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Chapter 7, p.123
Malfoy didn't appear in classes until late on Thursday morning, when the Slytherins and Gryffindors were halfway through double potions. He swaggered into the dungeon, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting, in Harry's opinion, as though he were the heroic survivor of some dreadful battle.
"How is it, Draco?" simpered Pansy Parkinson. "Does it hurt much?"
"Yeah," said Malfoy, putting on a brave sort of grimace. But Harry saw him wink at Crabbe and Goyle when Pansy had looked away.

~

Chapter 7, p.124-125
They were making anew potion today, a Shrinking Solution. Malfoy set up his cauldron right next to Harry and Ron, so that they were preparing their ingredients on the same table.
"Sir," Malfoy called, "sir I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm -"
"Weasley, cut up Malfoy's roots for him," said Snape without looking up.
Ron went brick red.
"There's nothing wrong with your arm," he hissed at Malfoy.
Malfoy smirked across the table.
"Weasley, you heard Professor Snape; cut up the roots."
Ron seized his, pulled Malfoy's roots toward him, and began to chop them roughly, so that they were all different sizes.
"Professor," drawled Malfoy, "Weasley's mutilating my roots, sir."
Snape approached their table, stared down his hooked nose at the roots, then gave Ron an unpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair.
"Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley."
"But, sir -!"
Ron had spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding his own roots into exactly equal pieces.
"Now," said Snape in his most dangerous voice.
Ron shoved his own beautifully cut roots across the table at Malfoy, then took up the knife again.
"And, sir, I'll need this shrivelfig skinned," said Malfoy, his voice full of malicious laughter.
"Potter, you can skin Malfoy's shrivelfig," said Snape, giving Harry the look of loathing he always reserved just for him.
Harry took Malfoy's shrivelfig as Ron began trying to repair the damage to the roots he now had to use. Harry skinned the shrivelfig as fast as he could and flung it back across the table at Malfoy without speaking. Malfoy was smirking more broadly than ever.
"Seen you pal Hagrid lately?" he asked them quietly.
"None of your business," said Ron jerkily, without looking up.
"I'm afraid he won't be a teacher much longer," said Malfoy in a tone on mock sorrow. "Father's not very happy about my injury -"
"Keep talking, Malfoy, and I'll give you a real injury," snarled Ron.
" - he's complained to the school governors. And to the Ministry of Magic. Father's got a lot of influence, you know. And a lasting injury like this" - he gave a huge, fake sigh - "who knows if my arm'll be the same again?"
"So that's why you're putting it on," said Harry, accidentally beheading a dead caterpillar because his hand was shaking in anger, "To try to get Hagrid fired."
"Well," said Malfoy, lowering his voice to a whisper, "partly, Potter. But there are other benefits too. Weasley, slice my caterpillars for me."

~

Chapter 7, p.126-127
"Not to far from here...," Ron repeated, looking significantly at Harry. He turned around and saw Malfoy watching closely.
"What, Malfoy? Need something else skinned?"
But Malfoy's eyes were shining malevolently, and they were fixed on Harry. He leaned across the table.
"Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?"
"Yeah, that's right," said Harry offhandedly.
Malfoy's thin mouth was curving in a mean smile.
"Of course, if it was me," he said quietly, "I'd had done something before now. I wouldn't be staying in school like a good boy, I'd be out there looking for him."
"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" said Ron roughly.
"Don't you know, Potter?" breathed malfoy, his pale eyes narrowed.
"Know what?"
Malfoy let out a low, sneering laugh.
"Maybe you'd rather not risk your neck," he said. "Want to leave it to the dementors, do you? But if it was me, I'd want revenge. I'd hunt him down myself."

~

Chapter 8, p.152
"Staying here, Potter?" shouted Malfoy, who was standing in line with Crabbe and Goyle. "Scared of passing the dementors?"

~

Chapter 8, p.159
It had been such a pleasant evening that Harry's good mood couldn't even be spoiled by Malfoy, who shouted through the crowd as they left the hall, “The dementors send their love, Potter!”

~

Chapter 9, p.168
"There's nothing wrong with Malfoy's arm!" said Harry furiously. "He's faking it!"
"I know that, but we can't prove it," said Wood bitterly.
The Slytherin team were looking very smug indeed, and none more so than Malfoy. "Ah, if only my arm was feeling a bit better!" he sighed, as the gale outside pounded the windows.

~

Chapter 10, p.184-185
It was a relief to return to the noise and bustle of the main school on Monday, where he was forced to think about other things, even if he had to endure Draco Malfoy's taunting. Malfoy was almost beside himself with glee at Gryffindor's defeat. He had finally taken off his bandages, and celebrated having the full use of both arms again by doing spirited imitations of Harry falling off his broom.
Malfoy spent much of their next Potions class doing dementor imitations across the dungeons; Ron finally cracked and flung a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy, which hit him in the face and caused Snape to take fifty points from Gryffindor.

~


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