Chapter 25
Thanks to all reviews and reviewers, Alysun. *Naomi the wonderful proof reader snips her mention because they're starting to annoy her*
DISCLAIMER: Damnation to disclaimers! You get the point!
Not Now, Not Ever.
As Snape left the Great Hall, he didn't see Draco watching him. He didn't see him telling Crabbe and Goyle not to follow him. He didn't see him get rid of Pansy. He didn't see him scowl at his retreating back, momentarily. He didn't see him get up. He didn't see him dodging through the hordes of people. Nor did he see the troubled mind that lay beneath the unapproachable exterior. He didn't see anything. He walked, clutching the mound of marking in his usual, stalking manner, glaring at the Gryffindors, waiting for no- one and nothing. He thought fleetingly of the glance that Draco had given him, but soon dismissed it from his mind. He was halfway down the corridor when he was stopped by an angry, maddened shout of - "STOP!" The whole corridor froze, and turned to look at the owner of the voice. Snape turned also. Draco stood, in a small clearing of his own; people had backed away from him, getting out of the line of fire, so to speak. One group of timid first years had even flattened themselves against the wall, which was, thought Snape upon seeing them, an extreme. Draco was staring at Snape. Straight at him. His angry, cold blue eyes boring into his own, impassive black ones. "Mr. Malfoy. . .?" The question hung in the air, like fog over a Yorkshire moor. Draco's scowled more deeply. When he spoke, his voice was bitter, cold, biting, reminding Snape again of his father, painfully so. "How do you do it? On and off, like a tap. How? Don't you even know how I feel. . .?" Draco hissed. Snape almost panicked there and then. What the hell was Draco playing at?! This was a first class way of destroying all of Snape's hard work, keeping their 'relationship' concealed. What did the fool want?! He arched an eyebrow, cynically, almost sarcastically. "On all accounts, you seem to be angry. Although why this should matter to me, I am still unclear upon." He spoke coolly, silkily, but in a voice that was most definitely dangerous. He addressed the rest of the corridor. "Would someone kindly assist Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing and alert Professor Dumbledore? Thank you." Sympathetic, understanding hands reached out to escort Draco away. Snape, satisfied that his work was done, turned to leave. His heart was pounding. So close! He was in trouble now, for sure. . . He heard struggling behind him. He ignored it, but quickened his pace. Nearly at the end of the corridor, he reassured himself. He felt weak. There was the sound of someone hitting the ground behind him. Snape didn't even falter. If anything, he increased his pace again. He would have run, if his dignity had allowed it. Another shout rang out, silencing the corridor more effectively than any way Snape could think of. It was not, however, something he would ever contemplate using to silence a class. Ever. "I LOVE YOU!" A demented scream, echoing off the high walls. Snape stopped short mid-step, nearly over balancing in his shock and horror. He WHAT?!! He hadn't heard that. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, everything would be back to normal. Everything. Every last detail. He opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. It had been worth a try. Slowly, and unsteadily, Snape turned to face Draco. He was standing, his robes askew from his scuffle; a Ravenclaw student was sitting up on from the floor, staring around dazedly. "Excuse me?" asked Snape. No words could possibly describe what he felt. His life was officially over. He couldn't teach here any more. It would be proved, and he would be thrown out, exiled, outcast. He was reminded of Dillemand. At least Dillemand had had Mercer, thought Snape bitterly. This is my ruin. This is the end. I should have let him die. "I love you," answered Draco, in a hate filled voice that sounded less like love than anything Snape had ever heard. Well, almost. There was a clear pathway through the corridor from Draco down to Snape. Snape watched in horrified fascination, as Draco moved closer, his footsteps echoing hollowly, sentencing Snape's doom. Snap out of it! he screamed at himself. Out, out! "Mr. Malfoy. . ." he started, at a total loss of what to say. Draco stopped walking. He was in easy reach of Snape now, which made the man himself acutely uncomfortable. This was not looking good. The crowd moved in, filling the space Draco had left. Draco could not move back now, even he had wanted to. He looked lost, but still fired by rage; his pale face was unusually flushed, his eyes narrowed, eyebrows drawn. Like a silver dragon, thought Snape, surprising himself once more with his poeticises. "What's wrong? Why don't you like me any more?" persisted Draco, his confusion showing through more clearly now to the listeners. Snape radiated ignorance, confusion and worry all at the same time. As far as any onlookers could see, he knew as little as they. I should have chosen a career in acting, thought Snape wryly. He shuddered momentarily at the thought of what his parents would have said. He dismissed the thought with many others. He was a disgrace to them as it was, and had been from the age of 15. "I liked you in the first place?" asked Snape, looking politely puzzled. The confusion and ephemeral insecurity Draco had shown dried up quicker than a puddle on a hot day. He started advancing on Snape again, slowly, deliberately, each step like a well aimed punch at Snape's face. He was careful not to flinch, or back away. "You smug, arrogant, stuck up, haughty, supercilious, dried up, ugly old GIT," menaced Draco, his tone getting louder and louder, each word accompanied by a footstep, the last brought Draco to a halt, barely a metre away from his teacher's surprised face. Snape's surprise lowered into a frown and then a deep glare of mistrust and distaste. "That's quite enough of the histrionics thank you, Mr. Malfoy," he said in a voice that would have chilled a salamander into an early death if one had been near. Draco snapped. Snarling at Snape, he took one last step, and, with all his strength, flung Snape round and up against the wall of the corridor, scattering his fellow students everywhere. Some of the girls screamed, accompanied by a collective gasp of horror. What would Snape do in reply to that?! Snapes face contorted into a mask of sheer hatred, the papers he had held all this time dropping, scattering everywhere, landing, and symbolising the utter chaos of the situation almost perfectly. NOBODY manhandled Severus Snape. Not without his consent. Not any more. Easily, Snape pushed Draco from him, sending him staggering backwards. He was vaguely aware of the wide eyed students that surrounded him, whispering frantically. "You've gone too far this time, Mr. Malfoy. You. Don't. Touch. Me. Ever," Snape hissed venomously, in a voice usually reserved for the likes of Potter. Draco, glared, but said nothing. He knew he had gone too far, but wasn't about to admit it. Ever. Snape drew his wand, causing Draco to cower slightly. Snape gave him a withering look, and, with a single wave, rounded up his papers. Bang on time, Dumbledore appeared struggling through the crowd, McGonagall following closely. Dumbledore stared briefly at the scene before shooting Snape a questioning look. Snape's eyes flicked ever so slightly towards Draco, who stood, defensively, to one side. Dumbledore saw and replied with an equally barely distinguishable nod. Snape nodded likewise, and took his leave form the shocked passageway making his way down to the dungeons.
Minerva watched the silent exchange in bemusement. What on earth. . .?
Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Draco, come with me to my office. Someone help Kevin," he signalled towards the fallen Ravenclaw, "to the Hospital wing. The rest of you, go to where ever you should be. Thank you," he said gravely, and led the distraught Draco away. The hall burst into loud conversation.
Snape sat down in his dungeons, alone. He felt as if he could cry. But he wouldn't. Crying was not a habit of his. Instead, he pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. Dipping the quill in the inkwell, he started, Dear Professor Dumbledore . . .
He wasn't going to let himself be fired. Not now. Not ever.
Thanks to all reviews and reviewers, Alysun. *Naomi the wonderful proof reader snips her mention because they're starting to annoy her*
DISCLAIMER: Damnation to disclaimers! You get the point!
Not Now, Not Ever.
As Snape left the Great Hall, he didn't see Draco watching him. He didn't see him telling Crabbe and Goyle not to follow him. He didn't see him get rid of Pansy. He didn't see him scowl at his retreating back, momentarily. He didn't see him get up. He didn't see him dodging through the hordes of people. Nor did he see the troubled mind that lay beneath the unapproachable exterior. He didn't see anything. He walked, clutching the mound of marking in his usual, stalking manner, glaring at the Gryffindors, waiting for no- one and nothing. He thought fleetingly of the glance that Draco had given him, but soon dismissed it from his mind. He was halfway down the corridor when he was stopped by an angry, maddened shout of - "STOP!" The whole corridor froze, and turned to look at the owner of the voice. Snape turned also. Draco stood, in a small clearing of his own; people had backed away from him, getting out of the line of fire, so to speak. One group of timid first years had even flattened themselves against the wall, which was, thought Snape upon seeing them, an extreme. Draco was staring at Snape. Straight at him. His angry, cold blue eyes boring into his own, impassive black ones. "Mr. Malfoy. . .?" The question hung in the air, like fog over a Yorkshire moor. Draco's scowled more deeply. When he spoke, his voice was bitter, cold, biting, reminding Snape again of his father, painfully so. "How do you do it? On and off, like a tap. How? Don't you even know how I feel. . .?" Draco hissed. Snape almost panicked there and then. What the hell was Draco playing at?! This was a first class way of destroying all of Snape's hard work, keeping their 'relationship' concealed. What did the fool want?! He arched an eyebrow, cynically, almost sarcastically. "On all accounts, you seem to be angry. Although why this should matter to me, I am still unclear upon." He spoke coolly, silkily, but in a voice that was most definitely dangerous. He addressed the rest of the corridor. "Would someone kindly assist Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing and alert Professor Dumbledore? Thank you." Sympathetic, understanding hands reached out to escort Draco away. Snape, satisfied that his work was done, turned to leave. His heart was pounding. So close! He was in trouble now, for sure. . . He heard struggling behind him. He ignored it, but quickened his pace. Nearly at the end of the corridor, he reassured himself. He felt weak. There was the sound of someone hitting the ground behind him. Snape didn't even falter. If anything, he increased his pace again. He would have run, if his dignity had allowed it. Another shout rang out, silencing the corridor more effectively than any way Snape could think of. It was not, however, something he would ever contemplate using to silence a class. Ever. "I LOVE YOU!" A demented scream, echoing off the high walls. Snape stopped short mid-step, nearly over balancing in his shock and horror. He WHAT?!! He hadn't heard that. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, everything would be back to normal. Everything. Every last detail. He opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. It had been worth a try. Slowly, and unsteadily, Snape turned to face Draco. He was standing, his robes askew from his scuffle; a Ravenclaw student was sitting up on from the floor, staring around dazedly. "Excuse me?" asked Snape. No words could possibly describe what he felt. His life was officially over. He couldn't teach here any more. It would be proved, and he would be thrown out, exiled, outcast. He was reminded of Dillemand. At least Dillemand had had Mercer, thought Snape bitterly. This is my ruin. This is the end. I should have let him die. "I love you," answered Draco, in a hate filled voice that sounded less like love than anything Snape had ever heard. Well, almost. There was a clear pathway through the corridor from Draco down to Snape. Snape watched in horrified fascination, as Draco moved closer, his footsteps echoing hollowly, sentencing Snape's doom. Snap out of it! he screamed at himself. Out, out! "Mr. Malfoy. . ." he started, at a total loss of what to say. Draco stopped walking. He was in easy reach of Snape now, which made the man himself acutely uncomfortable. This was not looking good. The crowd moved in, filling the space Draco had left. Draco could not move back now, even he had wanted to. He looked lost, but still fired by rage; his pale face was unusually flushed, his eyes narrowed, eyebrows drawn. Like a silver dragon, thought Snape, surprising himself once more with his poeticises. "What's wrong? Why don't you like me any more?" persisted Draco, his confusion showing through more clearly now to the listeners. Snape radiated ignorance, confusion and worry all at the same time. As far as any onlookers could see, he knew as little as they. I should have chosen a career in acting, thought Snape wryly. He shuddered momentarily at the thought of what his parents would have said. He dismissed the thought with many others. He was a disgrace to them as it was, and had been from the age of 15. "I liked you in the first place?" asked Snape, looking politely puzzled. The confusion and ephemeral insecurity Draco had shown dried up quicker than a puddle on a hot day. He started advancing on Snape again, slowly, deliberately, each step like a well aimed punch at Snape's face. He was careful not to flinch, or back away. "You smug, arrogant, stuck up, haughty, supercilious, dried up, ugly old GIT," menaced Draco, his tone getting louder and louder, each word accompanied by a footstep, the last brought Draco to a halt, barely a metre away from his teacher's surprised face. Snape's surprise lowered into a frown and then a deep glare of mistrust and distaste. "That's quite enough of the histrionics thank you, Mr. Malfoy," he said in a voice that would have chilled a salamander into an early death if one had been near. Draco snapped. Snarling at Snape, he took one last step, and, with all his strength, flung Snape round and up against the wall of the corridor, scattering his fellow students everywhere. Some of the girls screamed, accompanied by a collective gasp of horror. What would Snape do in reply to that?! Snapes face contorted into a mask of sheer hatred, the papers he had held all this time dropping, scattering everywhere, landing, and symbolising the utter chaos of the situation almost perfectly. NOBODY manhandled Severus Snape. Not without his consent. Not any more. Easily, Snape pushed Draco from him, sending him staggering backwards. He was vaguely aware of the wide eyed students that surrounded him, whispering frantically. "You've gone too far this time, Mr. Malfoy. You. Don't. Touch. Me. Ever," Snape hissed venomously, in a voice usually reserved for the likes of Potter. Draco, glared, but said nothing. He knew he had gone too far, but wasn't about to admit it. Ever. Snape drew his wand, causing Draco to cower slightly. Snape gave him a withering look, and, with a single wave, rounded up his papers. Bang on time, Dumbledore appeared struggling through the crowd, McGonagall following closely. Dumbledore stared briefly at the scene before shooting Snape a questioning look. Snape's eyes flicked ever so slightly towards Draco, who stood, defensively, to one side. Dumbledore saw and replied with an equally barely distinguishable nod. Snape nodded likewise, and took his leave form the shocked passageway making his way down to the dungeons.
Minerva watched the silent exchange in bemusement. What on earth. . .?
Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Draco, come with me to my office. Someone help Kevin," he signalled towards the fallen Ravenclaw, "to the Hospital wing. The rest of you, go to where ever you should be. Thank you," he said gravely, and led the distraught Draco away. The hall burst into loud conversation.
Snape sat down in his dungeons, alone. He felt as if he could cry. But he wouldn't. Crying was not a habit of his. Instead, he pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. Dipping the quill in the inkwell, he started, Dear Professor Dumbledore . . .
He wasn't going to let himself be fired. Not now. Not ever.