Lionheart ~ Harry Potter (Under Heavy Editing)

Chapter Eight | Looming Darkness

After the events of the Care of Magical Creatures class, Draco hadn't returned to class until Thursday Since he was 'Mr. I-must-be-the-centre-of-everybody's-attention', he had been completely over exaggerating.

Even in Potions, he continued to whine and bathe in the sympathy he was receiving. Ariana and her friends occupied their usual table at the back of the dimly-lit, gloomy room. Each one of the four Gryffindors found Malfoy even more repugnant than usual, glaring daggers at the back of his irritating head.

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

"It comes and goes. Still, I consider myself lucky. According to Madam Pomfrey, another minute or two and I could've lost the arm," Draco recited dramatically, motioning to his right arm which was in a sling.

"The little git. He's really laying it on thick, isn't he?" Ron scoffed, turning back around to his friends.

"At least Hagrid didn't get acked," Harry favoureded, also turning back around to look at Hermione and Ariana, who were sat opposite him and Ron.

"Yes. But I hear Draco's father's furious. I don't think we've heard the end of this..." Hermione added.

"Where Draco and his father are concerned, we never hear the end of the situation," Ariana sighed.

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

The white-haired witch spotted Harry and Ron scowled at each other, and she knew why: Snape wouldn't have said 'settle down' if they'd walked in late, he'd have given them detention. But Malfoy had always been able to get away with anything in Snape's classes; Snape was head of Slytherin House, and generally favored his own students above all others.

Much to Ariana's utter joy, they were making a new potion today, a Shrinking Solution. Malfoy set up his cauldron right next to Harry and Ron, so that they were preparing their ingredients on the same table as the quartet.

"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 grabbed his knife, slamming the blade into Malfoy's roots. By the time he was done, a pile of unequal, roughly chopped roots lay on the wooden board they had been placed on beforehand. His friends sympathise with him a great deal, though Ariana could of written what Malfoy was about to say before he said it.

"Professor," he drawled, "Weasley's mutilating my roots, sir."

At that point, the teenage witch felt the extreme urge to plant her fist in Malfoy's smug, annoying face. Unfortunately the repercussions weren't worth it... for now.

Snape approached their table, stared down his hooked nose at the roots, then gave Ron an unpleasant smile from beneath his long black hair. "Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley."

"But, sir -!"

Ron had spent the last quarter of an hour carefully slicing his own roots with care and precision, leaving a neat pile of roots lying on his spot on the desk. Apparently, all his work was about to pay off, but not for him.

"Now," said Snape in his most dangerous voice, which Ariana would of found amusing if she was in Ron's position, but clearly the redhead didn't feel the same way.

Ron frowned and 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.