Draco neglected his exercises over the next few days. He needed to think. He needed information desperately. He needed to know who the girl with Potter was. For she formed the basis of his plan. He'd get to Potter through her. But how? That was the difficult part. He hoped it was the Weasley girl, Jenny or whatever her name was. She was sure to be simple and trusting, just like the rest of her family. She'd be desperate to see the good in everyone. So he'd go for her first. Cause an accident and then 'save' her, with no apparent thought for his own safety. And she'd think he was good of course. A chivalrous act such as saving a damsel in distress would be perfect to begin with.
Then he'd cry, beg her not to turn him in. To let him get on with his miserable life alone, that was surely punishment enough? And he was harmless now. There was no need for the Dementors to keep him prisoner, he was more than capable of doing so himself. And the foolish little girl would believe him. Because Draco had always been good at making people see what he wanted them to see. He'd gain her trust,and kill her. Then kill Potter.
But he had to be sure. He needed to know who he was dealing with. Which was where the muggle would be of use to him. In all his life Draco had never once thought that one day he'd need the help of a muggle. But he was desperate. If something went wrong it would be the end of him, and his freedom. Despite his hatred of his circumstances Draco was not ready for the end yet. Let him have his chance, if he failed at this he deserved to be locked up. Or worse.
If Draco had a watch, he knew he'd be glancing at it every five minutes. He hated not knowing the time. He also hated the fact that he was waiting anxiously for a muggle. Merlin if his father could see him now. But his father would understand, this was all for the greater good. He may loathe the fact that all his plans lay on the information of some stupid muggle filth, but in the end it would be worth it. This was all that consoled Draco as he paced the living room, taking care to avoid the broken coffee table. Where the hell was she? She was normally here by now, wasn't she? He stopped pacing, he could hear the soft sounds of footsteps on the path. She was coming, he needed to get into position.
He grabbed the sharp piece of wood that he had extracted from the remains of his table, and jammed it into his foot. It was without a doubt the worst pain he had felt in a long time. But it was necessary, and his wand was back in his pocket, where it belonged. Once he had what he needed from her he'd heal himself. He may have forgotten a lot of the things he'd been taught as a child, but healing himself of small cuts wasn't one of them. He wondered briefly if he'd have to modify her memory. But that thought was thrown from his head when he heard the door opening. He dropped to the floor with a silent, cat-like grace that he had been born with, and, much to his disgust, he let the tears fall from his eyes and began to howl with pain.
"Ouch, oh god! Oh god!" he hoped he sounded convincing, the pain was real enough that was for sure.
"Oh my! Mr Marsden are you ok? What's happened? Here let me help you up."
She seemed to buy it, Salazar must have been smiling down on him. She struggled to help him over to the couch. Draco let the tears fall more freely, it was crucial that this next part was convincing.
"Ouch! Oh, oh thank you. Dear god that hurts." he tried to clutch at his foot, but she batted his hand away.
"No, here let me look at it. What on earth's happened here?"
Though he didn't know it the muggle was glancing around the room.
"What happened to your coffee table?"
"It's nothing, just…I'm sorry I was being stupid." he sniffed for added effect.
"Well it doesn't look too bad."
He gasped as she touched his foot, making it seem that he was in more pain than he actually was.
"I could probably get it out myself, if you'd like? It doesn't look like it's in too deep. Or would you rather I get the doctor?"
"No! No doctors please. I've had enough of them to last me a lifetime. Could you do it, please?" he tried to rearrange his face to look pained and vulnerable instead of triumphant. She was falling for it.
"If you're sure. I'll just get something to clean it with."
This was going better than he had expected.
"Here let me get a better look at it. You really shouldn't walk around barefooted. It looks ok."
If she wasn't a muggle he might have marvelled at how soft her touch was. When she was done she fixed him with a quizzical stare. Something had changed. She only hoped it was for the better.
"There that should do it. But if it doesn't heal by next week we should get a doctor to look at it," she paused, uncertain that she'd get answer to what she was about to ask. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"
"Well…" here was his most perfect opportunity.