Pardon My French

By Violet Beck

Arc I :: Quelle Chance!

Chapter Two :: Destruction and Other Cool Stuff


Mudblood spotted.

Luckily for me--I've heard she's doing better in Transfiguration than ever--Granger didn't seem to see me just yet. I'd departed from the common room a few minutes ago when Millie Bulstrode got sick of the fighting and punched the sixth year out cold. Got pretty boring and kind of bloody after that, so I took my delicate leave with Crabbe and Goyle.

Granger was coming down the stairs as we arrived in the entrance hall, looking rather at her feet so hard I thought she was about to reach down and strangle them.

"What's her problem?" Goyle muttered to me, motioning in her direction. And on closer inspection, I was wondering the same thing: it appeared that Hermione Granger, the fast-talking queen bitch of Gryffindor, was crying.

Feeling a particularly predatory smile slink across my lips, I motioned for Crabbe and Goyle to speed up.

Granger stopped just outside the Great Hall's main doors, straightening her robes, wiping her face, and subsequently allowing us to catch up with her. I made sure I was close enough to be surprising before I spoke.

"What's wrong, Granger, break up with your little Weasel?"

She whirled quickly about to us just as I had expected, her eyes red from tears and slit with anger.

"Sod off, Malfoy," she hissed. My god, it was the worst I'd ever seen her. Even her hair seemed angry. This was going to be fun.

"Oh, he did?" I said, smiling viciously as I eerily pretended I was having a normal conversation with her. "How very dreadful. Well, at least that beast is finally getting better taste in women."

Her face grew hot and pink, and her fingers slid to her pocket, trembling with repressed rage. She opened her mouth, ready to scream, and--turned around, and walked into the Great Hall.

I had to subdue the urge to yell, "You're no fun!" right after her. Instead, I just sighed and settled for looking cross as I fixed my hair momentarily, and made my grand entrance.

And bumped right into Granger, who had been charging back out the door, apparently to give my a piece of her mind. I hadn't even had time to swear yet when I was dealt a furious slap across the face. Crabbe and Goyle just stood there like the couple of chivalrous oafs they are, probably thinking something along the lines of "You can't curse a witch."

I have no manners, so I whipped out my wand and cried, "Felis!" I'll show her Transfiguration, the snotty bitch!

Okay, so it was something like "Felis," but not exactly because my mouth had been thrown out of whack by that stupid slap. So instead of turning into a big ugly cat, Granger got a sudden splitting pain in her head, instantly followed by cat ears. Grasping her skull and feeling out the lightly-furred protrusions, she looked about ready to cry again.

Before any more trouble started, Goyle shoved her out of the way and we made our real grand entrance into the Great Hall for breakfast.

Oooooh, porridge. It's horrible stuff anywhere but Hogwarts. Here, when it's filled with raisins and nuts and sugar and milk, there's nothing better. I settled myself at my usual spot at the Slytherin table between Crabbe and Goyle, and we started arguing about the Scotland's chances for the next Cup.

"They've got no one," I insisted.

"Nuh-uh," said Crabbe, a true Scottish enthusiast, through a huge mouthful of porridge. "Moran traded into Connor's place, and she's an amazing Chaser."

I looked up as the Great Hall doors opened and, with a rush of new noise, most of the Slytherin common room poured in, sans the sixth year with the cat.

"Filch showed up and kicked us out," Pansy complained as she Blaise came and seated themselves across from us.

Blaise winked at me. "Yeah, I caught up with these guys on their way here. Did you know Bush-head Granger has a cat tail?"

"No idea," I said innocently.

Pansy cleared her throat, giving us a glare. "Hello, I'm ranting here. Isn't anyone going to listen to me!?"

"We're eternally riveted, Pansy," I drawled.

She blew a raspberry at me. "Yeah, well you'd be ranting too if you'd had to listen to Filch go on about how hard it is to get blood out of a rug. Stupid Squib."

This prompted Crabbe and Goyle to burst into a very loud and boisterous version of their patented Squib Song ("I'm a Squib I'm a Squib I'm a Squib, I may as well not even live" and so on). Everyone covered their ears and groaned, until one of the Ravenclaws who was walking by "accidentally" dropped a huge cup of orange juice on top of Goyle's mushroom-cut hair. With a sputter and a yell, he leapt up and knocked up his chair over, sending giant splashes of orange juice in all directions.

"Don't get it on my ROBES!" I yelled hysterically, batting at him and jumping backwards out of my chair. It fell over with a clatter, so Crabbe got up and tipped his chair over for fun.

It was at this point that the Slytherin table basically turned into a Chinese fire drill, chairs and food flying everywhere. Since I was already standing and I didn't want anything else on my robes, I dumped the rest of my porridge on some ugly person's head and left, grinning.

I figured out that I'd somehow eluded the orange juice and my robes were spotless when I reached the door, and then I smiled so big I must have looked retarded. I pinched myself fast, and dropped back to my usual apathetic game face.

Oh, baby, I was still smiling on the inside. I had Care of Magical Freaks first period with the Gryffindors, and the beastly half-giant of a teacher is yea close to being socially comatose. He wouldn't spot me kicking a hippogriff, let alone Potter and Weasley. Not that I'm dumb enough to try that hippogriff thing again....

Chapter One | Chapter Three

Back to Pardon My French Index
Back to My Fanfics