Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my obsession with Ron Weasley. JK Rowling gets all the credit.
Okay, this next chapter is set in early or mid October. The real plot comes in the later months of the school year, so I skipped over September and the Sorting Ceremony and such. Enjoy, reader of mine...
The following months went gradually. Classes started, fall began, and I found that the year was passing painfully slow. Leaves weren't falling fast enough for my liking. Sure, all of my grades were superb and my social life complete, but I was aching to see the outside world again. I already knew my fate with Voldemort and was eagerly awaiting it. It was an honour. Classes - even Advanced Potions - became monotonous and obsolete.
My lackluster effort was brought to my attention suddenly one morning in the dungeons of the castle.
"Mister Malfoy," a cold voice drawled at me as I sat doodling in the margins of my notes. "Will you please direct your attention to the front of the class when you're finished with your masterpiece? As you know, I'm not one to stand in the way of art, but sometimes, when students want to learn something, they regard a professional."
Professor Snape was never one for subtly.
The disposition in his comment was also aided by the fact Snape harbored a slight hatred of me. Always had, really. I know what you're thinking: how could he hate such a brilliant student of his own house? It was because we knew the boundary between us.
He was below me in the chain leading up to Voldemort. My father and I held a much better position than he in the Lord's eye. I was continually moving upwards while Snape stayed at the lower rungs, glowering in the dregs of my glory.
"I apologize, Professor, from extracting my attention of your lesson," I answered sardonically. Nevertheless, I set down my quill and waited patiently for him to continue. He would launch into a tirade, settle down, and go back to his lecture soon. Merlin knows I had heard enough of him to know his routine.
"Why don't you place your focus out your head to the head of the class? I've had enough of your lifeless effort in my class. If you don't watch your step, Mister Malfoy, I'll have you demoted to a much, much simpler Potions." Snape raised a greasy eyebrow at me, challenging me.
I bit my lip at him. "Yes sir," I hissed, clutching a fist under the table.
The dense, greasy man at the head of the dank room lowered his black brow and turned his back on me and the rest of the Slytherin class. No one dared even a snigger in my direction. I kept a straight, dry face as I copied down the recipe on the board. Abhorrence seared through my veins with each scratch of quill against paper.
"Even I know to pay attention in the dungeons, Malfoy," a confident, loathing voice rang out behind me when class was dismissed.
I turned sharply, sending the material of my pressed, black robes scattering around my ankles. Harry Potter came jauntily walking up to me, a smirk on his scarred head. He had grown over the summer months, so we stood at the same height. His scar was the same, I'm happy to report. Weasley was behind him and towered over us all, the great, awkward brute. His hair had grown to his shoulders, making him look a hippie. Suiting, I thought. The trio was not complete, I noticed, as the mousy know-it-all was missing.
"Dreaming of Pansy?" Potter laughed softly, swaying from side to side. "Or is it Blaise now? I've noticed he's gone."
The giant Weasley laughed hysterically at this, slapping his master on the shoulder with congratulations.
After seven years of being in the same school, I detested Harry Potter the most of all the student body. Each year my repugnance of Potter Boy Wonder increased ten fold. He continued to excel far further than I did at Quidditch and went out of his way to show me that at each and every game. Weasley, his personal whipping boy, spared no expense to show me that, not only we were both of pure blood, that he was much more powerful than I and overtook me in fights much more often than in younger years.
I grimaced and shot back, "Go back to your followers, Pothead, if that's the best you've got. Perhaps they've got some suggestions." It wasn't my best retort, but it would suffice for the moment. It struck me then, that I hadn't gotten the homework off the board and needed it so that monkey would stay off my back.
I strode off for Snape's classroom once more. Scarhead obviously wasn't about to let bygones be bygones when he retorted to my back, "Running away with your tail between your legs again, Malfoy? Typical." The weasel laughed.
I didn't.
"Shove it up your ass," I called, turning a deaf ear. I walked into the clammy room, infuriated. I clenched my fists again and resisted the tempting urge to chase the damn boy down and beat him until he couldn't lift a perfect finger. Don't even get me started on what I'd do to that buffoon sidekick.
"Miss Granger, I expect you in this classroom everyday after school, you know that," I heard a voice growl from the corner of the classroom.
Not wanting to disturb anything to do with the punishment of beaver-toothed Granger, I slid into a dark crook of the room and delighted in the thought of Snape's fury being unleashed on Miss Perfect. At last, I reveled; she gets what's been coming to her since she was born.
"I'm sorry, Professor," I heard a soft, feminine voice plead. "There was a test in Transfiguration and I fell asleep in the Library last night studying."
"I did not ask for excuses," Snape spat loathingly. "We agreed at the beginning of the year that you, in order to keep your grades up, would have to visit me every night. You failed to keep up your end of the deal and now your scores are going to suffer plenty. I promise you that."
I smirked to myself, basking in my good fortune. I wanted to know more, dig deeper in Hermione's bad fate. I had no idea what she was doing every night in Snape's room, but I healthily guessed that it was because perhaps she was more a dunce faking her intellect than an actual genius.
"Please," I heard her voice whimper after a silence. "I'll come tonight, I promise."
There was a loud smack and a thump and a small cry. "I did not make a deal just to bargain on the rules of it later. My laws are non-negotiable, you pathetic, silly girl."
Though I could not see the actual deed being done, I had known what he had done by the sounds. My smile looped off to the side, a bit put off, but I was pleased none the less. Granger was going to fail. I know I sound childish, but for the past seven years she had conquered me in everything academic. Merlin knows I had gotten enough crap and beatings from my father about it.
"Alright," I faintly heard Granger whisper.
"Then get up off the floor and go to your next class," Snape told her cruelly.
Before she had a chance to say anything, I slipped from my cranny in the wall next to the bookcase and ran into the stream of people in the hallway. Snape, of all people, had just made my day. I could face the consequences of not having my homework tomorrow with a smirk.
NOTE! Alright, the writing from this whole piece is inspired from Great Expectations, a book we have to read in Language Arts this month. I don't know, I was in a very depressing mood when I wrote it. And the fact that it was three o'clock in the morning when I finished it. Hee hee.
Trapped-in-a-dream: Thanks for being my first reviewer for the story! You rock.
Yours Awesomely, Katie
