Bones

Chapter 4

        Malfoy didn't reappear in classes until late on Thursday morning, when the Slytherins and Gryffindors were halfway through double Potions. He swaggered into the dungeon, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting, in my opinion, as though he were the heroic survivor of some dreadful battle.

        "How is it, Draco?" Pansy Parkinson simpered. "Does it hurt much?"

        "Yeah," Malfoy said, putting on a brave sort of grimace. But I saw him wink at Crabbe and Goyle when Pansy had looked away.

        To think, I was actually worried about him.

        "Settle down, settle down," Professor Snape said idly.

        Harry and Ron scowled at each other; Snape wouldn't have said 'settle down' if they'd walked in late, he'd have given them detention. But Malfoy had always been able to get away with anything in Snape's classes; Snape was head of Slytherin House, and generally favored his own students above all others.

        We were making a new potion today, a Shrinking Solution. Malfoy set up his cauldron right next to me, Harry and Ron, so that we were preparing our 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," Snape said without looking up.

        Ron went brick red.

        "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 that they were all different sizes.

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

        Snape approached our 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 --!"

        Ron had spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding his own roots into exactly equal pieces.

        "Now," Snape said 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," 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.

        "Why can't Esmeray help him? They're old friend," Harry said bitterly.

        "What?" I said utterly shocked.

        "Potter..." Snape warned.

        Harry took Malfoy's shrivelfig as Ron began trying to repair the damage to the roots he now had to use. Harry skinned the shrivelfig as fast as he could and flung it back across the table at Malfoy without speaking. Malfoy was smirking more broadly than ever.