equalpieces.
"Now," said Snape in his most dangerous voice.
Ron shoved his own beautifully cut roots across the table at Malfoy, then took up the knife again.
"And, sir, I'll need this shrivelfig skinned," said Malfoy, his voice full of malicious laughter.
