Losers Like Us

Chapter Two--A Brief Interlude With Draco Malfoy (1)

Excerpt from Personal Journal, November 4, 1995 (Advanced Muggle Studies Class): Oh, and I met Draco Malfoy at last this afternoon. Who would have expected it, after all these years at Hogwarts? I mean, this has to be the last kid who'd ever willingly walk into a class concerning Muggles (and advocating the respectful treatment of them). But Severus pulled a fast one on me and sent the kid upstairs with a message. A rude message. Snape is another person I could live without around here, except there are times when my ability to shoot a quick, obnoxious, snarky answer at him seems to stand me in good stead--for about ten seconds.

Anyway, I digress. About Young Malfoy: in that gangly phase of teenagery, legs everywhere, arms hanging out of sleeves, blond, permanent sneer. Hair in eyes, shirt out, slouching gait. These last details, I suspect, were especially affected for his Grand Entry into my classroom.

I was elbow-deep in a guest lecture concerning "Muggle Etiquette". In point of fact, I was sitting, as the class and I were immersed in discussion of how Muggles can possibly get by in an argument without wands. When Malfoy oozed through the door, I was pointing out that this is just the sort of "logic" common to the Magical World that annoys me--that is, that one must have a wand on hand, as violence, in the form of a hex or curse, might break out at any minute during an argument between wizards. "Adults," I said expansively, "settle verbal disagreements with words, not violence, not threats via wands. Only Muggle children--" A piece of scroll was shoved forcefully under my nose.

Stopping in surprise, I looked up into that arrogant, pointy face. 'Professor Snape said to give this to you right away," he drawled. Then he flashed a superior glance and grin at the students seated in their ranks in front of me. I felt their anger and shock at his disrespect, but I was not a children's shrink for 6 years for nothing. I eat little brat-boys like this for brekkers.

I left him holding out the scroll, while I moved my chair back slowly, away from him and the irritating wad of hide under my nose, and, counting to ten for the timing, gradually raised my eyes to him. At that moment, I had no idea who this jerk was, beyond the fact that he was about to become an Object Lesson for my students regarding the Power of the Word over the Wand. With a slow smile, I crossed my legs casually and idly began to swing one foot.

"Professor Snape said he needs an answer right away," snapped the brat, who was clearly mistaking the power differential in this room. He rattled the scroll.

"And what would my name be to you, Mr.--?" I said slowly.

He shifted feet angrily. "Oh, yes, wait, I know I've heard who teaches this little course," he jeered sarcastically.

"Ah, yes," I exhaled at the slowest velocity of human breath. "Well, we all can wait, of course, for your convenience, Boy." I knew that title would enrage him. "Meanwhile, Boy, I regret to say that Slytherin House is losing 1 point for every second I wait for you to remember your manners. That would be, oh, about 120 points right now, But take your time, Boy; we know here that some students are not as quick-witted as others."

He gaped at me, his face beginning to contort with his anger. "Do you have any idea who I am, Muggle?" he spat.

"That makes it 150 points, plus another 50 for using the term "Muggle" to me as an insult," I said smoothly, and, turning to the class, I added for good measure, "This boy not only does not know my proper title; he seems to have lost track of who he is. Can one of you help him out?" Pointedly, I turned my face from him and towards my students.

Under their breaths, my class were showing the strain; strangled titterings, stifled snorts and choked guffaws were struggling to the surface. "Class, I said reprovingly, "Even in the Muggle world, we do not laugh at the weak-minded."

That did it--to the accompaniment of their peers' smothered laughter, the Slytherins were looking desperate, so I took pity on them. "Mr. Pucey," I said to one of them, "Would you be so good as to regain 50 points for your house by informing this child as to his name and 50 more for the appropriate title one uses to address me?"

Unsteadily, Adrian Pucey rose to his feet and looked at the younger boy. "Her appropriate title is "Professor" or "Doctor", Malfoy." The look that means You've just cost our house over 100 points for nothing, Deadmeat passed between them, then Pucey leaned around Malfoy to address me. "Professor Walker, this is Draco Malfoy, a fifth year."

"Thank you, Mr. Pucey. Mr. Malfoy has now only damaged his own house to the extent of 100 points. Oh, and Mr. Pucey, do I understand that you both are on the Slytherin Quidditch team?" A brief nod from the still-standing Pucey. "Then please, Mr. Pucey, do tell the Beaters on your team to take more care. Mr. Malfoy appears to have taken one too many blows to the head. He has memory problems. Thank you Mr. Pucey, and please resume your seat." Of course, Pucey would tell the team. I had a brief vision of Malfoy facing two thugs with overactive thyroids in Slytherin uniforms, fondling their Beater's bats. I enjoyed it. A screech of gleeful laughter from somewhere in the back row of desks. Hmm. Must have a Legilimens in the group.

Smiling sweetly, I took the scroll from Malfoy's shaking fist. His face was a rather terrific shade of red--somewhere between brick and beet. "Mr. Malfoy, you are making quite a dent in your House's points for the semester. And I am still waiting for you to deliver your message to me in an appropriate manner. Do take your time."

Stammering with his rage, the boy somehow still had the sense to adopt an appropriate tone. "Professor--," a long pause, "Professor Snape asked me to deliver this message to you."

"Oh well done, Boy. I am so pleased to know that you can learn from your housemates. Kindly send Professor Snape my respects and tell him that I will answer him via another student, please."

That caught him off-guard. "But I was told to wait...Professor."

Smiling pleasantly at him, I rose, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the door. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy, and you've done the very best you can, haven't you?" My sweetness could have sent a diabetic into a coma. "But I will need someone with appropriate manners and reliability to deliver my messages. Do run along now." As one last shot, I patted his head, which was slightly higher than mine, and shoved him out the door, which I closed behind him.

"And that," I said gustily, turning back towards my class, "is how Muggles fight each other without wands. And since the members of Slytherin House were so good as to support me in providing this example, I will only dock them 50 points for Mr. Malfoy's calculated rudeness to a Professor in front of her entire class."

The applause and cheers were spontaneous. After a few seconds, even the Slytherins grinned and rose to their feet to clap with their classmates. After all, they knew who to blame, they had been given a few laughs at their obnoxious housemate's expense, and now they would have quite a tale to tell around their fire this evening.

And Malfoy's name might as well be Mudfoy.