Potions that day was hell. Harry didn't care what anyone else said, it was
his opinion that the stick lodged oh so firmly up Snape's ass, if at all
possible, had gone up further. Snape had spent the whole lesson staring
absently into the distance while his expectant class waited nervously in
their seats. Snape only moved to curse people who disturbed his staring.
Things that disturbed his staring ranged from passing notes, to charming
your best friends hair purple (Seamus got bored).
After all their classes for the day were over, Harry and Ron took their "Search for a Supermodel' entries to the entrance hall. They had just dropped them into the custom-made entry box when they heard a short, exasperated sigh.
"Honestly, they let anyone enter these competitions these days, don't they Crabbe!" Draco Malfoy was standing with his hand on his hip, blowing a piece of hair repeatedly out of his face. "Uh, yeah" droned Crabbe, in his own uniquely intelligent way. "Anyway, what are you doing here Potter? Do you seriously think you have a chance at winning this competition? And Weasley? I'm surprised that he can even afford the paper he wrote his entry on." Although he said this somewhat without conviction, Ron still looked hurt. "Malfoy, you bastard" spluttered Ron, shaking.
"Come, Crabbe. We have better things to do than talk to these low-life's." And with that he turned on his heel, flicked his long blonde hair over his shoulder, and nanced off. Harry and Ron trudged out after him.
Hermione snuck into the entrance hall, dropping her entry into the box, and quickly making her exit, stage left.
Meanwhile at number 4 Privet Drive, Dudley had his tongue stuck in the toaster, again.
A flood of people rushed out of one of the classrooms, a heavily accented Russian scream echoed through the corridors "The British are coming, the British are coming!"
After all their classes for the day were over, Harry and Ron took their "Search for a Supermodel' entries to the entrance hall. They had just dropped them into the custom-made entry box when they heard a short, exasperated sigh.
"Honestly, they let anyone enter these competitions these days, don't they Crabbe!" Draco Malfoy was standing with his hand on his hip, blowing a piece of hair repeatedly out of his face. "Uh, yeah" droned Crabbe, in his own uniquely intelligent way. "Anyway, what are you doing here Potter? Do you seriously think you have a chance at winning this competition? And Weasley? I'm surprised that he can even afford the paper he wrote his entry on." Although he said this somewhat without conviction, Ron still looked hurt. "Malfoy, you bastard" spluttered Ron, shaking.
"Come, Crabbe. We have better things to do than talk to these low-life's." And with that he turned on his heel, flicked his long blonde hair over his shoulder, and nanced off. Harry and Ron trudged out after him.
Hermione snuck into the entrance hall, dropping her entry into the box, and quickly making her exit, stage left.
Meanwhile at number 4 Privet Drive, Dudley had his tongue stuck in the toaster, again.
A flood of people rushed out of one of the classrooms, a heavily accented Russian scream echoed through the corridors "The British are coming, the British are coming!"
