𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 | 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘗𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳

34 || The Boggart

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 as though he had heroically survived some terrible battle.

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

I swear, my eyes were going to roll off of my face.

"Yeah," said Malfoy, putting on a brave sort of grimace. But he turned away and winked at Crabbe and Goyle.

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

We were making a Shrinking Solution today, which I was happy about because I had made a lot of progress on my potion-making skills and potion theory over the summer. This wasn't my first time making a Shrinking Solution, so I had already modified the ingredients on the board, making a new list on my piece of parchment. I was helping Hermione a bit, instructing, when I noticed Malfoy set up his cauldron next to Harry and Ron.

"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.

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

Snape approached their 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," 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.

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

"Joke's on him," I leaned over and whispered to Harry. "It works better when the skin is still on."

Harry looked at me, confused.

"Just peel it, I'm certain you don't want to hear me launch into the theory of potion ingredients."

Harry skinned the shrivelfig as quickly as he could and flung it across the table.

I cut up my own fig, keeping the skin on, and dropped the pieces one by one into my cauldron, watching as the potion turned a bright, almost neon, green.

"Dream! What are you doing!" Snape snarled as I put a single Brazlian Wandering spider into the potion.

"Making my potion, sir," I said, not bothering to look at him.

"The instructions clearly state that you are to add seven Brown Recluse spiders-"

"Yes, they do say that," I said airily, wiping my hands on a towel.

"Then why," he said, positively spitting with rage, "aren't you using them?"

"Do you want the long answer or the short answer?"