The shimmer of magic left him as himself, no longer with Potter’s face.
“I won’t repeat any of it,” Mal replies, “Please don’t kick my arse, mate.”
He jumped back as Mal’s face came into view. “Mal?” he narrowed his eyes in anger. “What the fuck, mate? Impersonating Potter? What the fuck?” He glowers at the boy in front of him, growing angry. He steps forward, his expression deadly. “You repeat one word of any of that, and I will kick your arse.”
“I won’t say anything and please, Zabini already knocked the shit out of me,” Mal replies wearily, sitting down in the middle of the corridor, knees bent, arms upon his knees. “I used the last of the polyjuice for the same reasons you want to know about Granger. So now, you know a secret about me, too. And if you say anything, I suck at street fighting, but I’m a faster draw with my wand.”
He looks pointedly at Draco,
“You see, I feel the same for another witch as you do about Granger and I was trying to understand something that I thought Potter knew more about than the likes of me.”
“You’re mental then,” he sits down next to him and sighs. “Potter knows about as much about women as a hippogriff. Had what, one and a half girlfriends all his life? And one he made cry while snogging her. I doubt he knows more than the likes of you or I.” He puts his head back against the wall and sighs. “And I don’t care about Granger.”
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