Draco Malfoy had got to be passing good at destroying Potter's potions. There had never been any terribly good reason for that, either. It was good training, of course, and Prof. Snape had certainly approved. His status in Slytherin certainly rose whenever he pulled a cruel prank, that was for certain. So, indeed, he had never had any good reason, but simply a multitude of bad ones.
Today he arrived precisely. Not first, not last, but ducking out of a corridor to come to class just shadowing Neville Longbottom. Neville had nearly jumped, when Malfoy slid into the seat beside him. "Oh, I thought you were Hermione!" Neville babbled.
"Because I'm known for bushy hair and an overbite." Malfoy said, his tone ice.
Neville blinked stupidly back at him, and then ventured, cautiously, "Did you just crack a joke?"
"That would imply that I could do anything less than perfectly." Malfoy said, his drawling tone bored and supercilious.
Class started with the usual bang of Prof. Snape slamming the door shut. They were quiet for the rest of the period, with Neville merely nearly blowing both their heads off three times, and once nearly clearing the room with poisonous gas. Draco was well used to compensating for inadequate help, of course. He never worked with either Goyle or Crabbe in class, but was in charge of their "private potions lessons." Yet another command from his godfather that he knew better than to disobey. (Yet another sign that Granger-the-goodie-goodie was a fool: she'd have been compensated, one way or another, for helping the Boy-Who-Died, if only she had waited to be asked. Wanting to help was no grande sin... not getting paid for it was the foolishness. Not that Draco had ever truly wanted to help his minions. They were just that, minions.)
Zambini was watching him, creaking wheels slowly turning in his head... He doesn't know anything, and by the time he's ready to make a move... Knowledge is power, I trust and hope. Normally, Draco would have expected Ron and Granger (particularly Granger) to be annoyed, or whispering about him stealing Granger's chosen seat. They moved like useless automatons, too tarred in grief to see the feathers in front of their face. Draco fought back a smile, with the air of long practiced patience, knowing that if he let it show, it would look like a cat who had just caught a canary - complete with a feather at the side of his mouth. There was a reason Draco Malfoy rarely smiled, it was too obvious.
Prof. Snape stared levelly at Draco as he handed in the potion, not saying a word. That was itself odd, as if Prof. Snape was doing Arithmetical calculations... and perhaps he was. The daft old sorting hat had sung a strange song at the Sorting... perhaps the words had rung as strangely in Prof. Snape's twisty mind as they had in Draco Malfoy's.
[a/n: Yes, Draco Malfoy can turn "get to class" into something worthy of a superspy. To be fair, if he hadn't had precise timing, Hermione would have sat with Neville, and all his scheming would be ruined for the day.
Read and Review, and I'll write more - I promise! If you don't review, we'll just see...
Prof. Snape isn't thinking about the sorting hat's song at all, of course. Just a convenient distraction...]