Tw: mention of non-con towards a minor, talk of self-harm
Snape sits down next to Remus after seeing his usual seat at the end of the staff table being taken up, much to his annoyance.
"Hi, Severus," Remus smiles, pausing his conversation with Professor Trelawney.
"Hello."
Trelawney purses her lips at the interruption. Snape has never had much time for her, and they've certainly never exchanged pleasantries.
"How have you been?" asks Remus.
"Good," Snape says tersely. "And you?"
"Yeah, I'm alright, thanks. Enjoying the meal?"
Snape nods, glancing down to his untouched Sunday roast.
"You sure you're alright?" Remus says. Since their trip to the café over a month ago, the pair have been occasionally meeting to talk, and Remus can tell that something in Snape has shifted.
"Yes," says Snape.
"I don't believe you," Remus says. "What's the matter?"
Snape glances around the busy table.
"Let's go somewhere more private," Remus says, getting up.
"No, no it's fine."
"I can see it's not fine. Come on."
"Don't you want to finish your lunch?"
"It can wait."
"What about..." Snape glances pointedly at Trelawney.
"I can talk to her anytime," Remus whispers back. "You don't mind if we nip off, do you?" he asks back to her.
"Not at all," Trelawney smiles, her eyes flicking across to Snape curiously. Like most of the professors, she wasn't aware of their friendship.
"See," says Remus. "Come on."
Snape follows Remus out of the hall and into the barren corridor.
"You didn't need to," Snape begins.
"It's the least I can do," says Remus. "After you let me go on about Sirius for far longer than I should do."
"Okay," Snape says uncertainly. They stop at a small alcove in the wall with a bench. The corridors are abandoned, everyone in the hall to eating lunch.
"So what's on your mind?"
"I can't go into specifics," says Snape, sitting down on the padded cushion next to Remus.
"Oh dear, what's happened?" says Remus. His light-hearted demeanour quickly shifts as he sees Snape's settled jaw. "Sorry, is this serious?"
"Yes," Snape sighs deeply. He doesn't speak for a second, considering how to phrase this. He didn't plan on telling Remus about this, even in broad terms.
"One of my students was... put at risk, shall we say," Snape says. "By a professor. Said professor is now blackmailing both of us not to tell anyone about it."
Remus frowns.
"The blackmail is enough to outweigh the benefits of telling someone about it. But I feel like I should be protecting the student, as my job, but I can't."
"Hold on," says Remus. "What do you mean 'put at risk'?"
"I can't say," Snape says. "But it's bad and I feel awful that I've let the professor get away with it. I'm still split on whether I should go against the student's wishes and tell someone about this because it's not right. The professor should be in Askaban, and I don't say that lightly."
Remus picks his lip, his expression darkening at the mention of that place. Snape knows that it's a sore subject, so whatever this is must be serious. He weighs the situation up in his mind. "I don't know where to start."
"I'm not expecting advice," says Snape. "Because there's no good solution here. If I try and achieve justice and get him locked away, he's going to reveal something that would ruin the life of the student, and another innocent student, and mine. Either that, or he's going to flip all of this on me and make it seem like I'm the one who did that to the student, and no one's going to believe me against him. I know that for certain."
"I believe you," says Remus.
Snape shakes his head sadly. "Regardless, it's not about me. This student deserves justice, and I can't give it to them. Appearances is everything to his family, and the blackmail material being released would ruin their pristine image. I doubt he'd be welcome at home anymore, on top of the flack he'd get at school. I can see why he thinks it wouldn't be worth telling the truth."
Remus scratches his head, trying to apply the information to possible circumstances or people, but drawing blank. The idea that an undisclosed professor who everyone seems to trust is blackmailing a student leaves an uneasy feeling in his stomach.
"Can you tell me more about what the professor did?" he asks, in an attempt to gain more context.
Snape falters, unsure of how much more he wants to divulge. "He did something bloody disgusting, like, truly evil. He's a danger to the student, but I can't do anything. They're still having lessons together, I can't imagine how they're feeling having to sit through listening to his voice for hours a week, or at all."
"You're scaring me, Severus," says Remus. "If he's a danger to the student then you need to tell someone. You can't keep quiet about this if a kid's safety is being compromised, whatever this professor is threatening to do. Can't you talk to Albus about it?"
Snape makes a psh noise. "You think Albus would listen to me?"
"Yes, if you said a student is in physical danger."
Snape refuses to budge so he decides to try a different tactic.
"How old is this student?" Remus asks.
"Seventeen."
"I see," Remus says. "I suppose it could be worse. I'd be more worried if you'd have said twelve."
Snape glares at him with vapid fury. "It's not about age. Students are supposed to be able to trust their professors, and regardless, seventeen is still a child."
Remus nods. "Which is why you need to tell someone about this."
Snape sinks his head into his hands, replaying the night, picturing Draco slumped on his window ledge, Slughorn's smug grin as he denies all weight of his actions, the way Draco said 'I feel disgusting' in a broken voice. He feels a hand on his shoulder.
"It wasn't your fault," says Remus quietly.
"I'm useless," Snape says through his hands.
"No, you're not."
"I've let him get away with it, I've offered next to no support to the student," says Snape. "I haven't spoken to the professor since it happened. I've just brushed it under the rug when I explicitly promised I wouldn't and tried to pretend it didn't happen but it's weighing down on me and I'm being selfish because I know the student is going through it far worse than me. I don't know what to do, Remus."
"You know what I think you should do," says Remus. "And if you aren't going to do that then I'll trust your judgment, although I highly advise you reconsider keeping quiet about this."
"I don't think I should tell anyone," says Snape. "Not if the student doesn't want me to. It's their decision whether they want the blackmail information exposed or not. That's his life right there."
"Okay, well why don't you talk to the student about it?" Remus suggests. "Maybe you could talk them around telling someone."
"He won't want to talk about it," Snape says. "I tried to in the days after it happened, and he played it off like it was nothing. I can see it in his eyes." He looks up at him. "I can see the pain, and the shame, and everything. And I've done nothing. Nothing to stop the professor, nothing to separate them."
"Well, you'd better get off your arse and start doing something," Remus says. Snape meets him with daggers for eyes.
"Thank you, Remus," he says, voice drenched in sarcasm. "You know what? I hadn't thought of that. I'll confront the professor right after lunch. That'll sort him out."
"Alright, keep your hair on," says Remus. "Is there any way you can get around the blackmail at all?"
"No," Snape says firmly.
"Then it sounds like the only option is to try and give support to the student."
"I don't know how to," says Snape. "I'm awful at comforting people. You know me, either I'm practically emotionless or I'm shouting at the kids for one reason or another. How is that going to convince the student that I'm approachable or truthworthy at all?"
"First of all, you're not bad at comforting people," says Remus. "Because look how you were with me. You just have to try and let the student see your vulnerable side a bit more and stop putting on this hard exterior. Tell them how you feel."
"It's not about me, though."
"That's your problem," says Remus emphatically. "If you make it all about them, they're probably going to feel overwhelmed and will end up shutting off more. Show them that you're a person with feelings, too. Then you can have a conversation about whatever happened."
"What should I say?" Snape asks doubtfully.
"Tell them what you told me," says Remus. "Really, Severus. About how they deserve justice, but you understand the blackmail makes it too risky. Try and talk them into telling someone else and assure them that they're safe. Also, you should ask if this professor has done anything since then, because if he has then, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to tell Albus about this."
Snape rolls his head back, considering how the conversation would go.
"You've got this," Remus says, patting his arm roughly. "Let me know how it goes."
"That's that then, is it?" Snape says.
"Yep," says Remus, standing up. "Talk to them. Open up."
Snape sighs and gets up.
"Where are you off to?" Remus asks as Snape starts walking off in the opposite direction to the hall.
"To my room," says Snape.
Remus throws him back a look. "Really?"
"What?"
"What about lunch? You haven't touched your Sunday dinner."
Snape shrugs. "I'll eat later."
"For God's sake," Remus says, pulling him in the direction of the hall. "Come on. You can stop being all depressed in your room alone and have some food."
Snape pulls a face. "Do I have to?"
"Yes, you have to," says Remus. "Come on. You can come and talk to Sybill. We were having a rather interesting conversation about how different the two Moore siblings are. I suppose it's more gossip than a conversation, but I'm sure you enjoy a bit of gossip."
"I do not," Snape says sullenly, but he lets Remus drag him back to the dining hall.
Snape sets his sixth-year class on another practice exam paper. He finds himself more on edge than before, shouting at anyone who talks and snapping back without reason. The class sinks into wary silence after a few minutes. Snape sits behind his desk, ready to lash out if a noise is made. An hour later, the bell rings for lunchtime and the class promptly files out.
"Draco," says Snape.
Draco turns his head having spent the lesson sitting in a haze of boredom and darkness.
Snape tells himself to relax, to be approachable. The opposite of what he has been for the last hour, he groans inwardly.
"How are you?" Snape asks. The question is redundant; he can tell by a simple glance that Draco is in internal turmoil.
"I'm ok," says Draco.
"I was just going to..." Snape hesitates to find the right words. He thinks back to what Remus said.
"It's about February half term."
Draco's detached expression winces at the painful reminder. "It's fine," he says blankly, forcing himself to keep his emotions in check.
"No, it's not fine," says Snape. He tries to win him over with a more subtle approach to contrast his usual bluntness.
"It's not fair," he says. "If the circumstances were any different, he'd be out of the school and in prison by now. I know he blackmailed you not to tell anyone by saying that he'd tell everyone about you and Ron, but I believe he's only using that as a tactic to keep you quiet."
"Please don't tell anyone," Draco says. Pure exhaustion seeps from his voice.
"I'm not going to tell anyone," Snape reiterates. "I wanted you to know that I haven't forgotten about this and I haven't put it to one side. He shouldn't be getting away with this and I'm sorry I haven't done anything about it."
Draco fixes his eyes on the floor, surprised by Snape's sudden interest.
"We can still take action," says Snape, his composure slowly sliding. "We can do something about it. Why don't you talk to your parents about this? Or come up to Dumbledore's office with me after school? We could get him locked away, or at least fired, right away."
"No, you don't understand," says Draco. "I don't want anyone to know about this, like, blackmail or otherwise. It's fucking embarrassing." He runs a hand through his hair. "Sorry," he mutters. "Sorry for swearing. I just, I don't know. I want to forget about it now."
"Please tell me you're all right," says Snape. "It's a horrendous thing to have happened to you, but do you feel like you can manage it a bit more than..." He cuts himself off, thinking over how to phrase it. "You're not going to do anything to yourself, are you?"
Draco shakes his head. "No, I'm fine," he says, voice hollow. "I was acting irrationally that night. It doesn't represent my current thoughts."
Snape nods, absorbing the business-like approach Draco seems to be taking.
"That's good," he says. "And Professor Slughorn hasn't bothered you since, I hope?"
"No, he hasn't."
"Anything at all?" Snape probes. "It doesn't have to be as serious as before. Has he threatened you or talked to you alone or even hinted at doing anything else?"
"No," says Draco. The image of the previous afternoon invades his mind: his body pressed up against Slughorn's classroom wall, half there, half somewhere far away, avoiding facing the feeling of Slughorn's hands on his body, scrabbling at his belt, dust gathering on his knees.
"If he gives you any more trouble, you come to me," says Snape. "It doesn't matter how small it is. You come and find me and we'll sort it out."
"Ok."
Snape doesn't know whether to be satisfied with this response, but he can't think of anything else to say.
"I'll let you get to lunch then," he says.
Draco nods and pads out of Snape's classroom.
Guilt and self-hatred washes over him. It's his fault. He had a chance to stop all this, Snape was offering him a solution on a silver plate, and he passed it by. Now, who is to blame for this situation but himself?
Snape brings his foot back and kicks it into his desk with as much force as he can muster. He's helpless and he hates it.
"Check."
Ron swaps their rook with their King.
"You can't do that."
"Why not?"
"You can't castle out of check."
"But you're gonna win now. I have nowhere else to go."
Draco scans the chessboard having completely isolated Ron's King. Chess and Ron: the two things that successfully take his mind off everything bad.
"It's not mate yet," he says.
Ron crosses his arms, studying the board.
He moves his King across one square to the left.
Draco moves his Queen across the board right next to Ron's King, protected by his rook. "Checkmate," says Draco, triumphantly.
"Fuck's sake," sighs Ron. "One day I'm gonna win one of these."
Draco chuckles as he resets the board. "One more game."
He sees Ron's look.
"Please? Last game I promise."
"We've already done like ten today."
"Please, just one more."
"No."
"Come on, it will only take, like, five minutes."
"This is hurting my brain. It's too late."
"Just one more. Please."
"I'd rather we just fuck."
"I don't want to fuck, I want to play chess."
Ron lets out a snort, and Draco smiles expectantly at him.
"Fine," they groan.
"Yesss," Draco chuckles. "Your move first."
"I cannot believe you just turned down sex in favour of chess," mutters Ron as they move their pawn forward.
"You were joking," says Draco.
"Says who?"
"Quiet. I need to focus."
Ron grins, biting his lip. He finds Draco's level of concentration while consumed in chess hopelessly adorable.
They finish the game, Draco winning easily again.
"You've tired me out," yawns Ron, sinking into the sofa as Draco packs the set up.
"Ok, no more thinking tonight," he says, plonking himself on top of Ron. "Sex?"
"No chance," scoffs Ron.
He moves Ron's legs to the side so he can sit down.
"So apart from chess, what else have you been doing today?" asks Ron, closing their eyes.
Draco puffs out his cheeks. "Well, I pulled off an impressive French kiss with Daphne."
"You are joking."
"No, it was a dare. Guess who got me through it." He prods Ron's leg.
"It can't be easy pretending you're kissing me when the other person has tits and is five foot four."
"You'd be surprised."
Ron flops his head down on the arm of the sofa. "I think I'm gonna fall asleep," he mumbles. "I'm bloody exhausted."
"Long day?"
Ron makes some sort of agreeing noise, their eyelids drooping shut. Draco smiles as their long ginger hair falls over their face. He gets up to put the chessboard back on the bookshelf, returning to Ron curled up in a ball on the sofa, hugging a cushion, apparently asleep. Ron's trousers have ridden up their leg just enough to reveal a set of jagged thick purple scars on his calf.
Draco stares at them for a moment. They look nothing like Daphne's white array of lines on her upper arm, but they're so methodically done that it must be self-inflicted. His heart sinks as he pleads with whoever's listening that he's wrong.
"Ron?" he says gently.
"Mhm?" Ron says, not moving.
"Your leg."
The words instantly wake Ron up. They open their eyes to Draco staring at their legs.
"Shit," he says, shaking his trouser legs back down. His face reddens.
"Ron? What's- why did you do this? What's wrong?" Draco stares at him.
"I'm sorry," they say quietly. "I wasn't gonna tell you, but yeah. Don't be mad."
Draco swallows. "I'm not mad, just tell me why you've done this."
"I don't know. It helps me. It makes me feel better."
"But they look so deep. Don't you need stitches or something?"
"It's fine, honestly."
"I had no idea it was this bad," Draco says. "When did it start?"
"Like, last September," Ron says.
Draco frowns deeper, an idea popping into his head. "Was it because of me? Was it because I didn't leave you alone?"
"No, no," Ron says quickly. "It wasn't your fault. Everything was kind of building up and my self-esteem was non-existent. I guess I needed a release."
Draco cups his face in shame. Was he the thing to make it all bubble over?
"Shit, I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't know I was- well, I guess I did know that it was stressing you out, but not to this extent."
"Draco, please don't do this," Ron says. "It wasn't your fault. I needed to punish myself for being interested in you, that was the crux of it. You could've been any half-decent-looking guy and it would've been the same. I would've had to face it at some point anyway, so don't blame yourself, you self-centred prick."
Draco smiles sadly, Ron's words said without venom or anger.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"I know that now."
"Well if that's not the problem anymore, then what is?"
Ron sighs. "I don't know. Nothing. Everything."
"You can do better than that. What's stressing you out? School, friends, family?"
"I'm not stressed, necessarily," they say. "I just need a release sometimes."
"This isn't a healthy release, Ron. You should be drinking something strong or shouting into a pillow or riding vertically down on your broomstick or something stupid. Not bloody hurting yourself."
Ron swallows, ashamed. "I guess so. It's just that nothing else works."
"Well, we better find something then, hadn't we?"
"Like what?"
Draco looks around for inspiration. He spots the locked draw with his necklaces in from Ron.
"Why don't you make necklaces?"
"I already do that."
"Yeah, but, when you feel the urge to, you know."
"It's not enough, Draco," Ron says hopelessly. "I'm sorry, but it's not enough. I need something serious."
Draco looks at them, deflated. "Fuck," he mutters, collapsing back next to them on the sofa. "I'll think of something."
Ron blinks rapidly, telling himself not to cry. "I'm sorry."
"You don't need to apologise. I just wish there was another way. I don't want you to be hurt."
"No one else is hurting me. Just me."
"That doesn't make it better."
"Yeah, it does. Now kiss me right fucking now, I've made you all sad."
Draco gives them an uncertain look but lets Ron push their lips onto his tenderly.
"I should've told you," says Ron, staring into his eyes as they pause for breath.
"Everyone has their secrets."
"Even you?"
"Of course."
"So what's your secret, Draco Malfoy?"
"If I told you it wouldn't be a secret."
Draco kisses them again, and the sadness in the room lifts temporarily.
He stops, half-consciously staring at the chess set from across the room.
"Draco? What are you doing?"
"Oh." He looks back to Ron. "You're not gonna like this, but I was thinking about chess."
Ron pulls a face. "While I'm kissing you? God, it cuts bloody deep, doesn't it? No pun intended."
Draco pauses, then understands the joke a second later. "Ron?" he says incredulously. "What the hell?"
Despite himself, Ron breaks out into an uncontrollable smile. It's been a while since he managed to properly shock Draco.
"Come on, that was kind of funny," says Ron.
Draco folds his arms. "No," he says. "Not funny."
Ron presses their forehead onto Draco's. "I might regret saying this, but one more game of chess?"
Draco's face lights up, then he frowns. "You're only saying that to distract me."
"Bingo," says Ron. "Now go and get your stupid chess set."
Draco doesn't move. "Are we just going to brush over all this then?"
"What else is there to say?" Ron says. "I self-harm because I need a release. There's nothing more to it. I'm not going to stop anytime soon so we might as well stop being sad about it and play some bloody chess." He sighs at Draco's stubborn stance. "Come on, Draco. Please. I don't want to talk about this anymore. If I ignore it, the problem goes away. Talking about it isn't helping things. Let's play a dumb game of chess and forget about this."
Draco rolls to his feet after a long moment. "All right," he says, grabbing the chessboard from the floor. "We can play a dumb game of chess."
"Yay," smiles Ron. Draco pushes his worries away for the sake of them and forces a smile.
"White or black?" he asks.
"White. I'm going to do the same opening as you did last time. I memorised it."
Draco's smile widens into genuine excitement. "Good luck."
He wins easily again but Ron doesn't mind. They spend as long as possible lying together, chatting about nothing important, before Ron's eyelids start to droop hours later.
"I'm gonna go now," says Ron, with a huge yawn.
"Or I'll fall asleep and miss breakfast."
"Okay," Draco says, pulling them up by the hand. "Up you get, you big bloody lump."
Ron groans as they get heaved up, their head lolling backwards.
"Will you be all right?" says Draco, suddenly serious again as they stand by the door.
"Yes," Ron says firmly. "I'll be fine, don't worry about me?"
"How could I possibly not worry about you?"
"I don't know, just... don't," says Ron with an awkward smile.
Draco rolls his eyes. "That's that sorted then."
"Yep. Now, can I go or are you going to hold me hostage for any longer?"
Draco leans in for a short kiss, rotating them around in their arms. "See you Friday, then?"
"Yeah," they say.
"Alright, night Ron."
"Goodnight, Draco."
Daphne and Draco stride across the courtyard hand in hand in the five minutes before the last lesson of the day. They go down to the secluded pond on the border of the Forbidden Forest. Keeping up the pretence of being in a happy relationship is easy enough, Draco reflects. They get on well, as friends, and Daphne soon mirrored Draco's enthusiastic hand-holding in public and keeping a safe distance in private.
"Oh, look," says Daphne. "Our flowers are starting to sprout."
Draco looks at the crocuses they shovelled into the dirt by the oak tree a week ago as homework from Professor Sprout.
"How long until they're fully grown?" he asks.
"I don't know, a few weeks probably," says Daphne.
They sit on the grass and, as Draco stares at the picturesque scenery, he can't get Ron off his mind. He's perhaps more consumed in them than he ever has been before; as soon as he decided he wasn't going to immediately kill himself in Malfoy Manor, he latched onto the things that made him want to keep going. Ron being the main thing. Ron doesn't ease the disgust at night or get rid of the shame when he's alone, but holding them in his arms makes everything more bearable. Sitting next to his supposed girlfriend, he has a sudden urge to set the record straight. Daphne of all people deserves to know.
"Daphne?" he says.
"Yeah?"
"I'm in love."
Daphne's head snaps up curiously. "With who?" She doesn't flatter herself by considering it's her; there was never any romantic spark between them.
"I can't tell you."
"Why not?"
"I just can't."
"So why did you tell me then?" Then it dawns on her. "You want to break up so you can be with her, don't you?" Her tone doesn't relay annoyance, indignance, or accusation.
"No, no, that's not why I said it," he says.
They sit in silence for a moment.
"If it makes you feel better, I've got my eye on someone too," says Daphne, with an air of melancholy that they've both been restricted by their families.
"Who?"
"Pike."
Draco's face shifts into disapproval. "Really? Pike?" Draco never saw anything in him apart from a brute lacking in personality and intelligence- not even good looks could be considered a redeeming factor.
She scoffs. "You can't judge him if you're keeping your crush a secret."
"Daphne, I'm not just saying this, but you could do so much better than him."
"Oh, come on," she laughs. "He's not that bad."
"Believe me, I've seen him naked. You do not want to be in bed with that man."
"It'd be more fucking action that I'm getting nowadays."
"Bloody hell," says Draco. "You don't have to sound so bitter that I'm not shagging you every night."
Daphne snorts, not in the least bit angry. "Yeah, why aren't you? We'd have excellent sex." She pats his arm at his lost expression. "Don't worry, I know you're saving yourself for this mysterious girl."
"Well, not really," Draco says. "It would never work out. At least you and Pike have a chance."
"Don't be such a pessimist," she says.
"I'm not," he says. "It's just a fact, it will never work out, not properly."
"Why?" she says suspiciously. "She's not, like, thirteen, is she?"
Draco makes an offended noise. "Daphne, I'm not a fucking nonce."
She laughs him off. "Yeah, so what's the problem? She's your age, you like her, she's in Slytherin. Oh wait, is she?"
"Not exactly," Draco says.
Daphne's eyes widen. "Oh my God, you have a crush on Hermione Granger."
She squeals as Draco pretends to throw a textbook at her. "You're such a prick," he says. "I wouldn't fuck Hermione if she was the last one alive on earth and our only hope of saving humanity."
"Sounds like overcompensating to me," Daphne grins, brushing her hair out of her face. "Anyway, don't be such a downer. Anything is possible, just wait and see."
"I really love them," says Draco intensely, staring at the flowers. He smiles subconsciously as he pictures himself and Ron snuggled up together on his sofa.
"Yeah, I can see that," Daphne says quietly, wishing he had looked at her like that, even just once.
Draco kicks the grass at his feet. "The only issue is that I haven't told them yet."
"What the hell are you waiting for then?" Daphne smiles forcedly. "She probably already knows given the state of you. Honestly, Draco. Tell her."
Draco glances at Daphne. "What if they don't say it back?"
"Fuck me, you're bloody pathetic," Daphne laughs. "Just fucking tell her, man. She'll appreciate the honesty."
"I don't know," says Draco, nibbling his lower lip.
Daphne's smile fades when Draco doesn't match her playful response.
"How long?" she says.
"What?"
"How long have you 'been in love'?
Draco shrugs. "I don't know. A few months, I guess."
"Jesus Christ," Daphne sighs. "You know if you don't tell her soon she's going to get bored and move on to someone else." She shuffles forward. "I know what will help. Close your eyes and imagine."
Draco looks at her sceptically but goes along with it and shuts his eyes.
"Right, you're in the Great Hall," she says. "It's dinner time. You turn around and see the person you love, sitting there, eating stew. Then suddenly, Harry Potter is beside them, wrapping an arm around their shoulder. He leans in and kisses them right in front of you like it's nothing. Your face goes green with jealousy and you-"
She opens her eyes at an interruption to see Draco doubled over in an impressively loud wheeze.
"Draco," she sighs.
"Oh my fucking God, I can't breathe," Draco wheezes again, slapping his knee. "Bloody hell, Daphne, your storytelling skills are fucking exquisite, it's like I was there in the room with them."
She suppresses a smile. "I'm trying to make a point here," she says, watching Draco take deep breaths to calm himself down, red in the face.
"Right, go on," he says.
"The point is, if you sit around thinking 'I shouldn't do this' and 'I'm scared to do that', she's going to move on and find someone else."
Draco nods, pretending to take it seriously. "Right, yep," he says.
"We should break up, shouldn't we?" Daphne says after a long pause of silence. Her tone is flat; it's not a question.
"We've been doing this for, what, three and a half months, just for our families? If we both have feelings for someone else then, yeah."
Draco nods slowly. "I guess you're right."
Daphne gives a resigned smile. His friendly distance has long since quelled her longing for any intimacy. He's not rude, or unpleasant, or demeaning. He's just detached. He clearly loves whoever this person is far more than he could've ever loved her.
"Should we make it all dramatic?" she says, a mischievous glint returning to mask the disappointment.
"Like what?"
"Let me think."
"What about," starts Draco. "You find another girl's clothes on my bedroom floor?"
"Oh, we could definitely make it more dramatic than that," she says. "I was thinking we have a massive screaming match in the Common room in front of everyone."
"Screaming match about me having another girl's clothes in my room?"
Both their eyes light up, then they look at each other's expressions and burst out laughing.
"Fucking hell," snorts Draco. "Imagine."
"A part of me wants to," says Daphne. "But I swear we'd end up starting a vendetta between our families."
"No doubt."
Daphne settles down against the tree. "I'll miss this," she says lazily, closing her eyes.
"Yeah, me too," says Draco. "One of my calmer relationship experiences, I have to say, even though it's not exactly real."
"Same," she says. "Why, who have you been with that's not been so great?"
Draco shrugs.
"Come on, give me a name," Daphne probes. "I bet it was Millicent, wasn't it?"
"My lips are sealed," Draco says.
"Suit yourself," she says. "I'm not afraid to drag some names through the mud, though. Apart from Blaise," she says pointedly. "We had great sex. He gave me the best orgasm of my life."
Draco raises his eyebrows. "I can imagine."
Daphne throws him a look.
"What? You can tell he's like. I don't know." Draco waves his hands about. "Good at that stuff. Probably got it out of a book," he adds to save himself.
"Oh my fucking God," Daphne squeals with laughter. "Draco, have you thought about fucking Blaise?"
"No," Draco says defensively. "I'm just making observations. Anyway, you were about to drag some names through the mud so don't let me stop you."
"No, I won't let your fantasies about Blaise shagging you stop me," Daphne says, a massive grin plastered on her face. Her eyebrows raise higher, and her smile droops as a thought hits her. "Oh, bloody hell, are you gay?"
"No, I'm not fucking gay," Draco says hotly.
"All right," Daphne mutters, moving on without further question. "As I was saying. Most of the boys I've been with it's just like, first date is get your tits out, you know? Then we have sex twice and it's over by the end of the week."
Draco nods vaguely. "I don't know why you're expecting anything different from Pike. He's the definition of fuck and chuck."
"Maybe I want a bit of action," says Daphne. "I haven't done anything for, like, half a year."
"We could have a quickie before we go up to class," says Draco, deadpan. "I'm kidding," he says after Daphne raises her eyebrow in question.
"I wouldn't say no," she says, crossing her arms. "I don't know what's the deal with you. Am I just totally not your type or what?"
Draco stares into the sky. "Don't get me wrong, you're pretty, but yeah."
Daphne lets out a loud groan, remembering the time. "Professor Slughorn is gonna yell at us, we should probably get going."
Draco's eyes dull over. "Fuck him. I hate him and I
hate his lessons."
"You're his little favourite, though," she teases. "Always getting the highest score in tests, staying behind after lessons for extra tutoring or whatever."
Draco is surprised she noticed, and his stomach flips with the reminder. "I guess."
He feels sick.
Daphne marks his change in demeanour, guessing she said something wrong, and swiftly moves on.
"Well, I'll see you in the Common room later if you aren't coming, ex-boyfriend."
"See you."
She hesitates to see if he's going to elaborate, but he's already glaring into the distance, emotionally gone.
Snape sits facing the wall in one of the deserted staff rooms on the second floor. He only likes this room because of the large sofas and open space, as well as the fact that other professors barely ever come there. The view is average, the lighting isn't good and there's a smell coming through the floor from the kitchens below.
He hears the door swing open but doesn't bother looking around, too absorbed in revising a spell he created years ago.
"What are you doing hiding away in here?" says Remus, entering the secluded room.
"Oh, it's you," says Snape, glancing around.
"Lovely to see you too. What are you doing up here? It's night time."
"It's just gone eleven," says Snape.
"Exactly. Night time."
"How did you know I was in here?"
Remus settles down onto the sofa opposite Snape. "I went to check your room, but you weren't there, so I thought to myself, 'where would I go if I hated the company of every single person in the school and wanted to sit by myself for hours on a nice comfy sofa with no one to bother me'?"
Snape looks at him, unimpressed. "I should choose a better place next time."
"Yeah, you should. How are you, apart from me disturbing whatever you're doing?" He peers over at Snape's book.
"I'm fine," says Snape, snapping the book shut. "And you?"
"Can't complain."
"So how did it go?" Remus asks.
"How did what go?"
"Talking to this unknown student."
Snape rubs his temples at the reminder. "Not well," he says. "I tried to broach the subject, but he completely shut me off. I don't blame him. All he said was the blackmail wouldn't effect his decision because he's embarrassed about it all."
"He needs more time," says Remus. "Give him more time and he'll come round, if he trusts you."
Snape sighs. "Maybe. I just wish I could do more."
"You've done all you can. This blackmailing professor is at fault, not you."
"You're right about that one," says Snape, clenching his jaw. "He is fucking insane."
Remus crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. Snape rarely swears like this, only when he's really irked.
An idea pops into his head. "Do you think it's possible the professor is blackmailing or threatening the student to stay quiet to you?"
Snape puffs out his cheeks. "I hope not. I really hope not. There's not much I can do if he flat out refuses to talk to me, though."
"Yeah, you can't," says Remus. "Should I make us some coffee?"
"Not at this time."
"Tea, then?"
"All right."
"How are things with Nymphadora?" Snape asks, taking a sip of the green tea that Remus prepared.
"It's going really well," says Remus. "I'm honestly so glad we met each other."
"Is it still casual?"
"I wouldn't say so." Remus lets the tea warm up his chin. "She's said she loves me."
Snape raises his eyebrows. "Dear me. How did you wriggle your way out of that one?"
"I didn't need to wriggle my way out of anything," Remus says irately. "I told her I loved her back, and I meant it."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
"What about Sirius?"
"What about him? He's dead." Remus sets his mug down. "I need to put my best foot forward now or I'm never going to get over it."
Snape sniffs at the unusual abruptness of Remus' speech. "Is this you coping?" he says suspiciously.
"I'm coping fine," Remus says defensively.
"When's the last time you had a drink?"
Remus rolls his eyes. "Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously," says Snape.
"I don't know, like, a few weeks ago." Remus thinks back. "Well, maybe more like last week. Saturday, it must've been."
"Saturday was two days ago."
"Everyone drinks on a Saturday, though, it doesn't matter," says Remus frustratedly. "You're not one to talk about coping mechanisms either, so don't sit there and act like you're better than me just because I'm trying to get my life back on track instead of wallowing in grief then taking it out on everyone else for the rest of my life."
"Gosh, I've upset you that easily, have I?" Snape says coldly.
"Just don't..." Remus groans, covering his face with his hands. "Don't act like you know what's best for me, okay? We're completely different and if I want to be with someone else then I'm going to go ahead and be with someone else."
"It's not even been a year," says Snape.
"I know how bloody long it's been," Remus snaps. "It's been eight months and twenty-nine fucking days, Severus. I haven't stopped loving him, have I? I haven't stopped missing him. But I've accepted that he's dead and I'm not and I need to start living for myself."
"By getting together with an ex-student."
"Oh, fuck off."
Remus glares out of the window, the tension in the room simmering away in the few minutes of silence.
"I suppose it's not my place to judge," Snape ends up saying.
"Bit late for that," Remus mutters. "I love her and she loves me. I don't see what the problem is to be quite honest with you."
"Just make sure it is her you love," says Snape. "And it's not a projection of your feelings for Sirius onto the first person who'll get into your bed."
Remus lets out an empty laugh. "If I'd got with the first person who wanted to get into bed with me I wouldn't have waited so long for Nymph to come around."
Snape gives him a psh noise, the atmosphere of the room finally relaxing. "I forgot your ego was as big as the planet itself."
"That's me," says Remus, leaning back contentedly.
"Do you have plans for the Easter holidays?" asks Snape, finishing the last dregs of tea in his mug.
"Yeah, I'm going to stay with Nymph for the two weeks," Remus says. "She's got a nice house, detached, in the countryside. Lovely view."
"Not too isolated for you?" says Snape.
Remus shakes his head at his mocking tone. "I can go a few weeks without being surrounded by people 24/7, you know."
"You'd have fooled me."
"You're just jealous I'll be getting away someplace nice," Remus says. "I gather you'll be staying here?"
"Unfortunately."
"You should come round for a few days, we've got a spare room," Remus suggests. "You could meet Nymph."
Snape shakes his head. "Absolutely not."
"Why not? You might enjoy yourself. A change of scenery."
"Thanks for the offer, but no thank you," says Snape.
Remus rolls his eyes at him. "Fine, if you're certain."
He gets up to put the cups in the sink.
"I'll head off to bed now," says Remus, launching into a big stretch accompanied by a yawn. "You coming?"
"No, I'll stay."
"For the night?"
Snape gives him a look as if to say 'yes?'
"Come on, Severus," Remus sighs. "You can't stay cooped up in here all night. You need a shower and a good sleep in your bed and a change of clothes."
"I can do that tomorrow."
"Jesus, you're worse than me," Remus half-smiles. "I thought I was supposed to be the depressed one. Of course it matters. Come on, up you get."
Snape's glare is answer enough.
"Well I'm not letting you stay here by yourself," Remus says.
"You go," says Snape. "I don't need babysitting."
Remus sits back down on the sofa opposite Snape. "If you get to be a stubborn prick then so do I. I'm not going anywhere."
Snape shrugs. "Suit yourself."
He pretends to be unbothered by Remus' touching gesture as he sinks further into the sofa. His response isn't missed by Remus, who smiles and closes his eyes.
"Father?" says Draco during another pointlessly drawn-out family dinner, matching the pace he chews his meat to his father's.
"Yes?" says Lucius.
"I have something to tell you," he says.
"What is it?"
"Me and Daphne broke up last week."
"What?" He slams his cutlery down. "Last week?" he bellows. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"
Draco swallows, stunned. "I haven't had the chance; I haven't seen you since."
"You could've written me a letter or something instead of sitting on your arse and letting me embarrass myself in front of the Greengrasses, don't you think?"
"Lucius," Narcissa interrupts, pursing her lips. "Don't make a scene of it."
"Get to your room, now," he orders furiously, ignoring his wife and stabbing a finger at Draco.
"For goodness' sake, is this really necessary?" Narcissa exclaims.
Draco drags his feet up. He was hoping things wouldn't progress like this, but then again, what did he expect from Lucius Malfoy? He trudges to his room, ignoring the sidewards glances from the staff, listening out for his father's footsteps behind him.
Lucius rockets into Draco's room, clutching his staff.
"I've done so much for you, and you have the cheek to humiliate me like that at my own dinner table?" he yells.
"Dad, I'm sorry," says Draco, staring at the floor. "I didn't think it was that important."
"You didn't think it was important?" He jabs the end of his staff into Draco's chest. "I have had it up to here with you," he spits. "You and Daphne were holding together our relations with the Greengrass family. Do you know how crucial they are to the Ministry and to the Dark Lord?"
He throws down his arms, making Draco flinch.
"Of course you don't. You don't understand anything. Do you think this is a game? Your relationship was pure politics, not some stupid high school crush. I don't give a toss whether you get on or not; you are a device for the peace between our families. Everything is politics, Draco, you'll realise that when you get older and stop thinking like such a bloody child. You have ruined this for me. I'm trying to redeem myself and you are ruining it. Do you have a death wish for me or something? I need to pick myself up here and you are making it so incredibly difficult. Can't you just do as you're told for once?"
Draco takes it, his cheeks gradually turning pink. His father hasn't had a proper go at him like this for a while now, but he's had worse from worse, so he bites the inside of his cheek and remains composed.
"I can get back together with her," he suggests, sounding perfectly calm, his insides clenched tighter than feels possible.
"No," says Lucius, a tone more relaxed. "The damage has been done." He stamps his staff onto the floor, looking back at his son. "Don't you dare do anything like that again without running it past me first."
He turns on his heel and walks out.
Draco doesn't move a muscle, the words not sinking in just yet.
You are a device for the peace between our families.
"Bloody charming," he mutters to himself to ease the stinging hurt.
A second later, he hears muffled voices outside his door.
"What do you think you're doing?" his mother says angrily.
"I was setting things straight. That boy needs putting in his place."
"You can't talk to him like that, go and apologise right now. You'll have upset him."
"I don't care if I've upset him, he's put my life in jeopardy. I needed this."
"Our contact with the Greengrasses isn't going to stop because he and Daphne broke up. Don't be so dramatic and apologise to him. Now. And why have you brought that damn staff? You better not have done anything to him."
"As tempting as it was."
"Lucius," comes the furious reply. "What have I said about this?"
"I know, I didn't lay a finger on him."
"Congratulations, now get back in there and apologise."
The door clicks open. Lucius walks back in silently, clearing his throat.
"Hello," he says, lingering by the door.
Draco eyes him warily, still frozen in the middle of the room.
"I didn't mean to shout at you," he says, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. "I'm just very stressed at the moment. I've got a lot of pressure on me right now and I'm trying my best to balance a hundred different things at once, especially with the Dark Lord here and everything. I hope you can understand that."
Lucius reaches forward a hand to clap Draco on the shoulder, but he jolts away.
"Get off me," he says.
Don't speak to me like that. The words almost come out on impulse, but Lucius stops himself. "Ok," he says quietly, and subduedly walks out.
The door clicks shut.
It's minutes after he hears the footsteps pad away that Draco allows himself to relax his shoulders, drop his blank expression and breathe properly. He climbs into bed and silent cries work up to uncontrollable sobs within seconds, gasping for breath as a headache starts to form between his eyes.
Clutching his pillow like it would take his father's anger away, cradeling himself with the only hands he can bear, wishing he could please his parents, wishing he was enough for anyone.