Disclaimer: You know the drill.Not Mine.
Draco Malfoy sat, staring morosely into the fireplace in the deserted Slytherin common room, stroking his family's owl. It was three o'clock in the morning, he really ought to get to bed. But he somehow could not bring himself to get up and return to his dorm room, where his mask lay as surely as if it was his Slytherin uniform sweater.
"Thinking deep thoughts, Mr. Malfoy?" came a silky smooth voice from the other side of the room. Draco turned around and saw his head of house leaning against in the doorframe by the picture that guarded the entranceway. Normally, he would have answered the professor smoothly, and all parties would be on their way. However, Draco found that on that particular night, he just didn't care. So he turned back around, and continued to stare at the leaping orange and red flames.
Snape apparently saw that as an invitation of sorts, so he walked over to his student and sat down in the green armchair across from him. He chose his words carefully. "You know.I know your family very well, Malfoy."
"I know you and my father are great friends," he finally responded, running a hand through his silvery hair.
"I said family," Snape retorted. "Which is usually taken to imply more than one person. I was at school the same time as your father, and we.had similar interests. However, I also knew your mother."
Draco shrugged, never really having thought about it before, but it did make sense. "I suppose so, sir, because all three of you were in Slytherin."
Snape nodded. "And although it was never overt, anyone with half a brain could see how much power Narcissa could have had, had she chosen it. And, from living with Lucius day in, day out for seven years, I could see exactly who was in control. She was. So take heart - whatever your father has threatened to do - he won't. Narcissa will not allow it, and he will abide by her wishes."
Draco simply looked at his head of house. "I disagree, Professor." He then handed the older man a parchment bearing the Malfoy seal. Snape took it and glanced at it before sighing and handing it back.
"So he's started that old song and dance early this year."
Draco was confused. "Sir?"
Snape shrugged. "Every year your father sends me an irate letter, explaining why he has all but decided to transfer you to Durmstrang. And every year, I bring that letter to the Headmaster, and say, 'Well, we've lost him.' And every bloody year, the Headmaster says, 'No, not yet. Write and beg him to allow Draco to continue at Hogwarts.' And I, I grit my teeth and do it. Against my better judgement."
"I'm pretty sure that he's serious, sir. He's very angry."
"And I'm sure he was serious - when he wrote that letter, anyway. By the time he has had a moment to tell Narcissa his decision, she will have decided on a plan of attack. And, make no mistake, she will win."
Draco was quiet for a moment, and then returned to something Snape had said earlier. "Against your better judgement, sir?"
He shrugged. "Yes. If you attended Durmstrang, the Professors wouldn't have to deal with you, and you would be in the environment that your father so desperately wants for you. Also, I would not have to pretend that you were my favorite student. All around, my life would be considerably easier."
"Professor, I think you're being a little harsh on me," he began.
"I don't," Snape retorted. "Examine your conduct over the past five years. Have you even once given me an indication that you would change?" He answered his own question. "No. You haven't." Snape sighed. "Look, I know your father is difficult. But one's father does not determine one's life."
"If I listen to him, at least I will have a better life than living the rest of my days as Dumbledore's slave, sequestered in the dungeons, teaching Mudbloods to make ridiculous and useless potions," he snapped.
"And you think the Dark Lord is a more lenient master, do you, boy?" Snape rejoined. "I of all people can tell you that he is not."
Draco stared down at the rug. He had momentarily forgotten to whom he was speaking.
"Malfoy," came Snape's voice, not angrily. "I wouldn't be sitting here if I didn't think you had a chance, however small. Just remember that no one can tell you who you are, or who you will become. Not your father, not Potter or Weasley, and not me. Only you can decide that." The professor got up to leave, swirling his black robes around him as he walked. He turned around when he had reached the corridor that led to his private office and quarters. "Do what you have to do. My door is always open, Mr. Malfoy." Then he was gone. Draco heaved a great sigh, feeling hot tears come to his eyes. He quickly blinked them back, and sniffed softly. Then he got up, and walked up the stairs to his dormitory. Snape was right, he thought. At lease I have myself.And I will do what I have to do.
Draco Malfoy sat, staring morosely into the fireplace in the deserted Slytherin common room, stroking his family's owl. It was three o'clock in the morning, he really ought to get to bed. But he somehow could not bring himself to get up and return to his dorm room, where his mask lay as surely as if it was his Slytherin uniform sweater.
"Thinking deep thoughts, Mr. Malfoy?" came a silky smooth voice from the other side of the room. Draco turned around and saw his head of house leaning against in the doorframe by the picture that guarded the entranceway. Normally, he would have answered the professor smoothly, and all parties would be on their way. However, Draco found that on that particular night, he just didn't care. So he turned back around, and continued to stare at the leaping orange and red flames.
Snape apparently saw that as an invitation of sorts, so he walked over to his student and sat down in the green armchair across from him. He chose his words carefully. "You know.I know your family very well, Malfoy."
"I know you and my father are great friends," he finally responded, running a hand through his silvery hair.
"I said family," Snape retorted. "Which is usually taken to imply more than one person. I was at school the same time as your father, and we.had similar interests. However, I also knew your mother."
Draco shrugged, never really having thought about it before, but it did make sense. "I suppose so, sir, because all three of you were in Slytherin."
Snape nodded. "And although it was never overt, anyone with half a brain could see how much power Narcissa could have had, had she chosen it. And, from living with Lucius day in, day out for seven years, I could see exactly who was in control. She was. So take heart - whatever your father has threatened to do - he won't. Narcissa will not allow it, and he will abide by her wishes."
Draco simply looked at his head of house. "I disagree, Professor." He then handed the older man a parchment bearing the Malfoy seal. Snape took it and glanced at it before sighing and handing it back.
"So he's started that old song and dance early this year."
Draco was confused. "Sir?"
Snape shrugged. "Every year your father sends me an irate letter, explaining why he has all but decided to transfer you to Durmstrang. And every year, I bring that letter to the Headmaster, and say, 'Well, we've lost him.' And every bloody year, the Headmaster says, 'No, not yet. Write and beg him to allow Draco to continue at Hogwarts.' And I, I grit my teeth and do it. Against my better judgement."
"I'm pretty sure that he's serious, sir. He's very angry."
"And I'm sure he was serious - when he wrote that letter, anyway. By the time he has had a moment to tell Narcissa his decision, she will have decided on a plan of attack. And, make no mistake, she will win."
Draco was quiet for a moment, and then returned to something Snape had said earlier. "Against your better judgement, sir?"
He shrugged. "Yes. If you attended Durmstrang, the Professors wouldn't have to deal with you, and you would be in the environment that your father so desperately wants for you. Also, I would not have to pretend that you were my favorite student. All around, my life would be considerably easier."
"Professor, I think you're being a little harsh on me," he began.
"I don't," Snape retorted. "Examine your conduct over the past five years. Have you even once given me an indication that you would change?" He answered his own question. "No. You haven't." Snape sighed. "Look, I know your father is difficult. But one's father does not determine one's life."
"If I listen to him, at least I will have a better life than living the rest of my days as Dumbledore's slave, sequestered in the dungeons, teaching Mudbloods to make ridiculous and useless potions," he snapped.
"And you think the Dark Lord is a more lenient master, do you, boy?" Snape rejoined. "I of all people can tell you that he is not."
Draco stared down at the rug. He had momentarily forgotten to whom he was speaking.
"Malfoy," came Snape's voice, not angrily. "I wouldn't be sitting here if I didn't think you had a chance, however small. Just remember that no one can tell you who you are, or who you will become. Not your father, not Potter or Weasley, and not me. Only you can decide that." The professor got up to leave, swirling his black robes around him as he walked. He turned around when he had reached the corridor that led to his private office and quarters. "Do what you have to do. My door is always open, Mr. Malfoy." Then he was gone. Draco heaved a great sigh, feeling hot tears come to his eyes. He quickly blinked them back, and sniffed softly. Then he got up, and walked up the stairs to his dormitory. Snape was right, he thought. At lease I have myself.And I will do what I have to do.