Chapter Eight: Potter
"Give it here, Malfoy!" Potter shouted, brushing untidy bangs out of his eyes. Suddenly, I wondered how long it had been since he had gotten a haircut.
Draco smirked, mounting his broom. "Come and get it, then!" He was obviously joking. To everyone's surprise, Potter mounted his broom as well and took off after him. Granger seemed exceedingly displeased, probably because of her obsession with following rules.
Draco flew higher and higher, avoiding Potter easily. I supposed that Potter had never ridden a broom, having grown up with Muggles, but he seemed to have a born talent for it. "How about, in a tree?" I faintly heard Draco say, referring to a nice hiding spot for a Rememberall. My neck was starting to hurt from looking up. Suddenly, Potter lunged forward. Thinking quickly, Draco threw the Rememberall.
Then Potter went into a flat-out dive, catching the orb neatly in one hand, just feet away from the ground. I gasped; even a Quidditch player would envy that move! And Potter had never flown before...had he?
Scowling, Draco landed roughly on the field, while the Gryffindors cheered for Potter. Just then, McGonagall arrived. "Mr. Potter, come with me," she said crossly. I grinned at Draco, and knew he was thinking the same thing: Potter was going to be expelled! Obviously, she hadn't seen Draco flying, or else he would have the same punishment.
When Potter and McGonagall had left, I turned to Draco, pushing my glasses to the end to the end of my nose and imitating McGonagall's voice. "What do you think you were doing, Mr. Potter? Mr. Harry I-am-so-famous-I-can-do-anything-I-want Potter? Trying to get expelled?"
He pulled a blank, confused face that actually did resemble Potter's. "Oh, no, not trying to get expelled...I just wanted to impress my girlfriend, Simmons! There's just something about Parselmouths! Maybe it's the way they hiss and spit, but I always fall for them." Chloe Simmons didn't notice our creative dramatization of the incident; she was talking excitedly to Granger.
By the time Madam Hooch returned, class was almost over. No one told her about the Rememberall incident, but the look on her face made it clear that she already knew. Before we were dismissed, she told us to call off the serial numbers on our brooms. Apparently, we would be using the same broomsticks the whole year. I looked down at my Befuddled Broom and groaned. Did it fly backwards, too? Draco was also disgruntled, owing to the fact that the ancient Shooting Stars (which everyone had to use for Flying Class) could be outdone by pretty much anything else available.
That evening, Draco decided to celebrate Potter's expulsion by opening his supply of sweets from home. It was after dinner, but it was still light outside, so we went for a picnic next to the lake. That is, if a meal consisting entirely of sugar can be called a picnic. Soon, the horde of desserts was considerably diminished, and sun's reddish light was finally starting to fade. Draco ordered Crabbe and Goyle to clean up, and we headed back to the castle.
* * *
That Friday, just before Potions class started, I glanced over the Famous Witch and Wizard cards I had gotten out of Chocolate Frogs I had eaten. "Hmmm...Frederick the Wise...another Dumbledore...Teiresias the Blind, I've never seen that one before! He was a Greek seer (Kind of ironic, huh? A blind seer!) and he never lied," I summarized the card. "Uh, Draco?" I asked, noticing that he wasn't responding.
Actually, he looked like he was choking. Grey eyes wide, jaw slack, he nearly fell out of his chair; Goyle quickly caught him. "What's going on? Are you okay?" I said frantically, my voice just below a shriek.
Regaining his usual sitting position, Draco blinked and tried (and failed) to speak calmly. "It's...it's...Potter! He's not been expelled, he's here, he just walked in the door!" Turning around, I saw that it was true; Potter was taking a seat, accompanied by Weasley, Granger, and Simmons.
Longbottom was proudly telling anyone who would listen, "Did you hear that Harry's going to be the youngest Seeker ("No!" I thought frantically. "It can't be true!") in a century?! He's playing for Gryffindor this year!"
"Damn!" Malfoy growled, much to the dismay of Inge, who claimed to have very delicate ears. I barely noticed...how could this have happened?! First years aren't supposed to make the House teams; if they were, they would be allowed to bring brooms. I felt like cursing as well, but refrained; Professor Snape had just walked in the door.
He spoke slowly and forcefully. "There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I do not expect you to enjoy the exact science that is potion-making. But for the few that have the correct...disposition..." he trailed off, casting an approving look over me. "I can teach you to bewitch the mind, ensnare the senses...I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death."
Then he turned suddenly to Potter. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" he asked sharply. Potter had been writing what appeared to be a note, and looked at the professor in confusion.
"I...I don't know sir," he replied weakly. Granger, proving what an insufferable know-it-all she was, was waving her hand violently in the air. Professor Snape ignored her.
"Clearly, fame isn't everything," he growled, and continued on with class. When the bell rang, the Gryffindors jumped up to leave so quickly that Professor Snape took twenty points off Gryffindor for "reckless behavior." Draco and I exchanged grins; Potions was going to be fun this year.
* * *
Potions was the last class of the week, meaning everyone in Hogwarts could relax for two whole days. Everyone, that is, except for the students, who had so much homework, it was painful to think about. Fortunately, I finished mine by Saturday afternoon, and spent the rest of the weekend poring over a book of hexes. For me, hexes were the most fascinating form of magic; perhaps because they weren't covered in any of my classes. Not even Professor Quirrell taught us about unfriendly spells; he looked scared at the mere mention of Expelliarmus, perhaps the most common spell ever used in a duel.
The weeks passed quickly, during which Draco and I continued to invent and perform new versions of Potter's life, in which Potter had a blank face, Granger spoke in a squeaky voice, Weasley was a raving lunatic, and Simmons couldn't say anything without spitting. Oddly, Simmons barely noticed our antics, although the other three always shot us dirty looks. And when she did notice, it was always during one of Draco's pseudo-Potter monologues, which hardly made her think that we disliked her.
One awful day in October, Draco and I had gone for a walk on the grounds after finishing our homework. Crabbe and Goyle trailed at a respectful distance: close enough to come to our aid if need be, and far enough that we didn't have to notice them. As the Quidditch stadium came into view from around the castle, I noticed seven tiny crimson figures darting around on broomsticks.
"Look," I said, pointing to the distant field. "It's the Gryffindor team, out practicing. I heard that Oliver Wood is working them to death this year. He wants to get the Quidditch Cup for his House...as if that will ever happen!" It was common knowledge that the Slytherin team could cream any of the other House teams without much effort.
Draco scowled. "But that Potter chap! The new Seeker," he grumbled. "Somehow, sometime...someone is going to find a way to let him win, just because he's The Boy Who Lived! I mean, what is so special about that?"
I shrugged. "Well, just because most of the world regards him as the one person who ended the reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...oh, you're right, nothing special there," I finished sarcastically. Draco scowled deeper, then launched into an angry tirade.
"But, it's not like he tried to finish off the Dark Lord! He can't have known what he was doing! Besides that, he grew up with...with savages! He knows next to nothing about the wizarding world, he's always standing up for his stupid "what's right," and none of the Professors ever let him get in trouble. It's sickening!"
I caught Draco by the shoulder before he could continue. "That's not true," I said evenly. "There's always Snape. He can see that Potter is just trying to play up his fame, and won't let him be teacher's pet. And Filch is equally nasty to everyone." Nodding, Draco agreed, but he still looked murderous.
His condition did not improve as we neared the Quidditch field. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it worsened. To his horror, and mine alike, Chloe Simmons was wearing crimson and gold robes, and defending the three goal hoops! First Potter, and now her...it was almost too bad to be true. To add to that, Potter was now flying a brand-new Nimbus 2000, the fastest, most maneuverable model in the world! Suddenly, I had an irrational desire to hex the both of them in midair. Hopefully, they would fall and hurt themselves severely enough that they would be forced to stay in the Hospital Wing for the rest of...well, seven years, to be precise.
Thankfully, I stopped myself with the thought that I would be expelled from Hogwarts if I pulled a stunt like that. Draco's grey eyes narrowed, still fixed on the Quidditch field, smoldering darkly. "When I make the House team next year, I'll be Seeker," he said, determination in his voice. "And no one, not even Potter, is going to beat me. Just watch."
I quickly agreed with him, but decided that he should go inside before he hurt someone. Taking his arm, I steered him forcefully through the Great Hall, down twisting hallways and changing staircases, and into the Slytherin common room. Crabbe and Goyle appeared moments later, bringing good news, for once. Apparently, Simmons was not actually on the team; she was being trained as a reserve, in case any of the other players were too sick or injured to fly. Still, Draco sat in front of the fire and fumed about Potter.
To Be Continued...
Disclaimer: I own Andromeda, Inge Fernfrond, and Frederick the Wise. Teiresias the Blind is a character in the ancient Greek tragedy Antigone, which I, of course, do not own. I also own most of the original events and dialogue, but a bit of it belongs to WildMage42. Chloe Simmons belongs to WildMage42, whose stories you should read. Anything that can be found in JKR's books or the movies, I obviously do not own. Do not sue me please. Also, this chapter is dedicated to anyone who has trouble with email attachments.