"If Draco dies," he hissed in an undertone, "you´ll be a murderer, Potter. How do you like that?"

Dracoś 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. "Heś got a nasty bump on the head and he´ll probably be out until morning, but heś otherwise perfectly fine."

A look of relief flashed across Snapeś 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, "Heś all talk.

Dumbledore knows what Draco Malfoyś 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 Harryś 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.