Part 4 ~ The Infirmary
The slim, black-haired boy shifted his weight on one of the starchy-sheeted beds in the infirmary. Too much white…it stained so easily. Pondering this, he gently touched the corner of his mouth, which had stopped bleeding for the most part. Madame Jonquil was off somewhere digging an anti-bruise potion out of her stock, but already a large, tender purple spot was appearing just above his left eyebrow. The right sleeve of his robe was torn and charred where the flames had eaten at it before he could put them out. Once again he'd been punished for succeeding too easily in his classes—apparently he had known one too many answers on that test today. Maybe he should have waited a few minutes longer before turning in his paper.
Thank goodness the thugs were too stupid to even know any curses to put on him. He might have defended himself anyway, though, if they hadn't gotten his wand away from him first; he could have defended himself with his wand every time if there weren't always so many of them. He had pretty much given up trying, though. It was easier to just get the beating over with…
For some reason, James Potter crossed his mind, and his mouth filled with the bitter taste of hatred. No, wait—that was blood. His lip had started bleeding again. If he could have grinned without the cut reopening further, he would have; James was exactly the kind of person who, as the saying goes, he loved to hate. He honestly enjoyed their rivalry, and he frequently initiated conflicts on purpose. Something about the exchange of wit—always wit before physical blows—and his ability to completely ruffle James's feathers the wrong way made him happy, because it made him feel like they were equals. Even though Potter was scheduled to become Head Boy next year, this skinny, beaten-up boy could still get the better of him in half their skirmishes. Like the last one, for instance. He'd set James's potion on fire and by some miracle managed to convince their professor that it was entirely the Potter boy's fault.
He could not help but let out a soft laugh and a wide smile at the memory. He cursed aloud as his lip split open again and blood trickled down his chin and dripped all over the white sheets.
Author's Note: Yes, I know it's short. And in case I didn't make it clear, yes, this is a flashback-y type thing. Yeah. Sorry… I usually try to avoid unnecessary A/Ns. Okay, well, my HP movie DVD is calling to me, since I just got back from my week-long trip today and I have yet to see it… hope you all enjoyed this chapter—I don't know why, but I think it's one of my favorites.