Chapter 14

Half Past Twelve

Draco sat at the Slytherin table, amusing Pansy with his rambling small talk, his eyes firmly fixed on her and her alone, now. He had felt Snape staring earlier, and when he had turned, he had been disgusted when he turned away. If that was the game he was playing, Draco told himself, he couldn't be bothered with him any more. He was annoyed now. He was convinced that Snape had run away from the funeral, using Dumbledore as a  convenient excuse for his departure, and now he ignored him.

They would talk and that would be IT. No more, the last time, a termination, the end. No more talks, no more thinking of Snape, no more worrying about what Snape thought of him. He would wait until Friday, and that would be it. Either Snape would resolve it, or he, Draco, would end it. He wasn't going to beg.

And yet. . .and yet he still wanted him. . .to feel his breath on his skin, his touch, gentle, soft. . .harsh, rough. . .

No. He would wait until the end of Friday's potion lesson, and then it would end.

~*~

Friday rolled around. Draco's determination for the end had started to crumble, slightly, but he was convinced that Snape had run away. Coward, Draco thought viciously, savaging a dead caterpillar. Damn imbecile that he is, I don't CARE! He told himself, over and over.

The problem was that he did care. He wanted to care. But Sev. . .SNAPE had run away. He had left. He had said they needed to talk, and then left! And ignored him then! Deliberately looked away! Draco threw the mangled remains of the caterpillar into him bubbling cauldron, and started on grating unicorn horn.

The lesson ended, and Draco stayed behind. When the last of the class had piled out, Snape finally turned to him, nothing, no emotions registering on his face. He doesn't care! Gods, he doesn't care. . .he felt sick. So bloody cold. . .did he feel nothing for him?

"Draco," Snape said softly. At the sound of his voice, deep and powerful, all the hate that Draco had felt for Snape's cowardice slipped away, forgotten.

Looking at him, he said, "We need to talk," plainly and quietly. Quite calmly in fact, all his hate gone at the sound of his name.

Snape nodded.

"It is inevitable," he said, quietly.

"Yes. it is. And you can't run this time," said Draco, unfeelingly, but  only half heartedly so. He didn't want Snape to get away with that. No-one ran away from Draco when he wanted to talk.  Snape looked surprised.

"Run away? I don't run away from anything, Draco."

"You did last time. In the Library?"

Snape's brow furrowed. "The Head Master was insistent that I was to be back. He would have been suspicious if I had done otherwise. You should know that," he sounded vaguely perplexed. Draco gave up. There was no point in this. The talk, he reminded himself.

"When? Now? It is the end of lessons, anyway," he suggested.

Snape shrugged.

"I would prefer it to be after midnight, as there would be less chance of discovery, but if that's what you want. . .?"

Draco shrugged also.

"I don't mind. Where shall meet then?" Draco felt a ridiculous shiver of excitement run down his back. A rendezvous!

Snape paused thoughtfully. He didn't want to meet in his office. It was too near the bedroom.

"In here. Half twelve. Don't be late, and make sure no-one knows," he said at length.

Draco nodded and left.

Snape tidied his desk briefly, and looked round the room. Satisfied that it was tidy, he left also, locking the door behind him.

The torches flickered at the closing of the door, and as the shadows adjusted, a new one joined their midst. It grew slowly, lengthening and forming. It finished in human form. A tall figure stepped out from the corner, no longer invisible. Producing a master key, the figure let itself out.

"Half past twelve," whispered Albus Dumbledore to himself, locking the door behind him.