Malfoy didn't reappear in classes until late on Thursday morning, when the Slytherins and Gryffindors were halfway through double Potions.
He swaggered into the dungeon, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting, in my opinion, as though he were the heroic survivor of some horrific battle.
"How is it, Draco?" simpered Pansy Parkinson, the girl who had a whiny voice and a face like a pug. "Does it hurt much?"
"Yeah," said Malfoy, putting on a brave sort of grimace. But I saw him wink at Crabbe and Goyle when Pansy had looked away.
"Oh, please," I muttered. If he'd been through half of the things I had, he wouldn't be putting on this stupid act.
"Settle down, settle down," said Professor Snape idly.
Harry and Ron scowled at each other.
"Snape wouldn't have said 'settle down' if we'd walked in late, he'd have given us detention," Harry whispered. "Snape's head of Slytherin House. He favors his own students above everyone else."
I frowned. Potions had been my favorite subject back at Ilvermorny, and now Snape, the biased professor, was going to ruin that.
We were making a Shrinking Solution today. Malfoy set up his cauldron right next to Harry, Ron, and I so that we 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 —"
"Weasley, cut up Malfoy's roots for him," said Snape without looking up.
Ron went brick red. "There's nothing wrong with your arm," he hissed at Malfoy.
Malfoy smirked across the table. "Weasley, you heard Professor Snape; cut up these roots."
Ron seized his knife, pulled Malfoy's roots toward him, and began to chop them roughly, so that they were all different sizes.
"Professor," drawled Malfoy, "Weasley's mutilating my roots, sir."
Snape approached our table, stared down his hooked nose at the roots, then gave 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, then took up the knife again.
"Here," I whispered, giving Ron my own roots and improving the roughly-cut ones.
"Thanks," Ron said gratefully.
"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 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. "Seen your pal Hagrid lately?" he asked them quietly.
"None of your business," said Ron jerkily, without looking up.
"I'm afraid he won't be a teacher much longer," said Malfoy in a tone of mock sorrow. "Father's not very happy about my injury —"
"Keep talking, Malfoy, and I'll give you a real injury," snarled Ron.
"He's complained to the school governors. And to the Ministry of Magic. Father's got a lot of influence, you know. And a lasting injury like this" — he gave a huge, fake sigh — "who knows if my arm'll ever be the same again?"
"So that's why you're putting it on," Harry said, shaking angrily. "To try to get Hagrid fired."
"Well," said Malfoy, lowering his voice to a whisper, "partly, Potter. But there are other benefits too. McKeon, slice my caterpillars for me."
"No, thanks," I replied shortly. "If I remember correctly, I saved your arm from that mean, old Hippogriff and I don't owe you anything. But if there's still something wrong with your arm, I could take a look at it."
Harry and Ron stared as I grabbed Malfoy's arm and pretended to observe it.
"Oh, no," I said, faking horror. "You guys, Malfoy wasn't pretending. There is something wrong."
Malfoy's smirk vanished. "What?"
"The cut was healed too quickly," I said worriedly. "We're going to have to amputate. Just let me grab my tools--"
Malfoy jerked his arm away as Harry and Ron burst into silent laughter. Malfoy scowled but didn't bother us again.
A few cauldrons away, Neville was in trouble. His potion, which was supposed to be a bright, acid green, had turned —
"Orange, Longbottom," said Snape, ladling some up and allowing to splash back into the cauldron, so that everyone could see. "Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one cat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"
Neville was pink and trembling. He looked as though he was on the verge of tears.
"Please, sir," said Hermione, "please, I could help Neville put it right —"
"I don't remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger," said Snape coldly, and Hermione went as pink as Neville. "Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly." Snape moved away, leaving Neville breathless with fear.
"Help me!" he moaned to Hermione.
"Hey, Harry," said Seamus Finnigan, leaning over to borrow Harry's brass scales, "have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning — they reckon Sirius Black's been sighted."
"Where?" said Harry, Ron, and I quickly. On the other side of the table, Malfoy looked up, listening closely.
"Not too far from here," said Seamus, who looked excited. "It was a Muggle who saw him. 'Course, she didn't really understand. The Muggles think he's just an ordinary criminal, don't they? So she phoned the telephone hotline. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone."
"Not too far from here..." Ron repeated, looking significantly at Harry. He turned around and saw Malfoy watching closely. "What, Malfoy? Need something else skinned?"
But Malfoy's eyes were shining almost evilly, and they were fixed on Harry. He leaned across the table. "Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?"
"Yeah, that's right," said Harry offhandedly.
Malfoy's thin mouth was curving in a mean smile. "Of course, if it was me," he said quietly, "I'd have done something before now. I wouldn't be staying in school like a good boy, I'd be out there looking for him."
"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" said Ron roughly.
"Don't you know, Potter?" breathed Malfoy, his pale eyes narrowed. "Or even you, McKeon?"
"Know what?" We both said.
Malfoy let out a low, sneering laugh. "Maybe you'd rather not risk your necks," he said. "Want to leave it to the Dementors, do you? But if it was me, I'd want revenge. I'd hunt him down myself."
"What are you talking about?" said Harry angrily, but at that moment Snape called, "You should have finished adding your ingredients by now; this potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's..."
Crabbe and Goyle laughed openly, watching Neville sweat as he stirred his potion feverishly. Hermione was muttering instructions to him out of the corner of her mouth, so that Snape wouldn't see. Harry and Ron packed away their unused ingredients and went to wash their hands and ladles in the stone basin in the corner.
"What did Malfoy mean?" Harry muttered to Ron as he stuck his hands under the icy jet that poured from the gargoyle's mouth "Why would I want revenge on Black? He hasn't done anything to me — yet."
"Or me," I said. "I don't even know why Black would want me, unless..." Unless he knew. What if Black was after me because he knew I was a demigod? What if he wanted to kidnap me and force me to help him bring back You-Know-Who? And if Malfoy knew why Black wanted me, then surely he'd know I was a demigod...
I glanced over at Malfoy, who was staring at Harry, Ron, and I with a smirk.
There was no way. He couldn't know.
"Unless what?" Ron asked, but I barely heard him.
"Er, Ash?" Harry asked. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I said. "Sorry, I... um... thought I forgot to put the shrivelfig roots in my potion, but nope, I'm good. But I'm with Harry. Why would we want revenge on Black?"
"He's making it up," said Ron savagely. "He's trying to make you do something stupid..."
The end of the lesson in sight, Snape strode over to Neville, who was cowering by his cauldron.
"Everyone gather 'round," said Snape, his black eyes glittering, "and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned."
The Gryffindors watched fearfully. The Slytherins looked excited. Snape picked up Trevor the toad in his left hand and dipped a small spoon into Neville's potion, which was now green. He trickled a few drops down Trevor's throat.
There was a moment of hushed silence, in which Trevor gulped; then there was a small pop, and Trevor the tadpole was wriggling in Snape's palm.
The Gryffindors burst into applause. Snape, looking sour, pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of Trevor, and he reappeared suddenly, fully grown.
"Five points from Gryffindor," said Snape, which wiped the smiles from every face. "I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed."
We climbed the steps to the entrance hall. Ron was seething about Snape. "Five points from Gryffindor because the potion was all right!"
"Why didn't you lie, Hermione?" I asked. "You could've said Neville did it all by himself." Hermione didn't answer. Ron and I looked around.
"Where is she?" Ron wondered.
Harry turned too. We were at the top of the steps now, watching the rest of the class pass us, heading to the Great Hall for lunch.
"She was right behind us," said Ron, frowning. Malfoy passed us, walking between Crabbe and Goyle. He smirked at Harry and disappeared.
"There she is," said Harry. Hermione was panting slightly, hurrying up the stairs; one hand clutched her bag, the other seemed to be tucking something down the front of her robes.
"How did you do that?" said Ron.
"What?" said Hermione, joining us.
"One minute you were right behind us, the next moment, you were back at the bottom of the stairs again," I said.
"What?" Hermione looked slightly confused. "Oh — I had to go back for something."
The back of my neck tingled. Lie.
"Oh no —" A seam had split on Hermione's bag. I wasn't surprised; I could see that it was crammed with at least a dozen large and heavy books.
"Why are you carrying all these around with you?" Ron asked her.
"You know how many subjects I'm taking," said Hermione breathlessly. "Couldn't hold these for me, could you?"
"But —" Ron was turning over the books she had handed him, looking at the covers.
"You haven't got any of these subjects today. It's only Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon."
"Oh yes," said Hermione vaguely, but she packed all the books back into her bag just the same. "I hope there's something good for lunch, I'm starving," she added, and she marched off toward the Great Hall.
"D'you get the feeling Hermione's not telling us something?" Ron asked.
"Yeah," I said.
Professor Lupin wasn't there when we arrived at his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. We all sat down, took out our books, quills, and parchment, and were talking when he finally entered the room. Lupin smiled vaguely and placed his tatty old briefcase on the teacher's desk. He was as shabby as ever but looked healthier than he had on the train, as though he had had a few square meals.
"Good afternoon," he said. "Would you please put all your books back in your bags? Today's will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands."
A few curious looks were exchanged as we put away our books. I'd had a few practical lessons before, and usually they were more interesting.
"Right then," said Professor Lupin, when everyone was ready. "If you'd follow me."
Puzzled but interested, we got to our feet and followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He led us along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where the first thing we saw was a poltergeist, who was floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum.
"Who is that?" I whispered to Harry.
"Peeves," Harry explained. "He's basically Fred and George on steroids."
Peeves didn't look up until Professor Lupin was two feet away; then he wiggled his curly-toed feet and broke into song.
"Loony, loopy Lupin," Peeves sang. "Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin —"
Everyone looked quickly at Professor Lupin to see how he would take this. Surprisingly, he was still smiling.
"I'd take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves," he said pleasantly. "Mr. Filch won't be able to get in to his brooms."
Peeves paid no attention to Professor Lupin's words, except to blow a loud wet raspberry. Professor Lupin gave a small sigh and took out his wand.
"This is a useful little spell," he told the class over his shoulder. "Please watch closely."
He raised the wand to shoulder height, said, "Waddiwasi!" and pointed it at Peeves.
With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves's left nostril; he whirled upright and zoomed away, cursing.
Some kids burst out laughing, others looked at Lupin in surprise.
"Cool, sir!" said Dean Thomas in amazement.
"Thank you, Dean," said Professor Lupin, putting his wand away again. "Shall we proceed?"
We set off again, the class looking at shabby Professor Lupin with increased respect. He led them down a second corridor and stopped, right outside the staffroom door.
"Inside, please," said Professor Lupin, opening it and standing back. The staffroom, a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, was empty except for one teacher. Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he looked around as the class filed in. His eyes were glittering and there was a nasty sneer playing around his mouth.
As Professor Lupin came in and made to close the door behind him, Snape said, "Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this." He got to his feet and strode past the class, his black robes billowing behind him. At the doorway he turned on his heel and said, "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear."
Neville went scarlet. It was bad enough that he bullied Neville in his own classes, let alone doing it in front of other teachers. Professor Lupin had raised his eyebrows.
"I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation," he said, "and I am sure he will perform it admirably."
Neville's face went, if possible, even redder. Snape's lip curled, but he left, shutting the door with a snap.
"Now, then," said Professor Lupin, beckoning the class toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept their spare robes. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall. "Nothing to worry about," said Professor Lupin calmly because a few people had jumped backward in alarm. "There's a Boggart in there."