ALEXA CARSON
“That’s it for this lesson. Remember to review this potion,” Professor Snape said, dismissing the class with a flick of his wrist. “Carson and Malfoy, you both stay behind.” A sigh escaped my lips as Draco and I made our way to his desk. “Close the door on your way in, Zabini,” he instructed, and Blaise complied.
“Now,” Snape began, leaning back in his chair, “tell me why you two turned my classroom into a demolition site.”
“He was making comments about my family,” I blurted, frustration bubbling over.
“Only because she cursed at me,” Malfoy retorted, turning to face me.
“Because *you* started it,” I snapped, stepping closer, mirroring his aggressive stance. “No, *you* did,” he countered, mirroring my movement. We locked eyes, a silent battle of wills raging between us.
Snape slammed his hand on the desk, the sudden noise jolting both of us upright. “Enough! This mess is your combined fault. And your punishment is to clean this classroom until it’s spotless. Without magic.”
He ignored our groans, tossing us sweepers, brooms, and cleaning supplies. “I’ll know if you use magic. I have other matters to attend to. When you’re finished, simply leave. I’ll inform your teachers of your tardiness.” He rose, turning to leave, then paused, glancing back at us.
“And Ms. Carson, address that wound first. It looks severe. There’s a first aid kit in my bottom drawer.” With that, he turned and slammed the door shut, leaving us in an awkward silence.
Malfoy immediately sank back into the chair, completely ignoring the task before us. Was he serious?
“Excuse me, Malfoy. We have work to do. Get up and start cleaning,” I demanded, frustration rising again.
“Oh please,” he drawled, “do you honestly think *I*, Draco Malfoy, pureblood, will be scrubbing floors? This job is for peasants like you.” His arrogance was infuriating. I sighed, refusing to engage, and grabbed a broom, starting to gather the splintered wood and debris, tossing it into a pile in the corner. I ignored his scrutinizing gaze as I retrieved fallen items from the cupboard, my arm brushing against the edge where I’d been injured. A sharp pain shot through my limb.
Malfoy noticed my wince but feigned indifference, looking out the window. I continued to gather the scattered items, ignoring the throbbing in my arm. It worsened with each movement.
“You should be more careful and address that cut,” Malfoy said, his voice surprisingly devoid of its usual mocking tone.
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. I know,” I muttered, heading toward his drawer. I retrieved the kit and sat on a nearby desk, arranging the supplies. The bandage and alcohol bottle tumbled to the floor, my injured arm unable to manage the weight. I bent to retrieve the bottle, and heard a chair scrape. Malfoy was standing beside me, picking up the fallen bandage.
“Here, sit down,” he said, and I complied, settling onto a stool. He placed the bandage on the table and reached for my arm. “Ow!” I protested as he positioned it on the desk, examining the wound.
He ignored my complaint, dabbing a cotton ball soaked in alcohol onto the cut. The stinging sensation brought tears to my eyes.
“Stop! What are you doing?”
“Shush. It’ll be fine in a moment,” he said softly. Was that…concern in his voice? It was a side of Draco I hadn’t seen before. He continued cleaning the wound, then carefully wrapped it with a bandage, securing it with a knot.
As his fingers brushed my skin, a strange tingling sensation ran through me. What was this feeling? He retracted his hand and returned to his chair.
“There,” he said. “Uh, thanks,” I mumbled, rising to my feet. I glanced at the remaining mess. I grabbed the sweeper and began sweeping the debris where I’d blasted Malfoy. I heard shuffling beside me and looked up to see Draco sweeping alongside me. We worked in silence, a strange truce forming between us.
We finished cleaning and, as we packed our bags, I asked, “Why’d you start cleaning?”
He shrugged, avoiding my gaze, and walked out of the classroom. “Okay then,” I muttered, following him to my next class.