Blaise pushed her marred hands to her eyes, the cuts and burns stinging with her tears.
"Don't touch your eyes, Blaise," scolded Fiona. "You'll get salt and oil from your face in the wounds. They might get infected."
Fiona was always the one to think of these things. She'd grown up with her stuffy grandmother and her mother, a pretty, half-blooded witch who'd taught her a lot about Muggle science and literature. Fiona was the shame of Slytherin: not only was she not completely pure-blooded, but she'd gone to a private Muggle primary school before she'd gotten her Hogwarts letter.
Blaise stuffed her hands into the pockets of her robes, and decided that if she didn't see them, they wouldn't hurt. It didn't work nearly as well as she'd hoped, but they were soon in the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomfery was lightly prodding the burns with her wand and the pain was ebbing away.
"That will have taken care of only the pain. These are potion burns, and it isn't safe to use a potion to cure them. I'll bandage you up, and give you some salve. Apply it twice daily and change the bandages regularly. If you aren't mostly healed by next Tuesday, come back and we'll risk it with a potion cure." Madam Pomfery paused, looking at Blaise's detached gaze. "Did you catch that, dear?"
Blaise nodded in compliance, but didn't look up. She had set her mind to thinking about Draco, and nothing was likely to change that.
"Looks as though she's feeling rather awful, Madam Pomfery. D'you mind if I take her to our dorm?"
"Not at all. If anyone stops you, tell them you have my permission to be out of class. I'll write you a note for Professor Snape."
Fiona made it back to class with only a few minutes left to spare, and as she walked in the door, Professor Snape was shouting:
"If you haven't flasked a sample of your potion, labeled it and put it on my desk by the time I finish speaking, I will not accept it. I expect you all to read the chapter on Charm-Potion Combinations and turn in a foot and a half long essay by Monday. No excuses."
Hermione sat, her table space clean and her flask of potion sitting jauntily on Snape's desk. She glared daggers at Draco, who had sauntered back into class and was sitting with his chair pushed back from the table, and was staring intently at his hands.
"That was bad, even for Malfoy," said Harry, looking at Hermione's angry expression.
"Yeah, shows you what kind of a person he is... doing that to his own friend..."
"You know, Ron, he didn't knock the cauldron over on her."
"No, but he let her take the blame for it, even though she'd been helping him!" Ron snapped.
"I didn't say he did the right thing..."
"Well, I'd like it if you'd stop acting like he isn't a Slytherin," said Ron testily. "It's not at though he's got any loyalty."
"Ron, stop it! You're just as bad as anyone else! You're a prefect, you should be setting an example! Remember what Dumbledore said?"
"Damn being a prefect, and damn being an example!" steamed Ron, pushing his chair back and rising from his seat.
"Well then damn you, Ronald Weasley!" shouted Hermione.
"If that's the way you feel, then fine!" snapped Ron, and with that, the bell rang and the entire class flowed from the classroom.
Hermione was now seething with her frustrations with both Ron and Draco. She grabbed her bag, threw it over her shoulder and stormed out. She walked quickly, losing Harry in the shuffle of other students.
"Hermione, wait!" he called after her, but she wasn't listening. Hermione strode forward, hands on hips, right up to Draco. He stopped, flanked by Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson. Hermione noticed that there was a faint yellow-tinged bruise beginning to show on his left cheek.
"If you've come to tell me what a pig I am, don't bother. Fiona's already done so, as you may be able to tell..." said Draco, raising his hand to his cheek.
Hermione reared her hand back and smacked Draco on his other cheek with all the strength she could muster. She starred at him for a moment, almost waiting for a new bruise to blossom.
"When you're cruel to your enemies, I can forgive you, and pretend that its out of spite. But when you're cruel to your friends... I don't know what to think of you," said Hermione sadly. She turned angrily and headed straight for Charms without a backward glance.
"I'm not a callous person..." said Draco quietly as she left. Pansy turned to him, draping her arm around his shoulder and leaning close.
"Why would you care what she thinks, Draco?" she asked, her voice as whining and simpering as usual.
"I don't," sighed Draco, leaving his three fellow Slytherins and heading toward the common room.
"Don't touch your eyes, Blaise," scolded Fiona. "You'll get salt and oil from your face in the wounds. They might get infected."
Fiona was always the one to think of these things. She'd grown up with her stuffy grandmother and her mother, a pretty, half-blooded witch who'd taught her a lot about Muggle science and literature. Fiona was the shame of Slytherin: not only was she not completely pure-blooded, but she'd gone to a private Muggle primary school before she'd gotten her Hogwarts letter.
Blaise stuffed her hands into the pockets of her robes, and decided that if she didn't see them, they wouldn't hurt. It didn't work nearly as well as she'd hoped, but they were soon in the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomfery was lightly prodding the burns with her wand and the pain was ebbing away.
"That will have taken care of only the pain. These are potion burns, and it isn't safe to use a potion to cure them. I'll bandage you up, and give you some salve. Apply it twice daily and change the bandages regularly. If you aren't mostly healed by next Tuesday, come back and we'll risk it with a potion cure." Madam Pomfery paused, looking at Blaise's detached gaze. "Did you catch that, dear?"
Blaise nodded in compliance, but didn't look up. She had set her mind to thinking about Draco, and nothing was likely to change that.
"Looks as though she's feeling rather awful, Madam Pomfery. D'you mind if I take her to our dorm?"
"Not at all. If anyone stops you, tell them you have my permission to be out of class. I'll write you a note for Professor Snape."
Fiona made it back to class with only a few minutes left to spare, and as she walked in the door, Professor Snape was shouting:
"If you haven't flasked a sample of your potion, labeled it and put it on my desk by the time I finish speaking, I will not accept it. I expect you all to read the chapter on Charm-Potion Combinations and turn in a foot and a half long essay by Monday. No excuses."
Hermione sat, her table space clean and her flask of potion sitting jauntily on Snape's desk. She glared daggers at Draco, who had sauntered back into class and was sitting with his chair pushed back from the table, and was staring intently at his hands.
"That was bad, even for Malfoy," said Harry, looking at Hermione's angry expression.
"Yeah, shows you what kind of a person he is... doing that to his own friend..."
"You know, Ron, he didn't knock the cauldron over on her."
"No, but he let her take the blame for it, even though she'd been helping him!" Ron snapped.
"I didn't say he did the right thing..."
"Well, I'd like it if you'd stop acting like he isn't a Slytherin," said Ron testily. "It's not at though he's got any loyalty."
"Ron, stop it! You're just as bad as anyone else! You're a prefect, you should be setting an example! Remember what Dumbledore said?"
"Damn being a prefect, and damn being an example!" steamed Ron, pushing his chair back and rising from his seat.
"Well then damn you, Ronald Weasley!" shouted Hermione.
"If that's the way you feel, then fine!" snapped Ron, and with that, the bell rang and the entire class flowed from the classroom.
Hermione was now seething with her frustrations with both Ron and Draco. She grabbed her bag, threw it over her shoulder and stormed out. She walked quickly, losing Harry in the shuffle of other students.
"Hermione, wait!" he called after her, but she wasn't listening. Hermione strode forward, hands on hips, right up to Draco. He stopped, flanked by Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson. Hermione noticed that there was a faint yellow-tinged bruise beginning to show on his left cheek.
"If you've come to tell me what a pig I am, don't bother. Fiona's already done so, as you may be able to tell..." said Draco, raising his hand to his cheek.
Hermione reared her hand back and smacked Draco on his other cheek with all the strength she could muster. She starred at him for a moment, almost waiting for a new bruise to blossom.
"When you're cruel to your enemies, I can forgive you, and pretend that its out of spite. But when you're cruel to your friends... I don't know what to think of you," said Hermione sadly. She turned angrily and headed straight for Charms without a backward glance.
"I'm not a callous person..." said Draco quietly as she left. Pansy turned to him, draping her arm around his shoulder and leaning close.
"Why would you care what she thinks, Draco?" she asked, her voice as whining and simpering as usual.
"I don't," sighed Draco, leaving his three fellow Slytherins and heading toward the common room.