𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃 ━━ harry potter

chapter thirty

Malfoy was unsurprisingly being a dramatic little prick about the whole arm thing. He didn't reappear in classes until late Tuesday morning, when everyone was halfway through a double Potions class. He burst into the dungeon like he owned the place, his right arm covered in bandages, and acting like he had been injured after saving a group of children from a fire.

"How is it, Draco?" asked Pansy Parkinson when Malfoy approached her. "Does it hurt much?"

"Yeah," said Malfoy, putting on a brave sort of grimace, and Ben had to look away to contain the anger he made him feel.

"Settle down, settle down," Professor Snape told him in a surprisingly calm tone. But, well, everybody knew that Snape didn't hate Malfoy.

They were making a new potion today, a Shrinking Solution. Malfoy set up his cauldron right between Ron and Ben, pushing the blonde aside on purpose to separate him from his friends, and they 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," ordered 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."

"Be thankful it's not your left arm," mumbled Ben, glaring at the Slytherin.

Harry chuckled at that, but stopped when Professor Snape approached them to observe the roots. "Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley."

Ron's jaw dropped in horror. "But, sir-!"

The poor boy had spent a really long time carefully shredding his own roots into exactly equal pieces to make sure the potion was made correctly.

"Now," hissed Snape in his most dangerous voice, and Ron angrily threw his roots to Malfoy.

"And, sir, I'll need this shrivelfig skinned," added 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 took Malfoy's shrivelfig as Ron began trying to repair the damage to the roots he now had to use. 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," snapped Ron jerkily.

"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 continued. "Who knows if my arm'll ever be the same again?"

"Yes, Malfoy, you're probably going to need to have it cut off."

Right after Ben said that, Harry accidentally cut off a dead caterpillar's head.