He had resorted to hiding behind Crabbe and Goyle. Although, as Evil Minions went, they were kind of useless should the task you set require brainpower or any element of thinking whatsoever, as far as sheer bulk went there were none better. He just had to make sure that all instructions were given in painstaking detail, and occasionally remind them to walk; or if they were all ready walking, to stop before they went ploughing into whatever obstacle was in their way. But this was a small price to pay for such complete devotion and loyalty. Besides, if left to their own devices for any length of time they could prove to be quite amusing, in a destructive sort of way, which was by far the most entertaining sort of amusement going.
And at this precise moment in time he wouldn’t have traded them for all the gold in Gringotts, regardless of the fact that the vast majority of it belonged to the Malfoy’s anyway.
That is, until he reached the Potions classroom.
Not even the fact that they were Slytherins had managed to get Crabbe and Goyle into the exclusive NEWT class. It had, nevertheless, been attempted. But at the end of the day no amount of grade doctoring, ambiguous point giving or even making sure they touched nothing, did nothing and said nothing could hide the fact that they were horrendously inept at the subject. Possibly even more so than Longbottom had ever managed to be. Still, Snape had loyally added their names to the acceptance list, although the state of his normally impeccable writing at the point of their names indicated he might well have suffered a crisis of some unnameable sort at the time.
He had been summoned to the Headmasters Office later that day. Or at least his presence had been requested. After all, no one ever summoned a Slytherin. They asked and lived in the hope that their schedules proved themselves to be amenable. The resultant conversation would no doubt have been interesting to hear in its entirety, but since the last few sentences had been heard as far as the Ravenclaw common room it had provided ample gossip for days.
And so Professor Severus Snape overturned his previous verdict, and did not allow either Crabbe or Goyle back into his Lab. It was, as expected and unquestionably, completely his own decision. He had not been in any way influenced by the Headmaster’s gentle words pointing out that Ronald Weasley had not been allowed back into the class, and showed more competence in little finger than both said students. It was not, and he had been most emphatic about this, because he had been requested to perhaps consider allowing the redheaded twit to continue lest his act be seen as favouritism. He had simple re-evaluated his situation and suggested that perhaps his two less able students find something more suited to their unique abilities to focus their energy on.
Although the decision had left Draco with a completely Weasley free year of Potions, he was now beginning to wonder if he hadn’t drawn the short end of the straw; or if fate was personally remembering each and every last thing he had been pleased about in order to turn it against him. Snape hadn’t been able to keep the Mudblood or The-Boy-Who-Must-Have-Cheated from his classroom. He had tried. Oh how he had tried. But somehow, despite being completely and obviously useless at the subject, the Golden Boy had managed to score a passing grade. Only Potter could blow up almost every single potion, fail all his homework and still manage to save the day at the last minute. After all, Merlin forbid Potter not be allowed to continue with the subject. Oh no. Then he wouldn’t be able to become a blessed Auror and continue saving the World into his old age, if he ever actually made it there. No doubt if he hadn’t managed to scrape the grade Dumbledore would have conveniently pulled a new teacher out of his far too shiny hat. One with slightly lower standards than Snape, whose line for admittance miraculously managed to fall just within Potters limited grasp.
Yep, the World could definitely be very opportune in that way when you happened to be the Hero of the story.
And all of this now meant that he was stuck in a classroom without the bulge of his (and he used the term liberally) friends to hide behind. Without their comforting presence, their inaudible grunts that confirmed they were still alive. All he had was Pansy, who insisted on glancing between him and the Granger girl and erupting into fits of giggles. Evidently she also had quite a vocabulary for innuendo, as well as an unlimited supply of potential uses for a stirring wand; all of which she insisted on describing with excessively inappropriate gestures.
He had been on the verge of turning a horrific shade of red when the God of all that was good and timely showed itself in the form of Severus Snape. In an attempt to distract himself from the whisperings of Pansy, who really was becoming far to familiar with him, in his personal opinion, he stared resolutely at the billowing robes of the Potions Master, counting the buttons. There were no doubt enough to keep him happily oblivious for several hours. In fact he was somewhat surprised that Snape didn’t button his damn door shut.
‘Today you will be brewing a Potion.’ Thank Merlin, Morgana and Circe. At least it wouldn’t give Pansy the time to finish what looked to be a very interesting doodle of himself and far too many flowers, bows and pink frills to be healthy or even humanly possible. ‘All text books are to be closed and placed under your desk.’ He grabbed his book from under Pansy’s nose, barely giving her a chance to save her now moving drawing, and slammed it shut with a snap. Sighing in relief and pretending not to notice the surprisingly realistic representation of possibly the most sickening wedding scene he had ever seen, he started stuffing the volume into his bag, looking up when he felt a presence staring down at him.
It was Snape, standing behind his desk with his hands splayed on the surface, his head tilted slightly to the side in either contemplation or anticipation. He was smirking.
This was going to be bad.
With an amused raise of his left eyebrow Snape turned back towards the board at the front of the classroom, leaving Draco clutching his bag with white fingers. A snap of his elegant fingers and the instructions appeared in swirling white letters, dancing painfully across the surface.
Oh, this was just too droll. Absolutely ruddy hilarious. If someone could please revive him after he passed out from laughing so bloody hard he would be most grateful.
‘But Sir,’ it, naturally, had to be the know it all with her hand so far in the air she seemed to be trying to levitate herself from it. ‘The Potion isn’t even on the syllabus.’ No, of course it wasn’t. Didn’t the stupid twit know when to keep her oversized mouth shut, or was she purposely trying to draw as much attention to it as possible?
‘Fifteen points from Gryffindor, for speaking out of turn,’ Snape said, with a malicious glint behind his eyes. ‘And a further ten for daring to question my competence as a teacher.’ Peeking out from behind his fingers Draco was eternally thankful that Granger looked suitably cowed by the loss of House points and wasn’t pushing the issue. It didn’t help his situation much though, and the whole thing absolutely reeked of his fathers planning. It was becoming painfully obvious that he didn’t have as much faith in the Malfoy charm as he previously stated…at length and in repeated detail. Whether he had truly expected Draco to return home with a smitten piece of filth attached to his arm all ready was anybodies guess, but was rapidly becoming excruciatingly likely. Draco doubted Snape had needed much convincing to go along with it either. In fact he was getting the distinct impression he had done something horrible to the man in a previous life, something so despicable Snape would forever be seeking vengeance on his well dressed self. Holding his breath and waiting for the next cauldron to fall he watched out of the corner of his eye as Granger grabbed Potter by the sleeve of his robe and made for the ingredients cupboard.
He could live through this. Snape was just trying to make him uncomfortable, letting him know that he knew about the results of despicable foreplanning. It was embarrassing, humiliating and above all else completely and utterly mortifying, but it couldn’t get much worse.
His hand shot out to brush the desk, touching the cracked and peeling wood just a split second too late.
‘I will be assigning your pairs today.’
The evil, greasy git. How the Dark Lord could ever doubt his allegiance was laughable. The man was black to the core; black and horrible and deserving of every punishment ever inflicted and more. He couldn’t even get the torturous experience over and done with. No, instead he had to pair off every other member of the class until only two names remained.
‘Miss Granger, you will be working with Draco.’
Draco cast a desperate look to the desk behind him, where Pansy had moved and was prodding Potter non-too kindly in the ribs to get his wavering attention. Sighing in defeat she treated Draco to a shrug and suggestive wink in reply as the Mudblood dropped her cauldron with enough force to shake the desk, earning herself a ferocious glare as he finally turned round to face her.
He did not like the way she was regarding him, arms crossed across her chest and an inquiring light in her eyes. It was none too pleasant, and not the correct way one should go about addressing someone of his impeccable standing. Fortunately for his sanity she did nothing more than flick a strand of frizzy hair out of her face before sitting down without another word, slicing the shrivelfig methodically and not sparing a second glance in his direction. Scowling at the desk he followed her lead and lit a small fire beneath his cauldron, religiously avoiding any remote acknowledgement of her presence or even existence. It became increasingly easier, as the noise around him slowly started to build, blocking out the relentless scraping of her knife on the table as unenthusiastic pairs argued quietly to themselves.
‘Malfoy.’ Damn it, the girl was even shrill when she whispered. ‘Malfoy!’
‘What,’ he hissed in reply, not even bothering to turn to face her.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?’
Finally, a question he could answer with absolute and complete sincerity. ‘Not.’ He could feel her gaze boring uncomfortably into the side of his head.
‘A Love Potion?’ the despicable creature sounded indignant as she leant closer, making his skin crawl uncomfortably. ‘If this is some prank of yours I don’t think it’s very funny. This could jeopardise my entire grade.’ He couldn’t contain the snort of laughter, drawing stunted familiar giggles from behind him and earning himself another pointed look from the front of the class. ‘And why does Professor Snape keep looking at you like that?’
‘None of your nosy, constantly sticking that oversized head where it doesn’t belong, business,’ Draco huffed, grinding his root with more vehemence than it required as Pansy paused on her walk past and leant in to whisper sweetly in his ear.
‘Lovers tiff?’
He imagined her face.
The root was completely obliterated as the one who should never have been allowed to live glared bemusedly at the retreating figure and then back to Draco.
‘You’ll have to start again. The instructions say that if you grind it into too fine a powder it loses its potency and is ineffective.’
He stared at the contents of the bowl in his hand for a moment, a victorious smile curling his lips as the solution to his little situation presented itself, before he dumped the whole lot into the gently boiling cauldron. Hermione shrieked, making a useless snatch for the bowl and almost knocking it from his fingers.
‘It’ll be ruined,’ she sounded devastated, peering into the simmering mixture that had retained its flawless colour, as though trying to pacify her with the prospect that nothing had actually just happened.
‘Surely even an ignorant Mudblood such as yourself can see how that would be beneficial.’ Draco’s voice was laced with loathing as he snatched a jar of Dragon scales out of reach of the Boy-Who-Never-Gave-Up before he could blow up his concoction and most likely himself and all those in the immediate vicinity, so much for selflessness.
‘Some of us believe in working to achieve good grades,’ she said with annoying superiority, casting Harry a brief look of concern tempered only by the fact that Pansy had developed the sudden desire to move anything potentially lethal out of his reach. ‘Not just having our father bribe, buy or threaten in order to maintain them.’ Draco was beginning to wonder if the ability to look smug was a perfected female trait, and whether it was a genetic requirement that sent it hand in hand with overwhelming bossiness.
He was also beginning to get anxious. Actually, the level of anxiety he was feeling now indicated it had been there for a little while, and had taken this of all moments as an opportunity to kick him in the sensibilities, and to kick him hard. Sure he had accepted (as far as acceptance could be stretched to cover this) that he was going to have to marry her. However his thought process had only gone as far as ‘speak to her, but there’s no need to be overly nice’ before jumping straight to ‘married and off on an obligatory honeymoon.’ It had pranced merrily over the small part where he would have to ask her, and flounced obliviously through what he had hoped would be the unnecessary part in which she agreed, although research had since shown him that marriage under Imperius was neither legal nor binding.
He would have to date her.
He would have to be seen in public with her.
Willingly.
Forcing the remains of the stupid Potion down her throat was starting to sound like an excellent idea. Except he had just ruined it. Glancing round the room his eyes fell on the cauldron Pansy was leaning over carefully. Shaking his head he dismissed the idea. If Potter had helped make it, it was less likely to cause women to fall at his feet in devotion as it was to burn a hole in their stomach, be that the intended result or not.
‘Malfoy, are you all right?’ He did not just detect concern in her voice.
‘Since when have I ever required or even wanted you to care?’ Ah, she was scowling again. Everything in the World had returned to be right.
Except that he wasn’t supposed to be making her scowl. He was supposed to be encouraging her to like him. Bugger. But if he couldn’t use Imperius, perhaps he could just Obliviate her. Make her forget she had ever hated him. Or better yet, make her forget she was even a Mudblood. Make her forget pretty much everything thus far in her life. Sure he would be risking damaging her mind irrevocably, but it was a necessary loss he could force himself to live with. He would, of course, be heartbroken, but somehow he would persevere.
He drew his wand with a flourish, pointing it dramatically at the head of his intended, which had bent itself back over its book, too engrossed to even notice him.
‘Draco Malfoy!’ Darn. ‘Much as I am sure Granger deserved whatever curse you feel compelled to aim at her, I cannot abide such behaviour in my classroom.’ Did the man know everything? Fixing an innocent smile he glanced at the Professor, shrugging in an, ‘if you won’t let me do it fancy doing me a favour’ sort of way. ‘Miss Granger you will report to Mr Filch for detention at the weekend.’ The comment was met with resounding disagreement, as Snape merely raised an eyebrow at the noise. ‘You will be scrubbing floors by hand, without the use of magic.’ He swept away with a smirk, but not before glaring meaningfully at Draco and commenting ‘sometimes the old fashioned ways are the best.’
Whatever it was he had done to the man he was bloody sorry all ready.