You Should Have Known By Now
Snape had made an appointment with Draco that afternoon in class: the boy was to appear in the potions classroom immediately after classes. I'm doomed.
There was not an ounce of doubt as to what exactly they were going to discuss. Draco had mistreated Snape's little darling, and now he was going to pay. He could remember watching a cruciatus curse more than once; he even remembered laughing, as his father's "friends" writhed on the floor like salted slugs. He wondered if Snape would laugh at him when he was reduced to such a state. After all, how could he not enjoy it?
Draco paused in a niche in the castle wall. He could run, of course. Hop on a broomstick and try to cross the lake, and then - and then what? Go home? How could explain that to his father? Oh, yes, Dad, I was putting the moves on Snape's little girlfriend. Right. And who knew what his father would come up with in crucio's stead?
There was nothing to do, then, but face his punishment, whatever it might be, like a man. Draco forced his steps to become even, forced that characteristic bounce - cocky and powerful - to overtake him. He strutted, proudly, like a Malfoy, into Snape's classroom, sweeping his cloak over one shoulder with a dramatic swish.
"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, without turning around to look the boy in the eye. This game of Snape's was getting old, but there was no point in adding to his upcoming misery by saying so. "Go into my office and wait for me there. I won't be more than a moment."
Draco wrinkled his nose: waiting would only make it worse. But he obediently strode into the office and took a seat. The room was dark and dismal: it could have been taken directly from his parent's house. Stained glass in reds and blues let the small quantity of light in that there was, leaving pools of color on the huge mahogany desk and floor. There were phials of oddly colored fluid covering one wall, and row after row of books on the other. Strange animals hung in cages from the ceiling, silently staring down at him.
The door opened and Draco heard his professor enter and shut the door behind him. He turned to look at the man, his dark features harsh in the slight glow form the windows.
"I have heard," Snape began. "I have heard that you have been spending a considerable amount of time with the youngest Briarwood." Draco didn't reply: he only stared back in mute acceptance. "Her grandmother, my aunt has asked me to keep an especial eye on her, so if you hurt her, Mr. Malfoy, I will be hearing about it."
"She's your cousin?" Draco spat. It was about the only thought his mind could grasp onto.
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Her parents are living South Africa now and look to me for her help."
"Then - then you're not - sleeping with her?"
Snape made no response, his face revealing nothing. Then he broke into a snarl. "Fifteen points from Slytherin, my own house, for that impudence. I suggest you spend more time studying and less time making up stories, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco needed no more of a dismissal than that: he swept out of his seat and out the door. His cloak caught slightly on the rock wall, but he kept going. He needed to get out of Snape's classroom, out of the dungeon, to someplace where he could deal with everything that had just happened - if he could figure out exactly what had just happened.
"Draco?" said a familiar voice. Sitting quietly at one of the laboratory tables was Ophelia, her hair out of place but otherwise perfect. He said her name, and for a moment was convinced that he was imagining it. She stood, smoothing her black robes down around her. "I was waiting for Severus - I mean, Professor Snape."
"We just finished talking," Draco said, tilting his head up so he could look down at her. "He's been most . informative." He wanted to leave, now, and not look at her anymore. Even if she wasn't - if there was nothing between Snape and her - she had still embarrassed him in that corridor. What would his father do? He started to turn, pushing his cloak out to make it fill with air as he swished away.
"What did I do?" she cried, weakly. "Tell me what I did to make you so angry with me!"
He turned back to her. He realized that she was no longer dressed in her academic clothes: she must have gone back to her room to change. He looked her over: her robes now were all black, a very casual set that matched her hair. "You changed."
"You knocked me flat on my ass, Draco: Flitwick gave me the day off." She was almost smiling now, uncertainly. "Come on. What on earth did I do?"
"Nothing." It wasn't possible that she had no idea how much she'd hurt him. Better to play her game - Malfoys always win at deceit.
She sighed, frustrated, and looked at the table beside her. "I need to know so I can learn from it. Please."
Well, since you asked so nicely . "Aren't you going to apologize?" Most people did when he looked at them like that, whether they'd done something or not.
"No," she responded quickly. She was looking straight back at him, standing her ground, her ebony eyes locked into his. He wondered if that was how he looked just then, so hard and cold. She wasn't going to admit she'd been wrong: as far as she thought, she hadn't been.
"Just let it go. I have." And as he said those words, it seemed to him that they were true. If nothing else, she had stood firm against him. She was right: her tears wouldn't satisfy him.
She nodded. "Then things are back to normal?"
Draco smiled at her, his half-smile that darkened his features and gave him influence. She hadn't moved yet, was still staring back at him, expecting his response. "Back to normal, yes, I suppose."
"Excellent," she said. He moved away from her, heading toward the door. He tried to figure out just exactly what he was feeling: he was almost happy to have lost that argument. They were back to not knowing the other's name, neither knowing nor liking their company, so what was he feeling? Respect?
He heard Snape say her name and didn't turn around. He heard her start toward the office, and didn't look back. It wasn't until he heard his name - his own given name - that he turned.
"What shall I wear to the revel?" she asked him. Draco's lips parted but no sound came out.
Back to normal indeed.
Snape had made an appointment with Draco that afternoon in class: the boy was to appear in the potions classroom immediately after classes. I'm doomed.
There was not an ounce of doubt as to what exactly they were going to discuss. Draco had mistreated Snape's little darling, and now he was going to pay. He could remember watching a cruciatus curse more than once; he even remembered laughing, as his father's "friends" writhed on the floor like salted slugs. He wondered if Snape would laugh at him when he was reduced to such a state. After all, how could he not enjoy it?
Draco paused in a niche in the castle wall. He could run, of course. Hop on a broomstick and try to cross the lake, and then - and then what? Go home? How could explain that to his father? Oh, yes, Dad, I was putting the moves on Snape's little girlfriend. Right. And who knew what his father would come up with in crucio's stead?
There was nothing to do, then, but face his punishment, whatever it might be, like a man. Draco forced his steps to become even, forced that characteristic bounce - cocky and powerful - to overtake him. He strutted, proudly, like a Malfoy, into Snape's classroom, sweeping his cloak over one shoulder with a dramatic swish.
"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, without turning around to look the boy in the eye. This game of Snape's was getting old, but there was no point in adding to his upcoming misery by saying so. "Go into my office and wait for me there. I won't be more than a moment."
Draco wrinkled his nose: waiting would only make it worse. But he obediently strode into the office and took a seat. The room was dark and dismal: it could have been taken directly from his parent's house. Stained glass in reds and blues let the small quantity of light in that there was, leaving pools of color on the huge mahogany desk and floor. There were phials of oddly colored fluid covering one wall, and row after row of books on the other. Strange animals hung in cages from the ceiling, silently staring down at him.
The door opened and Draco heard his professor enter and shut the door behind him. He turned to look at the man, his dark features harsh in the slight glow form the windows.
"I have heard," Snape began. "I have heard that you have been spending a considerable amount of time with the youngest Briarwood." Draco didn't reply: he only stared back in mute acceptance. "Her grandmother, my aunt has asked me to keep an especial eye on her, so if you hurt her, Mr. Malfoy, I will be hearing about it."
"She's your cousin?" Draco spat. It was about the only thought his mind could grasp onto.
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Her parents are living South Africa now and look to me for her help."
"Then - then you're not - sleeping with her?"
Snape made no response, his face revealing nothing. Then he broke into a snarl. "Fifteen points from Slytherin, my own house, for that impudence. I suggest you spend more time studying and less time making up stories, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco needed no more of a dismissal than that: he swept out of his seat and out the door. His cloak caught slightly on the rock wall, but he kept going. He needed to get out of Snape's classroom, out of the dungeon, to someplace where he could deal with everything that had just happened - if he could figure out exactly what had just happened.
"Draco?" said a familiar voice. Sitting quietly at one of the laboratory tables was Ophelia, her hair out of place but otherwise perfect. He said her name, and for a moment was convinced that he was imagining it. She stood, smoothing her black robes down around her. "I was waiting for Severus - I mean, Professor Snape."
"We just finished talking," Draco said, tilting his head up so he could look down at her. "He's been most . informative." He wanted to leave, now, and not look at her anymore. Even if she wasn't - if there was nothing between Snape and her - she had still embarrassed him in that corridor. What would his father do? He started to turn, pushing his cloak out to make it fill with air as he swished away.
"What did I do?" she cried, weakly. "Tell me what I did to make you so angry with me!"
He turned back to her. He realized that she was no longer dressed in her academic clothes: she must have gone back to her room to change. He looked her over: her robes now were all black, a very casual set that matched her hair. "You changed."
"You knocked me flat on my ass, Draco: Flitwick gave me the day off." She was almost smiling now, uncertainly. "Come on. What on earth did I do?"
"Nothing." It wasn't possible that she had no idea how much she'd hurt him. Better to play her game - Malfoys always win at deceit.
She sighed, frustrated, and looked at the table beside her. "I need to know so I can learn from it. Please."
Well, since you asked so nicely . "Aren't you going to apologize?" Most people did when he looked at them like that, whether they'd done something or not.
"No," she responded quickly. She was looking straight back at him, standing her ground, her ebony eyes locked into his. He wondered if that was how he looked just then, so hard and cold. She wasn't going to admit she'd been wrong: as far as she thought, she hadn't been.
"Just let it go. I have." And as he said those words, it seemed to him that they were true. If nothing else, she had stood firm against him. She was right: her tears wouldn't satisfy him.
She nodded. "Then things are back to normal?"
Draco smiled at her, his half-smile that darkened his features and gave him influence. She hadn't moved yet, was still staring back at him, expecting his response. "Back to normal, yes, I suppose."
"Excellent," she said. He moved away from her, heading toward the door. He tried to figure out just exactly what he was feeling: he was almost happy to have lost that argument. They were back to not knowing the other's name, neither knowing nor liking their company, so what was he feeling? Respect?
He heard Snape say her name and didn't turn around. He heard her start toward the office, and didn't look back. It wasn't until he heard his name - his own given name - that he turned.
"What shall I wear to the revel?" she asked him. Draco's lips parted but no sound came out.
Back to normal indeed.