Bad Blood | Draco Malfoy

s i x

          During Thursday morning Potions, Malfoy swaggers into class late with his arm held up in a sling and wrapped in a thousand bandages after staying in the Hospital Wing for ages.  I can see the Gryffindors rolling their eyes, suggesting that he may be over exaggerating.  I wasn't there so I can't say much about it.  Our Potions teacher and head of house, Snape, glances over at Malfoy who whines that he's unable to go any work.  Snape favours his Slytherin students over everyone else, according to Tracey, which is beneficial on our behalf.

          Snape orders Ron Weasley, the ginger haired Gryffindor that I met in Diagon Alley, to cut up his daisy roots.  I peer over from my own cauldron to see the smug expression upon Malfoy's face.  When he catches my gaze he begins to scowl at me, and I return my eyes to my Shrinking Solution which bubbles well.

          "You're really good at Potions," a dark skinned boy beside me says.  "I'm Blaise, by the way. Blaise Zabini."  I then remember his face from the Beginning of Term Feast, when I humiliated Malfoy.

          "It's going to blow up in a few seconds, most likely," I sigh.  "I'm absolutely shit at everything."

          "You can say that again," I hear Draco snort.  I shoot Draco an ugly glare while he snickers to himself.

           "Leave her alone, Draco," Blaise defends me.  I thank him quietly and continue to work on my potion.  "So, where did you move from?"

          "I used to go to Beauxbatons, but I was expelled so my father decided I should move back to England and attend Hogwarts," I say.  "I used to live in England until I was six, and then I moved to Marseille."

          "Then how come your sister is here?  And why were you expelled?  Is de Lange naughtier than I thought?" Malfoy decided to interfere, laughing to himself as he watched Weasley and Potter fuss over his potion.

          "That's none of your business," I say to him calmly.  My potion then turns the desirable orange as I add in the last of my caterpillars and I clap my hands, proud.  "Well, looks like I'm done here."

          The lesson ends after Snape tests the potion of a Gryffindor boy called Neville Longbottom.  The potion was successful, shrinking the boy's toad, however Snape decided to deduct points from Gryffindor anyway.  His favouritism is something that reminds me of Madame Maxime - how she'd believe everyone else but me when I'd go to complain.  I'm glad I'm on Snape's good half instead of his bad half like I was with Madame Maxime.  At least not everything is the same, and I'm beginning to feel better.

          "Who can tell me what a Boggart is?"  Our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin, asks.  Lupin is a scruffy, middle aged man with oversized robes and dishevelled hair.  At the back of our Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom (the staffroom - just for our practical) is a wardrobe that rattles and shakes.  Inside is a Boggart - a creature whose name I have not come across.

A Gryffindor girl with bushy hair and big front teeth shoots her hand up in the air, answering the question. "A Boggart is a shapeshifter. When faced with one, it will transform into your worst fear." What am I afraid of? There's the stupid things like spiders and tight, enclosed spaces, but I have no idea what my worst fear is.

"Excellent," Lupin smiles. "Ten points to Gryffindor. Now, to defeat a boggart, the key thing is laughter. Picture something amusing within your mind and apply it when casting the Boggart-repelling charm. Repeat after me: riddikulus!"

"Riddikulus!" The whole class repeats in unison.

"This class is 'riddikulus'," I hear the annoying voice of Malfoy snarls. Aren't I getting good at recognising this git? It's kind of embarrassing since I can barely identify my own family members - and myself.