Draco Malfoy headed down the crowded hallway on his way to class, flanked by his two friends, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. The contrast of size between Crabbe and Goyle in comparison to Draco, along with the way they stood one on each side of him, made the two hefty boys look like bodyguards.
As Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle wandered down the hall to class, the crowds of people slowly thinned. Double Potions with the Gryffindors was not their idea of a good time. Although, it would give Draco a chance to engage in one of his favorite pastimes: poking fun at the Potter boy.
As if on cue, Harry Potter turned the corner, but came to a halt when he saw Draco and his buddies standing inches from the door.
"Well, if it isn't Potty," sneered Draco. He looked around to make sure there were no teachers present.
Harry's features hardened, but he said nothing.
"You're going down, Scarface," Draco informed the black-haired boy with the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.
"Oh, really?" asked Harry.
"Yes, really."
"You seem to say that every school year, Malfoy. Yet here I am, still up and well."
Draco's eyes narrowed, and then he smiled.
"This year will be different. I promise you that."
"How's that?" asked Harry. "You'll stop making empty threats that you know you can't really come through on? Or maybe this year you'll stop calling Ron 'Weasel' and think of something more creative?"
Draco stepped forward towards Harry and reached for his wand. He was too slow, however, and Harry had his wand out first.
"Tarantallegra!" shouted Harry.
Draco flinched, expecting his legs to start tap dancing uncontrollably at any second, but that didn't happen. In a flash of light, Harry's spell had been deflected and hit a nearby suit of armor, causing it to fall to the ground in a crash.
"What the—"
"Reparo," said a female voice causing the suit of armor to stand up proper and arrange itself the way it had been before the hex had hit it.
Harry, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle turned and saw Lyra Lestrange standing behind Draco with her wand out, pointed towards Harry. They had all been so focused on one another that none of them had even noticed her approach.
Lyra Lestrange was, like Draco and his two cronies, a Slytherin fourth year. She was Draco's cousin — the daughter of his mother, Narcissa's sister, Bellatrix Lestrange (nee Black). Lyra looked a lot like her mother, Bellatrix, or so people told her. Tall, with thick, shiny black hair and dark brown eyes, she possessed the Black family's aristocratic looks. Appearance wise, she was the complete opposite of her cousin, Draco, who took after his father and was pale with white-blond hair and grey eyes.
Harry pointed his wand at Lyra, unsure of what she was going to do or say next, but to his surprise all she did was put her wand inside the pocket of her robes and smile sweetly at him.
"You wouldn't dare hex a girl while she's unarmed, would you?" She smirked and turned to Draco. "Come on. Let's go before we're late to class fooling around with this idiot."
"Yes, let's," agreed Draco. "We'll have plenty of time to bother Scarface later."
The four Slytherins snickered at this remark and headed down a nearby staircase into the potions dungeon.
"Please tell me that the next time you decide to take on Potter, you'll bring better back-up than Crabbe and Goyle," said Lyra as they went down the steps. Crabbe and Goyle grunted to show their disproval of her remark.
"Are you suggesting that I can't take on Potter?" asked Draco. "That he could have his way with me?"
"Not at all. I'm suggesting that Scarhead has survived battles with the Dark Lord, so if you're going to have a wizard's duel with him, you'll need a better second than Crabbe or Goyle. Someone who's got their wits about them. You know… like me?" She grinned.
Draco laughed.
"Your mother would be proud."
"No, she wouldn't. From what I know of her, she'd probably be upset that I didn't Crucio him when I caught him off guard and had the chance."
"Say, now… that wouldn't be such a bad idea," remarked Draco in a contemplative voice.
"Don't go doing anything stupid. What did your father tell you? No matter how much you hate him, it's best to not appear like enemies to the infamous Boy-Who-Lived."