Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own the amazing coffee I am currently consuming.

Author's note: I'm sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up, but I moved back down to college, and my computer was acting up, and I got two new roommates, all in the space of two days.

Gremlin: I'm glad you are interested.

Eve: Thanks for the review, and I'm glad that you think that my characters are well rounded.

A big thanks to Embellished who helped me fix my physics!

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Chapter 8

Rule #7: Avoid split second decisions

Draco lay in the infirmary, staring at the sunlight filtering through the window to light up the ceiling. For the first time, he was injured through no fault of his own and although the pain medication was making thought difficult, but his mind kept flashing back to the Quidditch match that morning.

Draco listened to Warrington's pep talk as the crowd of students in the stadium was already screaming and cheering. He hated the seventh year, but even he had to admit that the Death-Eater-to-be could be downright charismatic when he wanted to.

Draco resisted the urge to jump up and down as his body screamed for movement. He instead transferred all of his energy to his right hand, touching his index finger to his thumb, and then his ring finger to his thumb, followed by his middle finger then his pinky in a 1-3-2-4 pattern. His piano teacher had taught him that, supposedly it was supposed to help with dexterity, but Draco used it any time there wasn't a hard surface to drum on.

"This is our day," said Warrington, pacing in front of them. "It is our day!" He finished on a shout and Draco joined the team in giving a loud cheer and heading out to the field, but Warrington stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Just keep Potter from catching the Snitch until we're in the lead," Warrington hissed in his ear. "Do you think you can manage that, Malfoy?" The thick fingers on his shoulder squeezed rather painfully and Draco smirked at the attempt to frighten him.

"Just watch me," he drawled, and Warrington gave him a shove to get going.

Draco shifted slightly on the bed, and heard voices across the room. He turned his head to see a man in a white over-robe stepping from the fireplace. The surgeon was here. Draco turned his head back to the ceiling and stared at the patch of sun. Every so often dark shadows would flit across the square of brightness as a cloud passed through the ray of light.

The game had been going so well. Slytherin had scored twice within the first twenty-five seconds and by the fifteen minute marker, they were ahead 60-20. After the first half an hour, Potter had been getting restless and angry at Slytherin's lead. Of course, that might have been taunts the entire Slytherin team had been yelling at him. Either way, Potter went into a Wronski.

Draco was slowly circling the field, not really watching for the Snitch, but watching Potter. He didn't have to catch it, just force Potter to catch it when Gryffindor couldn't win. He halted when he drew even with Potter, but didn't insult him. Personally, he believed that the meaner the Slytherins got, the more Potter was bound to catch the Snitch due to karma and poetic justice.

"See anything yet, Potter?" he asked conversationally. He didn't have to insult Potter to get him riled up, and he found it amusing. Rather childish, he knew, but everyone had their flaws.

"Like I would really tell you, Malfoy!" said Potter, his green eyes blazing.

Draco shrugged languidly. "Just trying to make conversation," he said. "It may be a long game, you know, seeing as you can't rely on your broom to win the game for you, because I have one as well."

He pretended to wipe a bit of dust from his Firebolt, knowing from experience how infuriating that little act could be.

"So your father bought you a Firebolt, did he?" asked Potter. "Was it a sort of 'breaking free of Azkaban' gift?"

Draco's eyes darkened. He didn't really get along with his father, but no one talked bad about him. "Actually, I bought it myself," he said, letting the remark slide by, not wanting to clue Potter into the fact his comment actually drew blood. "Looks like you may not win this game," he said, as Slytherin scored again.

"It doesn't matter what kind of broom you have, Malfoy," spat Potter. "Just because you can pay your way in, doesn't mean you can pay to win."

And Potter went into a spectacular Wronski feint, throwing down the gauntlet. Draco smirked, as Potter's comment had actually been rather clever, and then hurtled after the other Seeker, hearing the commentary by a sixth year Ravenclaw.

"Potter goes into a dive, but the Snitch is no where in sight. Malfoy follows Potter!"

He could vaguely hear the crowd yelling as the green turf loomed closer. He watched as Potter pulled up at the last possible second, and he reluctantly had to admit that Potter had just pulled off a Wronski worthy of Krum. He kept his broom aimed at the ground, going passed Potter's point of pulling up, and just when it seemed he would crash, he jerked his broom backwards. Hard.

The result of pulling up too hard on a Wronski is that the broom flips completely over, dumping the Seeker on his back. Draco knew this, and planned accordingly. He wrapped his knees around the broomstick so that when he flipped, he was hanging on upside down, and zooming away in the opposite direction, his robes brushing the grass.

"I don't believe it!" the commentator shouted. "Potter pulls a Wronski, and Malfoy executes a perfect Andy's Maneuver!"

Draco allowed the grin he had been holding back to slip onto his face, as he pulled up into the air, righting himself and putting on a boost of sped to whip around the field as the Slytherins screamed like crazy. Even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were cheering, and the teachers were applauding, though some of them rather grudgingly.

Draco felt the corners of his mouth twitch at the memory. He had bested Potter there and the victory tasted sweet on his lips. If only the game hadn't gone to hell in a hand basket…

Potter spotted the Snitch only once, and Draco was able to keep him off of it, until a well directed bludger from Warrington caused them both to dive, and so the Snitch was lost. Potter was glaring and Draco was smirking.

He purposefully trailed Potter after that, staying on his tail no matter how Potter dodged. Draco nearly lost him a few times, but pulled through.

The Boy Who Lived was perhaps fifty feet in the air, and Draco was following under him maybe four feet, when the attack came. Draco heard a high keening noise and he identified it as a great vampire bat three seconds later. It took him so long because there were no vampire bats in England, at least, there weren't supposed to be.

He whipped his head around, looking for the animal, knowing that they were large and deadly, and saw it swoop up from behind the stands. Students screamed and started running, and the animal shrieked and flew up over the pitch, the size of two hippogriffs easily. It was so fast, Draco only had time to duck slightly, and then the creature was over head, knocking into Potter with one of its wings, and sending the boy hurtling off his broom.

The rate of acceleration due to gravity is 32 feet per second squared. Potter started from a dead stop and was directly above Draco when he fell. As Draco was four feet under Potter when he fell, and as the distance traveled is 16 x the square of the time, Draco had maybe half a second to decide what to do.

Half a second is not a lot, he told himself while lying on the bed. If you split a second, you get half a second, so then that makes half a second a split second, and aren't split second decisions usually bad ones? In fiction novels, split second decisions are used to reveal the true nature of a character. He didn't want to think if that possibility was true.

Rule number seven: Avoid split second decisions.

He could hear Madame Pomfrey talking to the surgeon, and let his thoughts wander again.

In that half a second, Harry had fallen so that he was directly left of Draco, and Draco launched himself sideways and latched onto Harry's wrist. He was promptly flipped upside down, hanging onto his broom by his knees and by his right hand. His left hand was holding onto Potter, who was dangling thirty-five feet in the air and looking up at his savior with a very startled expression. Draco knew that his own expression was just as surprised.

He then realized that Harry's hand was slipping out of his grasp, and so he let go of the broom stick with his right hand so he was just hanging onto his broom with his knees, and held his right hand out.

"Take my hand," he yelled, over the screams of the students who were now under the onslaught of the bat. A quick glance to the stands showed that the bat was strafing the students, lashing out with its claws as it tried to swipe one. The teachers were throwing hexes at it, making it shriek and writhe.

Potter pulled himself up a little and managed to grab his other hand. Draco then tilted the broom downward and they began a slow, gradual decline, any steeper, and Draco's knees would slip right off. He managed to lower them so that they were fifteen feet up, but then Potter's hand slipped and the jerk caused the broom to tilt completely down, and Draco slid off, even though his legs tried to tighten around the handle.

Draco let go of Harry's hand during the plummet, not wanting to land on top of him. It wasn't necessary to bother. Five feet from the ground Harry's freefall was slowed by a charm from Dumbledore; Draco hit the ground at- what he approximated with his rather rough physics- 0.1125 seconds later, a time too short for the levitating charm Dumbledore sent at him to fully form.

His left leg hit the ground first at an angle that obliged it to fold up under his body as he hit the lawn. The momentum caused him to roll a few times and then he was left, gasping for a breath that wasn't there and staring at the blue sky, the only thing keeping him from screaming at the pain was the fact that the wind had been knocked out of him.

Once his diaphragm filled with air, he bit back the scream and struggled to sit up but stopped when a lancing pain shot from his leg to his head. He could hear a deafening crash and turned to the right to see the giant bat falling into the Hufflepuff stands, taken down by the teachers, and then his view was obscured by red robes. He dragged his gaze up to rest on the confused face of Harry Potter.

The boy hero was joined by McGonagall, who grabbed Harry by his shoulders and asked him urgently if he was all right. Harry wordlessly pointed to Draco, and she came to stand over him. She was joined by Dumbledore and Professor Stevick and Draco was extremely glad to see Snape join them. Even if he and his teacher didn't really get along, the presence of another Slytherin was comforting.

Claire Jameson came running up.

"Pomfrey's here," she said.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Bryant, Claire, would you tell the prefects and Head Boy and Girl to get everyone to their houses, and then make sure the injured get to the infirmary?"

"Of course," said the DADA professor and he and the student teacher hurried off. Pomfrey arrived, joining the group, and Draco got sick of everyone standing over him.

"Potter," said Pomfrey, "are you hurt?"

Draco felt anger surge inside of him as he was the one on the ground and Potter was standing, but Potter was always first.

"Draco?" asked Madame Pomfrey, pulling him out of his reverie. "The surgeon is here and he's going to fix your leg, alright?"

If Draco was not on the pain meds, he would have rolled his eyes, or said something sarcastic, but he wasn't quite himself and so he gave a slight smile and nodded. She returned the smile, and brushed his hair off of his face with cool, soothing fingers.

Of course she was nice to him now, he thought bitterly, as she moved off to get the surgeon. But he couldn't really blame her as he had been a right prat most of the time he was in here. He stared back at the ceiling, remembering how she had first acted towards him after the accident.

Bill came up, joining the teachers as the Boy-Who-Lived tried to explain to Pomfrey that he was fine, Dumbledore's spell had saved him. She finally turned to Draco.

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy. What hurts this time? And if it's not too serious, don't waste my time with theatrics."

He noted that McGonagall hid a smile at that and that even Dumbledore's eyes seemed to sparkle more than usual.

"I'm fine," he said coldly.

Pomfrey looked surprised, but relieved that she was spared from any drama. "Well, then, let's get you up so I can look you both over at the infirmary."

Draco didn't move.

"Mr. Malfoy, if you would be so kind as to stand up?" said Pomfrey irritably.

"I can't," said Draco.

Pomfrey gave an audible sigh and muttered something about being melodramatic that McGonagall smiled even wider at. Snape extended a hand and Draco allowed his Head of House to pull him smoothly to his good foot.

"Are you alright, Draco?" asked Snape.

Draco nodded and tried to take a step on his injured leg. He was prepared for pain, but nothing like the searing fire that ripped up his leg. He staggered heavily, his jaw clenched, his face a stone mask of no emotion. Snape caught him and he leaned heavily on the Potions Master.

"He is injured," said Snape to medi-witch, lowering him to the ground.

"Really, Mr. Malfoy," said Madame Pomfrey. "Can't it wait until we get to the infirmary?"

But she knelt beside him, and McGonagall, Bill, Potter and Dumbledore crowded around again. Draco wished they would go away.

"His left leg," said Snape to Pomfrey, who nodded and slit his trousers up to mid thigh and then pulled the flaps back. Draco barely registered the gasp from Pomfrey, or the 'Sweet Merlin' from McGonagall. He surveyed his leg dispassionately.

Legs just weren't supposed to look like that. His knee was swollen to twice its normal size and his knee cap was off center. It was more than off center. It looked as if it had come detached of what ever it was supposed to be connected to and had slipped to the right. Black bruises with a greenish tinge mottled pale skin from an inch above his knee to three inches below and his lower leg seemed to be bent funny from his knee. Draco wondered if it was possible for his leg to be disconnected as well.

"Severus, I need you to get started on an immobilization potion," ordered Pomfrey. "Albus, please take Harry to the infirmary, and Minerva, Floo St. Mungo's and tell them that I need a surgeon."

The teachers didn't protest, but immediately jumped to obey. Pomfrey gently lowered Draco all the way to the ground, and started rummaging around in her pockets for a pain potion.

"It was a terrific spill," said Bill, sitting on the grass next to him.

Pomfrey found the bottle and held it to his lips. "Drink this," she said. "I don't want to move you until we get that leg immobilized. Severus has the potion half made for emergencies, and it will be out in a few moments."

Draco obediently sipped the orange liquid, drinking a fourth of the bottle. He knew that once the dragonfly wings were added to the immobilization potion, it only had twenty-four hours to be effective, and so it was kept half made.

He blinked as the unbearable fire that raged in his leg was brought down to a mere smoldering. The potion left him feeling relaxed and contentedly hazy.

"Ever broken a bone before, Draco?" Bill asked, and Draco answered, the potion stopping any inhibitions he may have held before.

"A few," said Draco. "I broke my wrist playing Quidditch once back at the Manor. That was my first."

"How old were you?" asked Bill.

"Six," said Draco. "Lucius was supposed to be watching me, but I dodged a bludger and fell off my broom.

"Ouch," said Bill. "Did you cry?"

"No," said Draco. The truth was he hadn't cried since the day he was born, courtesy of his mother and an anti-crying charm left on him seven years. Charms left on too long often caused permanent damage. "I got out of playing piano for two weeks so it wasn't so bad." He blinked, wondering if he had just revealed that about himself. Pain potions often caused the mind to lose control, and he had seriously lost it.

"The first time I broke a bone," said Bill, "was when I was nineteen and was on this dig in the Sahara. They had just discovered the ruins of a temple and we were trying to get past the curses in this chamber underground. Well, we tried the wrong spell and caused the whole thing to come collapsing down on us. I got a boulder to the leg, and it just snapped. I still haven't told my mother about that one."

Bill laughed at the memory and Draco felt his lips turn slightly up. "Lucius told Narcissa I fell down the stairs when I broke my wrist. She thinks Quidditch is dangerous."

"It's only dangerous when there are giant bats," said Bill, nodding wisely, and Draco felt the smile widen. He tried to tell himself to get a grip, but the potion was a good one, and he couldn't stop.

"Mothers have to worry," Bill continued. "It's in their genes."

"She wasn't worried," said Draco. "She was more concerned that an injury might interfere with her party the next day."

Bill frowned. "She must care some," he started, but Draco shook his head.

"She doesn't. She drinks a lot, you know, so she doesn't care much about anything, except the whiskey and the potions and the parties."

He clamped his mouth shut, swearing fluently in French in his head. Bill didn't push the matter, and Pomfrey looked as if she was really seeing him for the first time.

"Severus is here," she said, spotting Snape hurrying across the lawn. "Drink some more of this, the immobilization potion is a tad uncomfortable.

She made him drink over half of the bottle, which meant that the potion would be more than uncomfortable, and then went to meet Severus. Draco felt slightly dizzy, and he noted vaguely that there was one cloud that looked suspiciously like Dumbledore's beard.

"Hey, Draco," called a voice from far away. Was that the wind saying his name? He turned slightly and saw Bill, looking at him with a slight smile on his face. "You're really zoning, aren't you?" Bill asked, and it seemed that he was talking in slow motion.

Draco had used that word 'zoning' before, and his mind flashed once, and he remembered the code on the board. R is for Riddle, he thought, M is for Malfoy.

"There's a riddle on your board," he whispered, though the black was descending and he didn't know if he was saying it out loud. "R is for Riddle." He blinked back the darkness and stared back up at the sky. "M is for Malfoy. That's the riddle."

Something was being poured down his throat and there was a throbbing in his leg and then the late morning sky faded to night where there were no stars to break the black.

He had woken up in the infirmary, not knowing how he had gotten there. The last thing he remembered was talking to Bill about broken bones, and he had slipped and told him about his mother, but that was it. The surgeon had come an hour later after his Quidditch team had visited; they were demanding to know why he had saved Potter. As no one had really seen Draco catch Harry, he managed to get away with a lie.

I didn't save him. He fell into me and grabbed my arm. By the time I realized that I was preventing him from falling to his most welcome death, it was too late to let go without being obvious about it. If I had, I would have been expelled because Dumbledore was watching. Besides, it's not my place to kill Potter. It's the Dark Lord's honor.

He had told them that, the last bit had been said in a whisper, and within moments his story had been spread around the entire Slytherin house, thanks to Pansy, and Draco had been praised for his devotion to the Dark Lord. He had also been pitied as Dumbledore had only seen it fit to save Harry. Some rumors were circulating that Dumbledore had wanted Draco to die because he was afraid that Draco would become a Death Eater, and that he would be too great a threat.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," said the surgeon from St. Mungo's. "I'm going to put you to sleep now so I can fix your leg, alright?"

Draco nodded, and drank the potion, and once again, everything went dark.

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Bill had to agree that Harry was better than Charlie. He sat next to McGonagall, watching Harry fly, and upon realizing that Harry had received no private lessons and was simply flying on instinct, he had to be amazed. Then he had seen the Wronski and watched as Harry pulled out beautifully and watched Draco flip backwards in an Andy's Maneuver.

He was impressed. He could tell from watching the two that Harry was the better flyer, that he always would be because it came naturally, but Draco was good too. While he wasn't an instinctive flyer like Harry, he made up for it by having perfect form and no doubt good instructors. It was going to be a good game, and it was… until the bat had come.

He had seen the great vampire bat before on a few expeditions, and the one that had appeared in the middle of the Quidditch game was the largest he had seen. His wand was immediately out along with the rest of the teachers, but he didn't fire. He knew what had to be done as he had watched the creatures be taken down in the wild.

He lost concentration for a moment when he saw that Harry was currently holding onto Malfoy's hand as it was apparent that he had fallen. He watched in amazement as Draco lowered his other hand as well, and once he had a two-handed grip on Harry, directed his broom with his knees and began lowering them like some circus act.

Bill brought his attention back to the bat, knowing that only a direct shot to the head could immobilize it, and took his chance a minute later. "Stupefy!" he shouted and the bat lurched from the hit, but didn't fall.

Dumbledore suddenly yelled out a spell Bill didn't quite catch and he looked over to see two figures falling to the earth. He realized in a split second that it was Harry and Draco, just as Dumbledore's spell hit Harry, but the second charm Dumbledore shouted was too late. Draco hit the ground with sickening impact.

Bill brought his attention back to the bat as it nearly grabbed a Hufflepuff girl and saw another opportunity. Ignoring all of the shouted spells around him, he aimed his wand and yelled "Stupefy maximus!" The streak of red from his wand hit the creature dead on the forehead and it fell.

The teachers were immediately running onto the field, Dumbledore patting his shoulder. "Good work, Bill. Make sure that it is restrained, will you?"

Bill nodded and made his way over to examine the large bat that had crashed through the stands. It was indeed unconscious, and upon further investigation, he saw that the Dark Mark had been burned into its chest. Hagrid arrived with rope to tie it, and Bill made his way to the group of teachers standing around Draco who was lying on the ground and staring up at them with thinly veiled irritation.

Pomfrey was making some quip to Minerva, and Bill was under the impression that Draco often milked injuries for more than they were worth though that definitely did not appear to be the case now. Draco stubbornly told them that he was fine, even though there were beads of sweat on his forehead and his jaw was clenched.

Upon trying to rise, Draco collapsed and was set on the ground again. Bill leaned in to see what was wrong with him, and nearly gagged when he saw the state of the kid's leg. Legs just weren't supposed to look like that. Pomfrey gave orders to send the teachers away, but Bill found himself sitting next to the boy and making small talk.

"It was a terrific spill," he said, but the kid didn't respond, staring up at the sky listlessly. Bill waited until the pain potion was administered and then tried again when Draco's eyes glazed over slightly. "Ever broken a bone before, Draco?" he asked, and to his surprise, Draco answered.

It must be the potion, he thought as Draco went on to say that he played piano. Bill told Draco of his own first broken bone, leaving out the fact that someone had died right next to him, giving Bill the ability to see thestrals. He made a joke of it, how he had never told his mother, and the kid actually smiled, albeit slightly.

"Lucius told Narcissa I fell down the stairs when I broke my wrist. She thinks Quidditch is dangerous," said Draco, and Bill wondered if Draco ever called them 'mum' and 'dad'. Somehow it seemed weird thinking of Lucius as a father teaching Quidditch to a six year old.

"It's only dangerous when there are giant bats," said Bill, giving his best Dumbledore impression, and Draco's smile widened. Bill shook his head; that was something he didn't expect to see.

"Mothers have to worry," he continued. "It's in their genes."

Draco's smile slipped from his face, his eyes darkening slightly. "She wasn't worried. She was more concerned that an injury might interfere with her party the next day." It was obvious that the kid honestly thought that was the truth and he frowned.

"She must care some," he started, but Draco shook his head and he stopped.

"She doesn't. She drinks a lot, you know, so she doesn't care much about anything, except the whiskey and the potions and the parties."

Bill watched as Draco suddenly clenched his mouth shut and suddenly he felt rather guilty, sitting here with the kid while he was obviously drugged up and talking about things that were definitely private and should be kept that way. But still, Draco's words echoed through his head, and he couldn't help but give the kid a sympathetic look. Pomfrey was also looking at him with a new expression in her eyes, but then she glanced up.

"Severus is here," she said, and she made Draco drink more pain potion saying that the immobilization brew was a 'tad uncomfortable'. She then went to meet Severus.

Must be more than a tad uncomfortable, thought Bill as he watched Draco who was now incredibly drugged up. The teenager was staring at the sky with a dazed expression on his face, his brows knitted as he stared at a particularly long, white cloud.

"Hey, Draco," Bill called, and the boy turned to him slowly, the dazed expression still there. "You're really zoning, aren't you?" Bill asked, not being able to hide the smile on his face. For one second, Draco's eyes cleared and seemed completely lucid, but then the glassy expression returned.

"There's a riddle on your board," Draco muttered, his eyes falling shut and then blinking back open. "R is for riddle."

Bill frowned. What was the kid saying? Draco turned his head so that he was staring at the sky again.

"M is for Malfoy," Draco whispered. "That is the riddle."

Bill froze as he finally realized what Draco was saying. R is for Riddle, not riddle. He stared in shock as comprehension hit him. He barely noticed Pomfrey returning and pouring another potion down the boy's throat, and only noticed that the two teachers whisked him away on a conjured stretcher because the object he had been staring at was gone.

It took a full minute for his stunned mind to realize the full implications of Draco's words. Here was a sixteen year old kid who had discovered his hidden code on the board. Suddenly the pieces came together.

His mind flashed to all the times when he should have figured out what Draco was hiding. Calling him 'Bill' in the beginning of the year before anyone else had figured the rule out, the way he had so easily tried to manipulate Bill when he talked to him and Blaise, Draco telling him 'Au revior' when he had caught the kid staring at the code, and the correction in the margin of his book. All he needed now was proof and he had a feeling he would find it in Draco's file.

He stood and took off at a dead run to the castle, thanking Merlin as he did that everyone was in their houses or in offices. He really didn't want to have to answer any questions.

He pounded through the castle halls, banging open the teacher's lounge door and letting it slam shut behind him. He dug frantically through the pile of student files on his desk, finally pulling out the one marked Malfoy, Draco L. He stared at it for a moment, then walked slowly to the fireplace and sat down on the sofa. He set the folder on his lap and slowly opened it.

The first thing he noticed was the lack of teacher comments. Usually these files were reviewed by Professors and the teachers wrote in things like 'Tommy has been very good this year and shows much improvement' or 'Since the death of Sally's mother, Sally has been extremely quiet and her work is not at its usual standard'. Draco's folder was clean, which was a surprise to Bill. He knew that the teachers did not like the Malfoy heir, but he hadn't realized it was to this extreme.

Bill then turned to the student history page and looked it over. Draco was born in Paris, and lived in France until he was eight. Well, that explained the bit about how Draco had translated the code on the wall, but that didn't explain how he deciphered it.

He turned to the next page, Draco's grade report year one. Bill smiled. All E's. He turned to the next page, grade report, year two, again all E's. He frowned, and then turned to year three. All E's. He flipped to year four. All E's. He turned to year five, already knowing what he would find. Again, all E's.

Bill closed the folder and placed beside him, then stared at the fire. He was used to detecting patterns and breaking codes. He had been doing so for many years now, and Draco's code was like his own, not particularly hard, but you had to look for it. No one got straight E's five years in a row, just because that's how smart they were. Draco was getting E's on purpose.

The kid was smart, much smarter than he pretended to be. Bill wouldn't be surprised if he was smarter than Hermione because Hermione got straight O's, Draco planned on how not to get them.

He stood and put the folder of Draco back in the pile, shaking his head as he realized that prejudice went both ways. The other members of the faculty thought that Draco was just an arrogant pureblood, and hadn't given him the time of day. If they had, they may have discovered a new side to Draco Malfoy. Of course, now that he thought of it, Draco had probably planned it this way.

He sat back on the couch. He had to talk to Draco.

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