Draco opened his mouth to say, 'I?m not Potter, the Polyjuice Potion isn?t working, it should have worn off by now and it hasn?t-' But what came out was, 'I don?t know, Professor. He hit me first.'
What happened after that was a bit of a blur for Draco. He was marched up to the hospital wing by Snape, who was carrying Harrys limp body, the sight of which gave Draco a queasy feeling whenever he looked at it. He kept feeling his own face, his hair, to see if he?d begun turning back into himself, but he hadn?t.
Nothing happened.
Madam Pomfrey was waiting for them; she instructed Snape to lay Harry down on a bed surrounded by curtains, into which she vanished. Draco wound up sitting in a hard chair across from Snape, who was staring at him, eyes glittering with malice.
'If Draco dies,' he hissed in an undertone, 'you?ll be a murderer, Potter. How do you like that?'
Dracos mouth sagged open in shock, but before he could say anything, Madam Pomfrey emerged and shook her head at Snape. 'Draco Malfoy is not going to die,' she said severely. 'Hes got a nasty bump on the head and he?ll probably be out until morning, but hes otherwise perfectly fine.'
A look of relief flashed across Snapes face. Draco was touched. This wore off quickly, however, as Snape jabbed a finger into his solar plexus and hissed, 'I?m not even going to bother taking points from Gryffindor, Potter. I?m going straight to Dumbledore.' And he stood up and stalked out of the room.
Madam Pomfrey snorted. 'I wouldn?t worry, Harry,' she said, 'Hes all talk.
Dumbledore knows what Draco Malfoys like. Now sit still.' And she began sponging the cuts on his face. 'You?ll have a lovely black eye, Potter,' she said, 'and a cut lip. What did you-' But the door of the infirmary burst open and Ron and Hermione came pouring in, their eyes lighting up when they saw Draco. Madam Pomfrey leaped up to head them off, and Draco took the opportunity to sidle over to Harrys bed and look down at him.
It was a horrible feeling, like one of those dreams where he was dead and looking down at his own body. Harry lay with his arms crossed, still looking exactly like Draco in every particular, his white-blond hair bloody where his head had hit the wall. Draco felt a wave of nausea overcome him and he stepped back, which was fortunate because at that moment Ron and Hermione hit him head-on like a bullet train. 'Harry, oh Harry!' Hermione was exclaiming, 'Are you OK?'
Ron was more interested in clapping him on the back and congratulating him on the uppercut he?d delivered to Harry in Potions. Draco allowed himself a smile.
'It was fantastic, wasn?t it?' he agreed. 'The way he just flew backwards!'
Madam Pomfrey shooed them towards the door, which Ron was now holding open. Draco gave a last glance back at Harry as they left the infirmary. He hadn?t moved.
Draco trailed after Ron and Hermione as they hurried back towards Gryffindor Tower. Ron kept up a steady stream of chatter, the topic of which seemed to be how pleased everyone in Gryffindor would be that Harry had nearly killed Draco Malfoy in Potions. 'Fred and George are thrilled,' said Ron, 'they hate that slimy git, he never plays fair at Quidditch-'
'No more do they!' yelped Malfoy in indignation, then clapped his hand over his mouth, but they had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady now and he got busy looking like his head really hurt so no one would look to him for the password.
'Boomslang,' said Ron, and when the portrait swung forward, Draco followed him into the common room. Fred and George Weasley, sitting by the fire, greeted them with shouts of welcome. Draco looked around the room in irritation — the common room here was much nicer than the Slytherin one, which, being in the dungeon, was cold and had a tendency to drip during the winter. He would definitely be complaining to his father about this when he got his body back.
He trailed Ron and Hermione slowly over to the fire — he detested Fred and George, not just because they always hit the Bludgers right at him during Quidditch matches, but also because they?d become really obnoxious ever since they?d opened up their own mail-order joke shop, the stock for which was now trading at over a hundred Galleons a share on the MSE (Magical Stock Exchange.) They'd even taken a year off school to run the thing. Draco had not missed them.
'HARRY!' George yelled, thwacking Draco hard on the back. 'Heard you had a go at Malfoy in Potions, good work.'
'Hes been asking for a nice hard thumping for years,' agreed Fred.
'Pity you didn?t kill him is all,' said George.
Draco felt his face working, and, knowing it?d be a dead giveaway he pulled out his wand and cursed Fred and George with boils, he took a few deep, calming breaths instead. Then he felt a small hand wrap around his arm and he saw Hermione next to him, looking up at him with concern.
'Are you all right, Harry? You sound like you can?t breathe,' she said.
'Head…hurts,' said Draco with difficulty, and sat down hard in a chair.
'Not your scar?' said Ron, looking green. 'Your scar doesn?t hurt?'
'No, idiot,' said Draco, through his teeth, 'just my head where that fool Harry -
where Draco banged it against the floor.'
'So why did Draco attack you like that, Harry?' asked Hermione, brown eyes wide.
'Because hes a rotten little snake, why else?' said Ron.
Draco bristled. 'I insulted his mother,' he said shortly. 'So he punched me.'
'Harry!' said Hermione.
'Good on you,' said Ron, 'for punching him back.'
'There's no point insulting Malfoy,' Hermione went on. 'I think you should try to feel sorry for him, Harry — ' 'Sorry for him!' Draco yelped. 'Why? Hes rich, his familys powerful, hes good-looking and the ladies love him-' 'Hes got that terrible father,' said Hermione severely. 'And hes obviously very jealous of you, Harry, you?re such a good Quidditch player, and so brave, and he isn?t, remember that time in the Forbidden Forest when he ran away from Quirrell?'
