Serves Him Right
"Good morning class, I am Professor Vanessa Cromwell, and I will be your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," stated the middle aged woman. Her black hair was coiled in a tight braid down her back and her face was pale and unsmiling. She wore dark crimson lipstick that contrasted with her light skin and her eyes were pale blue and narrowed.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances. "She reminds me of Snape," mouthed Ron. Harry hoped Professor Cromwell wouldn't be anything like his teacher from Potions, but judging from her cold expression, he despaired that she would be.
However, it appeared she'd already chosen a victim for the rest of the school year. As Draco Malfoy, seated in the back, conversed with another Slytherin under his breath, Cromwell stalked back and stood in front of his desk, glaring down at him.
"So," she said, pursing her lips, "Draco Malfoy. A surprise you showed up at all - I had thought your father would send one of his house elves to learn for you instead."
"What?" Draco was astounded that somebody would talk to him this way, especially a teacher.
"After all," she continued crispily, "One does not need to learn about Defense Against the Dark Arts if one's own father is busily practicing it. Dear old 'Daddy' wouldn't ever harm you, would he?"
Draco glared at Professor Cromwell. "Sit up front, please," she snapped at him, before he could open his mouth. Sullenly, Draco picked up his things and moved to the desk she pointed him to.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other again. This teacher was tough if she could pick on Malfoy. Perhaps this class would be kind of fun after all.
"Did you see the look on Malfoy's face?! Did you hear what she said to him?" Ron was saying between mouthfuls at lunch.
"Yeah . . . he couldn't even look at us when we left the classroom," said Harry.
"You have to admit, that was kind of harsh. Even for Malfoy," Hermione murmured, then blew on a hot spoonful of soup.
"Oh come off it, Hermione. This balances out. Harry, you, and me have to deal with Snape while Draco practically smirks his face off. Why not enjoy Malfoy getting dumped on by a teacher for once?"
"Harry, you and I, Ron. I did rather enjoy seeing Draco get the same type of treatment Snape dishes out to us Gryffindors, but really! The way she was glaring at him . . . it gave me the chills!"
"She knows about Draco's dad being a Death-Eater, most likely. And a lot of people are upset about Voldemort coming back. She might be picking on Draco to get at Lucius," Harry wondered aloud.
"Oh Harry, that could just be it!" Hermione said, eyes lighting up. "I wonder what's going to happen between those two. Draco's not going to just sit there and let a teacher pick on him."
"What choice does he have? If Snape can get away with it, so can Cromwell. And if she knows that Draco's dad is a Death-Eater, she can blackmail Draco into not complaining," Ron replied.
"True . . . you know, if that's the case, I don't think Draco's going to have enough free time on his hands to pick on us much anymore. He'll be busy trying to protect his father's big secret," Hermione said happily, then took a bite out of her sandwich.
Professor Cromwell was a rather boring teacher. She didn't do nearly as many fun things as Lupin and Moody had done - rather, she had them all copy and read pages from their 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' texts or write essays on subject topics.
Today's topic was Death-Eaters. Professor Cromwell was having a field day.
"When your father first became a Death-Eater, Malfoy, did he do it for the money or becuase he was afraid to say no?" She asked him, conversationally. The rest of the Slytherins glared back at her in icy silence, with the exception of Crabbe and Goyle who sniggered, stupidly. Draco shot them both reproachful looks and they guiltily stopped.
"He . . . never told me, Professor," Draco told her, his gray eyes not able to meet her pale blue ones.
"A pity. He must have been too embarrassed to tell you about the way he screamed for mercy when Voldemort first appeared to him. Your father," Cromwell smirked, "thought Voldemort was coming to kill him." She laughed derisively. "He was sobbing like a child."
The look Draco gave her was of pure hatred. "You're lying," he hissed. "How would you know? You wouldn't have been there."
"I was there. Since before you were born. I was one of Lucius Malfoy's servants, until he got too cheap to pay me. I think you were partially to blame for that. Lucius was probably too embarrassed of your bratty little tantrums to have decent servants around."
Draco flushed, embarrassed while some of the Gryffindors snickered.
"Anyway, I was there when Voldemort entered the chamber to ask for Lucius' loyalty," she told the rest of the class. "The first thing he did was throw himself on the ground and start howling at the top of his lungs--"
Draco couldn't take it anymore. "Shut up!" he cried, standing up suddenly. "That's not true! You're lying -- you're making it up!"
"Sit down," she hissed at Draco, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Twenty points from Slytherin. It'll be fifty the next time you have another little outburst."
Pale and humiliated, Draco sank back into his seat and lowered his head. He did not look up or cry out in protest all through Professor Cromwell's story about his father.
As sorry as Harry felt for Draco, he was also sorely tempted to join in the laughter. Ron was turning red, and Hermione didn't make a lot of noise, but her shoulders were shaking and both hands were clapped over her mouth.
He looked over at Draco again, and the smile left his face. He watched as a silent tear fell from Draco's eye and dropped onto the desk. Draco caught Harry staring, scowled, and lowered his head further, letting his silver-blonde hair obscure his eyes.
"You what? You feel sorry for him?!" Ron cried, later that night in the dormitory. Both Harry and Ron were in their pajamas and sitting on Harry's bed, talking. The subject had inevitably turned to Cromwell's class.
"Yes. I know it was funny hearing how Lucius was bawling and trying to bribe Voldemort with one hundred thousand Galleons to spare his life --"
Harry stopped as Ron started snickering all over again.
"Ron!"
"Sorry, Harry. It's a hysterical image . . ."
"I know. Draco's a pain, but he doesn't deserve--"
"Harry, Draco does deserve it! That's the point! Do you think he cares when Snape makes snide remarks about your father?"
"Well, no . . ."
"So why should you? If anything, Malfoy's learning quite a bit of humility. He can't make cracks at anybody now that everyone knows the famous story of how his father became a Death-Eater."
"Yeah, Ron. I suppose it is teaching him some manners . . ." Harry agreed reluctantly. But as hard as he tried to put it out of his mind, he couldn't quite forget the sight of a tear sliding down Draco's cheek.
The following two weeks of Cromwell's class seemed to make a definite change in Draco's behavior . . . as well as his appearance.
His eyes were always lowered to the ground when he walked through the halls. He spoke in a low tone - sometimes so low that Harry heard Crabbe and Goyle ask Draco to repeat himself more than once. Draco, usually at his worst in Potions class, barely smirked whenever Snape insulted Ron, Hermione, Neville, or even Harry.
Ron and Hermione had noticed the change as well, and much to Harry's relief, also were slightly worried about Draco.
"I can't believe we are worried about the little viper. Professor Cromwell's been nastier than Snape, I have to admit, but still . . . Draco's had this coming for a long time." Ron said. Harry thought it sounded like Ron was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
Professor Cromwell had been merciless these past two weeks, and today, she was worse than she'd ever been. Despite all her taunts since the first day of class, Draco had maintained a cold, uncaring expression. Harry had seen a tear or two escape before the end of class, but Draco had never once completely broken down or lost his composure. Cromwell, it seemed, was trying to provoke him more than ever today.
"So, Malfoy, I've always wondered. What ever did happen to your sister?"
"My sister?" Draco was unprepared for this. His father had rarely mentioned her in several years, but Draco remembered her. Karyli Malfoy had been rather pretty and was different - extremely different - from Lucius. She had the same silver-blonde hair and gray eyes as Draco, but a more rosy complexion -- she'd been more full of life than any of the Malfoys. According to his father, she'd run away over an argument . . . Draco had heard some of it as his mother, tight-lipped and furious-looking, had ushered him to bed.
Images flashed through Draco's head - memories of him and Karylie dancing to a song on her Muggle-contraption . . . what had it been called? A radio . . . yes, that was it. A song was playing . . . a light-hearted one. It had filled Draco with a strange feeling - made him forget he was a Malfoy for a moment. Made him forget that he was supposed to be in bed right now, not dancing with his sister and being twirled about. He even remembered the song . . .
Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you'
Birds singing in the sycamore tree,
Dream a little dream of me . . .
Just say goodnight and kiss me
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me
While I'm alone and blue as can be
Dream a little dream of me
He remembered her face, smiling until a door crashed open behind them. Draco watched as the smile slid off her face and she turned pale.
Still craving your kiss
I'm longing to linger til dawn
Just saying this
He was too afraid to turn around . . . he saw a hand - his father's hand - crash across her mouth and Karyli stumbled back, holding her face.
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of ---
There had been a flash of green light, and the Muggle-contraption - the radio - flew to pieces, ending the song abruptly.
Then he remembered his mother grabbing him by the hand and delivering a sharp swat to his backside that steered him out of the room. He'd looked back, but the door to his sister's room had banged close with a slam. His mother had sat on the bed, pulled him across her lap and delivered the worst spanking he'd ever recieved before. It took his mind off his sister for the better part of the night, which he spent on his stomach, crying into his pillow.
When he awoke, his backside still hurt. He remembered his father walking in and telling him in a cold voice that Karyli had run away, and that he'd never see her again. The look on Lucius' face had rendered Draco speechless. It had been twisted in fury - beyond recognition. Draco was afraid of more than another spanking, so he didn't say a word. He believed his father. Karyli had run away, and that had been all.
Lucius still mentioned her from time to time, to tell Draco what a waste she had been. Draco always nodded. But unlike what Lucius had told him about 'mudbloods' and the Weasleys, Draco never had believed his father about Karyli. Not a single word.
"You never did figure out what happened to her did you? She didn't run away, Draco," Cromwell's voice said, venemously. "I knew her. She was a sweet girl. She wasn't a little brat like you. I liked her better than your father. Better than you."
Draco blinked, hard. That had hurt a little. "What happened to her?" he asked, hoping to sound disinterested. He didn't want her or anyone to know how much this was really bothering him.
"She was disowned. Cast out. Her and all her 'dangerous' ideas. I watched as she left. She had no place to go. It was winter, and she probably died out there in the cold because your father was too much of a heartless bastard to give her so much as a sickle. So there you have it. I hope you're proud, Malfoy. You brag about your father. And your riches. And in the end, you find out a shameful little secret. Your own sister - if she's still alive - is poor. I wouldn't be surprised if you've insulted her without even knowing who she was while she sat in someone's doorstep, huddling for warmth." Cromwell's voice was dripping poison. She was glaring at him, triumphantly. Draco knew there were tears on his face, but he made no mood to wipe them off. Cromwell hadn't caused those tears . . .
Draco started to shake. His sister . . . cast out like that . . . how could Lucius? How could his father do that to her? What if she was dead?
Draco then knew the reason he had never quite despaired when Lucius had told her that Karyli had run away. He'd been rooting for her, secretly. He had thought, all these years, that Karyli had shown Lucius up - had run off to follow her dreams or to be her own person. He had thought she'd won. And it turned out like this . . . she'd lost. And Draco hadn't even tried to stop it.
He buried his face in his hands and began to sob, pitifully.
"Yes," hissed Vanessa Cromwell, her own eyes appearing misty with anger and grief, wrongfully aimed at Draco for his father's crime. "Show everyone that little Malfoy cares. You didn't say a word in her defense. You didn't even cry over her when you found out she was missing! YOU NEVER CARED SO GO ON AND JUST PRETEND YOU CARE NOW!" Something snapped in Draco. He looked up, eyes blazing, not caring that his eyes were red nor that tears were streaming down his face.
"I DID CARE SO DON'T TELL ME I DIDN'T!!! I DIDN'T KNOW!!! I THOUGHT SHE ESCAPED SO I WAS HAPPY FOR HER!!! BUT DON'T EVER TELL ME I DIDN'T CARE!!!" Draco burst into tears and collapsed onto his desk, sobbing even harder.
Cromwell was staring at him with an unmoved expression. She was too furious at his father for his mistakes to understand how much she had hurt him. As far as she was concerned, Draco was putting on an act -- a good one, but an act nonetheless.
The rest of the class knew better. Ron was gaping in shock, Hermione had a hand pressed over her mouth and her eyes were glistening with sympathy. Harry saw the look on Cromwell's face and knew she was about to attack Draco further. He had to do something, even if it was the last thing Draco Malfoy would do for him.
Harry got up and moved over to Draco. "Draco," he said, before Professor Cromwell could open her mouth, "Let's go."
Draco only sobbed in response as Harry lifted him gently out of his seat and began walking him to the door. "Where do you two think you're going?" Cromwell demanded, rather put out that they hadn't even asked her permission to leave the room.
"Out," was Harry's cold reply. He left the room with Draco and let the door shut on Cromwell's sputtering protest.
Professor Cromwell, now livid, turned to find that the rest of the class, Gryffindors and Slytherins together, were raised as one and all were pointing their wands toward her. "Ulp," she squeaked.
"Ugh, she's worse than Snape." Harry muttered, handing Draco a wet paper towel. Draco was sitting quietly on the bathroom counter, staring at his hands. He took the paper towel thankfully and wiped his eyes with it, but he could not - or would not - meet Harry's gaze.
"Look Draco," began Harry awkwardly, "I know we're enemies --"
"Don't, Potter," Draco said. "Don't. I don't want you to remind me of who we are. I . . . I don't want you to . . ." Draco felt a sob rising up in his chest and swallowed dryly.
Harry put a hand on Draco's shoulder, and surprisingly, Draco didn't flinch away. "I want to talk to you, Harry. I want to tell you a story, and tell me if I could have changed what happened in any way. Will you do that for me?"
"Sure. Let's go to the kitchen, first, Draco. I think you probably want something to drink."
"Okay." Draco hopped off the counter and walked with Harry down the hall. Harry stopped in front of the picture of fruit and tickled the pear. The door to the kitchens swung open and both boys walked inside.
They were greeted with house-elves of every shape and color. "What can we get for you sirs?" squeaked one. Draco stared at one house-elf in particular who was momentarily busy playing Exploding Snap with himself. Harry nudged him gently in the ribs.
"Oh, um, some water, that's all," Draco told the house-elf.
"I'll have some pumpkin juice," Harry told the elf.
"Harry Potter, sir?! Is that you?!" squealed Dobby, leaving the game behind and charging at Harry. Harry gasped as Dobby attached himself around Harry's stomach and squeezed him tightly in a hug.
"And ---" Dobby froze when he saw Draco. Draco winced and backed away. He couldn't help but think about what Dobby had done to his dad when Lucius had last encountered him.
"No, Dobby," Harry said, forcefully. "He's a friend."
"Friend to Harry Potter, sir?" Dobby's eyes were narrowed, but he lowered his fingers which had been pointed at Draco. "Dobby does not forget this one."
Draco took the water another one of the house-elves gave him and forced himself to nod thanks to the creature, to show Dobby that he was being nice.
"Former master is being nice! Dobby thinks this is strange, Harry Potter, sir. Is Malfoy . . . sir. . . feeling ill?"
"No. Um, yes. Sort of, actually. But it's not the kind of 'ill' Madame Pomfrey can fix."
"Some tea?" Dobby offered, reluctantly.
"No thank you. My . . . my heart hurts. Do you understand that? It's my heart that's making me sick. I might have . . . I think I let something terrible happen." Draco drank the cold water, and sighed in relief. His crying had dehydrated him.
"To who, Malfoy sir?" Dobby asked, curious. The other house-elves gaped at his forwardness, but Draco didn't seem to care about it.
"To . . . Karyli," Draco confessed. What Dobby did next was surprising. Dobby took Draco's hand and patted it gently.
"Malfoy, sir, that was not your fault. Dobby saw it happen. Dobby saw it all."
"What happened? Where did she go?" Draco had seized Dobby by his skinny shoulders and was peering into the house-elf's large green eyes. "Is she allright?"
"Dobby doesn't know where she is sir!" squeaked the house-elf, surprised. "But he does know that she is alive, sir!"
"How?" Draco asked, eagerly.
"Owls, sir. Dobby was in charge of tearing up her letters. Dobby hated it, sir," the house-elf said quickly, seeing Draco scowl fiercely. "But Mr. Malfoy made me do it, sir. Karyli was nice to Dobby. She let Dobby call her by her first name. Dobby misses her too, sir."
"Which . . . what . . ." Draco sighed, and collected himself before asking another question. "When did you rip up her last letter?"
"Dobby didn't sir."
"What?!"
"Dobby was freed, sir. When Harry Potter sir gave Dobby a sock, Dobby went back to the Manor to say good-bye to the other house-elves. They were ripping up her letters, sir. Dobby grabbed one and hid it so he could have something to remember her by, sir. She was Dobby's favorite master from when Dobby worked for Mr. Malfoy, sir. Dobby still has the letter, if you want it, sir."
"Does it say where she is?" Draco asked, pale eyes wide with hope.
"Dobby . . . hasn't read it, sir. Dobby can't open Master's letter. 'Tis a rule, sir."
"Was it addressed to me? Or father?"
"To Draco Malfoy, sir."
"Can I have it, Dobby? I'll give you whatever you want for it, just please let me have it."
"You will give Dobby something for it? You, sir?!" Dobby was apalled that Draco Malfoy would actually offer Dobby something for anything.
"Yes, please. Just give it to me," Draco pleaded.
"Allright. Dobby will be right back, Malfoy sir." The house-elf dashed off leaving Draco and Harry waiting together amidst the other happily working house-elves.
"I can't believe it . . . all this time she's been sending me letters . . . and I haven't even gotten one," Draco said, unhappily. His pale eyes flashed angrily. "My father is really going to pay for this. As soon as I find out how . . ." he added, uneasily. "But I'm definitely going to talk to him about this as soon as I get home."
"Why don't you send him something from the Owlery?" Harry asked.
"Because I don't want a howler," Draco muttered.
"Hmm, good point."
"But I can send her an owl from here! She probably doesn't know I'm going to Hogwarts and father doesn't know I care about her. She can write to me here . . . I've never tried that before because I was afraid she was hiding and Father would find out where she was and maybe curse her or something. I couldn't risk it - he does hate her enought to curse her, you know. I can tell."
"What happened?" asked Harry. "You were about to tell me before we came here."
"I'll tell you as much as I remember," said Draco, although he definitely planned to leave out the part about getting spanked. "Then I'll ask Dobby to tell me what exactly my father told Karyli while my mother was, er, making me to go to bed."
"Allright," said Harry, and Draco began to tell Harry what he'd seen happen as a child. The radio . . . the song . . . and Karyli getting struck across her mouth.
"Then my mother took me off to bed and when I woke up, my father said she had run away. I was proud of her, so I didn't feel bad at all. Karyli always seemed to get Father angry at her. But . . . throwing her out of the house . . . that wasn't right. No matter what she did, it wasn't right and I'll never forgive him for it." Draco seemed pained more than angry. "Not for anything he did to her . . ." He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robes.
Dobby bounded back and held up a tattered, soot-covered letter. "Dobby pounded his head for taking this with him, but he didn't dare open it, sir."
"Thank you," Draco said distractedly, grabbing the letter and opening it. With trembling fingers, he unfolded the parchment and began to read.
Dear Draco,
I really wish this letter had gotten to you. The last letter I tried to send you got torn up as your father told me in his rather nasty reply. None of my letters have reached you, have they? I beg the house-elves not to rip them up, but I suppose they don't read my little P.S.'s on the front of the envelopes.
I miss you, Draco. Just about every letter I ever sent you says that. I hope you didn't get into much trouble . . . I heard mother walloping you - jeez, that must've hurt. That's all I can think about sometimes . . . the fact that the last sounds I ever heard from you were cries of pain and I could do nothing about it. I would've stopped it, but Father threw me out of the house then and there with nothing but the clothes on my back. I don't know what he told you, but I did NOT run away. I would say goodbye to you first, you know that.
I love you, little bro. If he ever hurts you in any way, I'll . . . nevermind. I don't want you thinking I'm bitter after all these years . . . well, I am, but you know what I mean. Jeez, this is awkward.
Write to me as soon as you can. I'm only an owl away -- a heartbeat away if you ever need me. I'll fly over on my motorcycle the moment I get word from you, if you like. I love you, Draco. I'll never stop writing until you get to read those three words from me yourself.
Love,
Your sis, Karyli
Draco was crying quietly, all through the letter. He kept wiping his eyes as he read. "She's still alive . . . she has to be. If she's got a motorcycle, that must have cost Galleons, so she must have some money! She has to be okay . . . she just has to."
"Are you going to ask her to come to Hogwarts for a visit? I wouldn't mind meeting her."
"I think you'd like her a great deal better than you liked me when we first met, Potter, er - Harry."
Harry looked at Draco in surprise. "You're not half-bad, you know, Harry. Why'd you do it?" he asked, puzzled. "I thought you hated me as much as I . . . well, um, er," Draco trailed off, fidgeting. "Well, why did you anyway?"
"I know what it feels like to get picked on like that."
"Oh. Snape?" Draco asked.
"Yes, and the fact that she's much worse than Snape too. Speaking of her, I wonder if Filch is looking for us for cutting class," Harry said, nervously.
"What do you have next?" asked Draco, folding the letter. "I'm going straight to the Owlrey, I don't care what I miss. I have to write to her, I just have to."
"Um, Draco, Filch might catch you. It's just one more class till dinner. The bell's going to ring in five minutes and we're going to be in a lot of trouble already for skipping the rest of 'Defense Against the Dark Arts'."
"Oh, you have a point," Draco said, irritably. Harry knew he wasn't irritable at him; he was just upset at being so close and yet so far to contacting his sister.
"There's just one problem," said Harry suddenly remembering. "We left our bags and stuff in her room. We're going to have to go back."
"No!" cried Draco in protest. "I never want to see that witch again!"
"We don't have class with her until Thursday."
"Oh, allright then. We better go back, I guess. Goodbye, Dobby. Thank you."
"Malfoy is welcome, sir." Dobby chirped as Draco and Harry headed back to Cromwell's room. The bells rang as they were ten paces from the door. The Slytherins exited first, most snickering unpleasantly. Draco looked at the floor, embarrassed at his tear-streaked face.
"Draco, you missed it!" cried Pansy, jovially. "Tell me you weren't with Potter the whole time."
"Yes. What happened?" Draco asked, gaze still glued to the floor.
"Well, remember when that awful Moody turned you into a ferret? And bounced you all over the walls?"
Draco's eyes flew wide. "You didn't," he stated. "You'd all be expelled!"
"No, we didn't. Absolutely nothing happened to Professor Cromwell," Hermione said. "Here's your bag, Harry."
"Here, Draco," Ron said, handing Draco his stuff.
"Thanks, Weasley," Draco said, hesitantly. Ron wasn't mad at him. If anything, he looked almost friendly. In fact almost all the Gryffindors looked a great deal less angrily at him than they usually did.
"So what did you all end up doing?" Draco asked as the strange procession - Gryffindors and Slytherins - walked side by side through the hall. A passing Hufflepuff dropped both his book and his jaw when he saw them all.
"We worked together." Hermione said, proudly. "We all disagreed until the bell rang."
"What?" Draco didn't quite understand.
"We all made up this big argument about what to turn Professor Cromwell into. Pansy kept yelling for the ferret, Neville insisted on a toad and Hermione was saying Cromwell would look better off as a newt. Nobody turned her into anything, but we got her imagining we were about to any second. When the bell rang, she was closing her eyes, preparing to be turned into a piglet," laughed Parvati.
"That was a great idea," Harry said, admiringly. "Whose was it?"
Everyone stopped. Pretty soon, no-one could even hear the tardy bell over the yelling arguments that followed.
Draco and Harry looked at each other as Hermione's shrill voice rose over Pansy's in protestation that it couldn't have been all Draco's idea because "He wasn't even in the room then, you twit!!!". The only Slytherins and Gryffindors not arguing vehemently with one another besides Harry and Draco were Crabbe and Goyle. They were arguing between themselves over which one of them it had been.
"Let's get to class, Draco," Harry said, sighing. "We're already late."
"I've got Charms. You?"
"History with Professor Binns."
"Darn. I want that class now. It would've given me enough time to write my letter."
"You don't pay attention to him either, do you?" Harry asked, while Crabbe was busily getting Goyle into a headlock behind him.
"Who could? He's so insufferably boring," drawled Draco.
Harry grinned."See you then, Malfoy."
"Yeah. See you, Potter."
Hermione shrieked that they were late and dashed down the hall like a madwoman. Everyone left off arguing and started walking toward their respective classes. Slytherin glared at Gryffindor, Goyle glared at Crabbe, and Draco waved casually over his shoulder at Harry as he walked down the hall to Charms.
The following Thursday, Draco sat nervously in his seat in 'Defense Against the Dark Arts'. He wasn't the only one. Slytherin and Gryffindor alike were nervous. Cromwell hadn't shown up yet.
Everyone murmured in surprise when Dumbledore walked in the room. "Well, it appears Professor Cromwell has resigned. Some students of hers were causing a bit of mischief last Tuesday, it appears." Dumbledore didn't seem upset - rather, he seemed absolutely delighted about it.
"I believe we have a replacement, however she will not be arriving until later this evening. I'll just watch over class for today and you may have a free period." Dumbledore settled comfortably on a chair behind the desk and opened a book to read.
Draco caught Harry's eye and grinned. He was about to go over when Pansy tugged on his arm. "Could you help me with my Transfiguration homework, Draco?" she asked.
"Sure," he said, reluctantly. He shot Harry an apologetic look and Harry nodded, understanding. Draco was in no position to choose a Gryffindor friend over a Slytherin one. They'd all shown they cared for him, but as a fellow Slytherin, he was expected to care more for his own house. Draco commonly talked to Harry, but not more than was necessary as he was afraid of losing friends in his house.
It was allright with Harry. He thought it would be too weird if Draco suddenly latched on to him like his best friend. It was weird enough already that Draco no longer sneered at him or made snide comments about his family. He was even decent to Hermione and Ron, whenever he talked to them.
Draco was patiently telling Pansy that if her raccoon still had yarn trailing out of the tip of it's tail, it was not okay to just cut off the yarn. Harry covered his mouth to hide a smile. Draco looked over at him and rolled his eyes at Pansy while she wrote the answer down in her notebook, as if to say, 'She always needs my help'.
From far away in the distance, headed toward Hogwarts, a rumbling motorcycle sped across the tips of storm clouds, passing a flock of rather startled geese. The new 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' teacher leaned over to one of the geese and patted it on the head. The startled creature honked once and kept flying, trying its best to ignore her. The wind blew a wisp of her silver-blonde hair out from under her helmet, and from beneath her visor, she smiled and tucked it back in.
Disclaimer: all characters, except Cromwell and Karyli belong to JK Rowling. The lucky gal . . .