Together (A Harry Potter love story) 3

11

MILLIES POV

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

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

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

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

I scowled down at the table; Snape wouldn't have said 'settle down' if I'd walked in late, he'd have given me detention.

We were making a new potion today, a Shrinking Solution. Unlike last year, I had finally been allowed to sit next to my friends in Snape's class, and not at Malfoy's table, who didn't seem to like this new seating arrangement. Malfoy set up his cauldron right next to mine.

"Sir," Malfoy called, "sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm-"

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

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

Malfoy smirked. "Donovan, you head Professor Snape, cut up these roots."

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

"Professor," Malfoy drawled, "Donovan'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, Miss Donovan."

I gaped at him, while Ron shouted, "But she's spent ages on them!"

It was true; I had spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding my own roots into exactly equal pieces.

"Now," said Snape in his most dangerous voice. "And a point from Gryffindor for raising your voice at a teacher, Weasley."

Ron went brick red, while I stayed where I was, crossing my arms stubbornly.

Snape scowled. "If you continue to defy my orders, Miss Donovan, I will make this seating arrangement permanent."

So 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," said Malfoy, his voice full of malicious laughter.

"Potter," Snape snapped. Harry turned around from where he had been talking to Neville with a confused expression.

"Yeah, sir?"

"You can skin Malfoy's Shrivelfig," said Snape, giving Harry the look of loathing he always reserved for him.

Harry took Malfoy's Shrivelfig as I set about 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 at Malfoy without speaking, who was smirking more broadly than ever.

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

"None of your business," said Ron jerkily, glaring at him.

"I'm afraid he won't be a teacher much longer," said Malfoy, in a tone of mock sorrow. "Father's not very happy about my injury-"

"Keep talking, Malfoy, and I'll give you a really injury," Harry snarled.