You Gotta Love Her (Harry Potter Love Story)

The Boggart In The Wardrobe

☆⋆⋆⋆☆   song: spirit in the sky by norman greenbaum   ☆⋆⋆⋆☆

Malfoy and Lyra didn't reappear in classes until late on Thursday morning, when the Slytherins and Gryffindors were halfway through double Potions. Malfoy swaggered into the dungeon, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting, in Harry's opinion, as though he was the heroic survivor of some dreadful battle. Lyra walked stiffly, grimacing as she sat down next to him.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked.

"Like I've been attacked by a hippogriff," Lyra said, slightly smirking.

Harry didn't want her making jokes. "Do you need to go back to the hospital wing?"

"Pfft. No. I'm fine," Lyra replied, her smirk growing larger.

"How is it, Draco?" simpered Pansy Parkinson. "Does it hurt much?"

"Yeah," said Malfoy, putting on a brave sort of grimace. But Harry saw him wink at Crabbe and Goyle when Pansy had looked away.

"Settle down, settle down. Ten points from Gryffindor for tardiness, Miss Black," said Professor Snape idly.

Harry and Ron scowled at each other; of course Snape takes points from Gryffindor and not Slytherin. Harry was surprised that Lyra hadn't gotten detention. Malfoy had always been able to get away with anything in Snape's classes; Snape was Head of Slytherin house, and generally favoured his own students before all others.

They were making a new potion today, a Shrinking Solution. Malfoy set up his cauldron right next to Harry, Ron, and Lyra, so that they were preparing their ingredients on the same table.

"Sir," Malfoy called, "sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm –"

"Black, cut up Malfoy's roots for him," said Snape, without looking up.

Lyra went brick red, a furious look crossing her face as she glared at Malfoy.

"There's nothing wrong with your arm," she hissed at Malfoy.

Malfoy smirked across the table.

"Black, you heard Professor Snape, cut up these roots."

Lyra seized her knife, pulled Malfoy's roots towards her and began to chop them roughly, so that they were all different sizes.

"Professor," drawled Malfoy, "Black's mutilating my roots, sir."

Snape approached their table, stared down his hooked nose at the roots, then gave Lyra and Ron an unpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair.

"Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley."

"But sir –!"

Ron had spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding his own roots into exactly equal pieces.

"Now," said Snape in his most dangerous voice.

Ron shoved his own beautifully cut roots across the table at Malfoy, and Lyra took up the knife again.

"Sorry, Ron," she said.

"And, sir, I'll need this Shrivelfig skinned," said Malfoy, his voice full of malicious laughter.

"Potter, you can skin Malfoy's Shrivelfig," said Snape, giving Harry the look of loathing he always reserved just for him.

Harry took Malfoy's Shrivelfig as Lyra set about trying to repair the damage to the roots she now had to use. Harry skinned the Shrivelfig as fast as he could and flung it back across the table at Malfoy without speaking. Malfoy was smirking more broadly than ever.