Bella and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Chapter Thirteen

Malfoy didn't come back to 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 was the heroic survivor of some dreadful and bloody battle.

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

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

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

Me and Harry scowled at each other; Snape wouldn't have said 'settle down' if we'd have walked in late, he'd have given us both detention. But Malfoy had always been able to get away with anything in Snape's lessons; Snape was Head of Slytherin house, and generally favoured his own students before all others. 

We were making a new potion today, a Shrinking Solution. Malfoy set up his cauldron right next to Harry and me 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-"

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

I went brick red.

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with your arm!" I hissed at Malfoy.

Malfoy smirked across the table.

"Swan, you heard Professor Snape, cut up these roots"

I seized my knife, pulled Malfoy's roots towards me and began to chop them roughly, so that they were all different sizes.

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

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

"Change roots with Malfoy, Black"

"But sir-!"

I had spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding my own roots into exactly equal pieces. Also, did he just call me Black?

"Now," Snape said in his most dangerous voice.

I shoved my 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 the loathing he always reserved just for him.

Harry took Malfoy's Shrivelfig as I set out trying to repair the damage to the roots I now had to use. Harry skinned the Shrivelfig quickly and flung it back across the table to Malfoy without speaking. I looked up to see Malfoy smirking more broadly than ever.

"Seen your pal Hagrid, lately?" he asked us quietly.

I looked down. "None of your business"

"I'm afraid he won't be a teacher for 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 you rat!" I 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?"