Hello. Two in a day! I am simply overjoyed!
Together. In potions. This was a recipe for disaster!
Still stirring the lacewings, she had sent Dra-MALFOY, MALFOY, MALFOY!
Ahem.
Over to get the boomslang skin, leeches, powdered bicorn horn, and all the rest of their ingredients. He couldn't botch up chopping, could he?
Obviously, she had overestimated him.
He was looking very puzzled.
"I've never done this before, Granger. I have people to do it for me," he half-whispered, looking slightly embarrassed.
"I would do it," she replied coldly, "but I don't want you ruining the perfectly stirred flies."
"I tried to help-"
"You stirred the WRONG WAY!"
A look of dawning flashed over his icy eyes. "Was that it? Ohhhh."
"Merlin, Malfoy! We're never going to finish! Look at Harry and Pansy! They're already at the ideal stage!"
Malfoy shot a look at her. "Maybe," he said quietly, "We could get things done if you showed me how to help."
Draco's POV
Perfect. Reverse psychology (HaHa! Muggle studies finally came in handy!) is working just right.
Herm-GRANGER, GRANGER, GRANGER!
Is yelling at me. I, ever humble, am pretending to look abashed and sorrowful.
Four whole weeks of free time, four whole weeks of free time.
Stupid cabinet. It's just taunting me now. Everything I put in it comes out broken. Ruined.
Like me.
When I was young, my father brought me into Muggle London. "Daddy," I said, "Why are those people dressed so funny?"
"Because they're Muggles, son. They're bad. Stay close to me."
Father taught me that Muggles were dirt, and so were witches and wizards that were born as such. And I believed him. Why did I believe him?
I knew that as fact, until I got to Hogwarts. Then I met her. Even though I discovered she had brown blood, she never seemed to know that she was worse than the stuff on the bottom of my shoe. She held her head high and almost commanded respect.
Trying to show her that she was even lesser than our house-elf, Dobby, normally ended in me hurt, not her having a sudden epiphany. By then, I just watched her from across the hall. The Boy-Who-Refused-To-Die and The Weasel really didn't know what they had on their hands. She was pretty(after she shrunk her teeth), smart, kind, and very...um... I'm not finishing that sentence.
Now that I'm a Death Eater, I'm pretty sure our Exalted Leader, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, ought to be knocked down. He is a half-blood, right?
Bugger. Now I'll have to erase all my childhood notions and start from scratch.
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