Brighter Than the Sun

Chapter Six

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 horrific battle.

"How is it, Draco?" simpered Pansy Parkinson, the girl who had a whiny voice and a face like a pug. "Does it hurt much?"

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

"Oh, please," I muttered. If he'd been through half of the things I had, he wouldn't be putting on this stupid act.

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

Harry and Ron scowled at each other.

"Snape wouldn't have said 'settle down' if we'd walked in late, he'd have given us detention," Harry whispered. "Snape's head of Slytherin House. He favors his own students above everyone else."

I frowned. Potions had been my favorite subject back at Ilvermorny, and now Snape, the biased professor, was going to ruin that.

We were making a Shrinking Solution today. Malfoy set up his cauldron right next to Harry, Ron, and I so that we were preparing their 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," 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 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," 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.

"Here," I whispered, giving Ron my own roots and improving the roughly-cut ones.

"Thanks," Ron said gratefully.

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

"None of your business," said Ron jerkily, without looking up.

"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 real injury," snarled Ron.

"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?"