AN: This chapter is somewhat shorter than the other ones, but this one sets
up the next chapter better than the last one. And I'm tired…::grins::
Anyway, please enjoy. Don't throw shoes…it's going to get there soon, I
promise ^^ personally, I gack at those stories (like, for instance d/hr
stories) that start with "Oh, I've miraculously changed my entire
personality!" and then they take off from there. I'm not saying I dislike
them (they are, after all, just stories) but I need reasons why they
changed. So, why not create them myself? This is why Snape will continue
to be mean, and Emilia will continue to get back at him. Hopefully in the
next two chapters, something will happen. I'm not promising anything,
though. Emilia's not one to be all lovey-dovey (heck, she practically
takes after me!) and Snape's not about to start reciting Shakespeare
(unless it's extremely sarcastically, of course), but, please enjoy. This
one may be *somewhat* short, but it's complete; I didn't like the ending of
the last chapter, it wasn't…cliff-hangy enough for me. All in all, please
have fun…read and review!
PS: Thank you so much for the 10+ people who have reviewed (I don't know if that will be the same when I post…). I will have a page at the end thanking each and everyone who reviews! I'm so snappy happy for this!
Chapter Four: The Quidditch Match
Emilia awoke with her head pounding. She had a headache something terrible, and she couldn't help but want to crawl back into bed again. It was eight o'clock, and the match would be in an hour. She knew she had to get up, whether she wanted to or not.
Yawning profusely, she got herself ready quickly and headed down to the hall for a quick bite before freezing outside. It wasn't all that cold, but it was supposed to be winter, after all. Or, somewhere close to it, at the very least.
The tension in the Great Hall was exceptional. The Slytherins, as the opposing team to the Gryffindors, weren't showing their best colors. The all sneered and snarled at the passing Gryffindors, and a fight broke our between a sixth year Gryffindor and a second year Slytherin that sent them to the Infirmary with one of them tap dancing uncontrollably and the other without the use of his left side. Emilia was hesitant to chuckle, and even more so to donning the Gryffindor colors. She didn't need any jeering from the Slytherins, and lest of all, from Snape. She hid her flag in her robes and the red and gold scarf inside her cloak.
Snape was already eating before she arrived. "Not quite punctual, are we?" he snarled.
Emilia sat down, hanging her cloak over the back of her chair. "Didn't know you wanted me here at a specific time, Snape, as I do look forward to our chats in the morning."
He narrowed his eyes. "I suppose you'll be cheering for those low- life Gryffindors, correct?"
Emilia smiled. "Snape, I didn't think we were supposed to take sides among the houses." She was implying most clearly that he obviously favored Slytherin, as his flag was laying on the table, and the scarf he usually wore (being green) was sticking out of his cloak that rested on the back of his chair. "And what if I were?"
Snape snorted. "I would say you are most like all those other drone Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers that have arrived. All of them have been a bit keen on Gryffindor. And they were lousy teachers. I think there happens to be a pattern, here, that you can't wait to fulfill."
"Ah," Emilia nodded. "So you imply I should cheer for Slytherin, then?" she replied sarcastically.
"Start a new trend, Black. Why not support your old house? Or perhaps, are you afraid to actually uphold your bloodlines?" he snapped.
"Actually, I don't quite care about my bloodlines as much as you think," which was a lie, Emilia thought, "and I don't care to cheer for Slytherin. I much prefer to be a drone."
Snape turned to his toast, and picked it up. "That's what I thought, considering your Gryffindor flag fell on the floor when you set your cloak on your chair." He stood, swung his own cloak on his arm, and walked out.
Emilia tutted as she sighed. "Over grown pr—"
"Good morning, Emilia," a voice said on the other side of her. It was a somewhat happy McGonagall, but all the excitement of a Quidditch match seemed to walk out with Snape. "I just bumped—quite literally, mind you—into Snape, who was muttering about insufferable new teachers. I'm guessing you two had another run in?"
Emilia felt cross. "Yeah, I guess we did," Emilia said, a bit more snappish than she would have liked. She was almost too happy for being Minerva McGonagall.
"So, then, are you going to the game? It starts in fifteen minutes. Just wanted to grab a bite to eat." That sounded like what Emilia came in here for. Now she didn't really seem too keen on going to the Quidditch match now.
"Yes, I guess I am going," she said dully. Right now, she wished she hadn't said anything to her last night so she could skive off this match and cheer for Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff, at the next match. At least, cheer for anyone but the two biggest rivals in the school.
She was in actually, torn, between the two houses. She grew up praising Salazar Slytherin and everything with the Dark Arts. Everyone who met her said she was very "ambitious", the token characteristic of Slytherin. She was, in fact, sorted into Slytherin while she was at school here. That was how she knew Snape; her first year was his fifth. Yet, she told McGonagall she was going to be all for Gryffindor. The only people that have been even remotely nice were the Gryffindors. That was why, she felt, she was going to cheer for Gryffindor. His words, though, did echo in her mind: "Why not support your old house? Or perhaps, are you afraid to actually uphold your bloodlines?"
She was afraid of upholding her bloodlines. Surely, these students have written home talking about school, and their new "teacher"; anything mentioning her name would bring up worry. Her father, as much as she tried to hide it, did commit most of the Muggle killings, right along side Lucius Malfoy. But then, last year Bartemius Crouch's son—who was disguised as Alastor Moody, by way of the Polyjuice Potion—was supposedly, a popular teacher. He was put in Azkaban for Muggle killings during Voldemort's rein, and was "the most faithful" servant of the Dark Lord. And the year before that, Remus Lupin—a werewolf—was a very popular teacher (in fact, anytime she heard such good comments from the students about her usually were compared with him—"Wow, Professor Black is just like Lupin!").
But none of these excuses made up for her being a Black, and there are some things that don't rub off. She looked at Professor McGonagall, who had finished eating, and was standing up to go to the Quidditch pitch. "Ready, Emilia?"
Emilia looked down at her plate. It had the exact same amount of food on it as when she started. Suddenly, she didn't feel much like eating. "Yes, I guess," she replied, and gathered her cloak. She picked up the Gryffindor flag that was on the floor, and looked at it. Walking quickly, she caught up to Minerva, who was already outside the Great Hall.
They walked down the flight of stairs to the Main Entrance and out of Hogwarts—the doors leading in are almost as magnificent as those are into the Great Hall, if not more. They walked along the path that led to the Quidditch pitch, and saw the rows were practically filled the brim. Three quarters of the entire stadium were sporting gold and red, and the rest—obviously the Slytherins—only one quarter. With this, only one teacher was sporting Slytherin colors in the teacher's box—Snape. Even Dumbledore was decked in red and gold.
Emilia walked up the flight of stairs that wound its way up to the highest box, which was reserved for the teachers. Emilia took a seat in the front, next to Minerva—and the person behind her was Snape. Emilia frowned, and wrapped her scarf tighter around her. Flushing slightly, she could see the Gryffindors being marked as they entered the stadium.
"Welcome to another year of Inter-House Quidditch! The first match of the year is between Slytherin and Gryffindor. And here is the Gryffindor team!" Emilia leaned over to see seven scarlet blurs shoot across the field. The cheers from the crowd were nearly deafening.
"Amazing," she whispered. The Slytherins came out next, also seven blurs, albeit they were slightly bigger blurs than the Gryffindor team.
"That's Lee Jordan," Minerva pointed out, focussing on the main speaker, who was commenting on the entire match. "A bit of Weasley in him, though."
Emilia laughed good-naturedly. "Yes, quite." Emilia looked about the stadium. Madam Hooch was in the middle of the pitch, yelling out incomprehensible instructions. Finally, she bent down, and let out the main balls of Quidditch: the two Bludgers, which zoomed about the players quickly; a small golden glint, which Emilia assumed was the Snitch; and the biggest ball, the Quaffle, which she threw up in the air to start the game.
The crowds once again went wild as the game started, all fourteen people were zooming about, a look of determination in their formations. Emilia smiled. It had been a while since she'd seen a Quidditch match. In fact, it'd been over a year; ever since the Quidditch World Cup last summer. She'd been there with her father as a treat. Laughing inside, she really didn't realize what kind of treat he meant—her first show of what they do to Muggles for "fun". It made her stomach churn, and she noticed her face fell at the thought. Minerva noticed her face lost the glow it'd had a moment ago. "Something the matter?"
"Er, what?" Emilia said, looking at her curiously. She'd been in deep thought.
"Spoken like a true blond," a voice said above them. "If you come to a Quidditch match, don't space out, Black." Snape smirked at her; the score was 90-30, Slytherin lead. She glared at him contemptuously and returned her attention to the game.
"Some people come for the view, Snape. Surprisingly, the Slytherins may have a lead, but they don't seem to have much of a cheering section, do they?" she spoke to him, her voice catching the wind. She was pointing out that every teacher except him had Gryffindor colors on.
Snape's foot shifted and was dangerous close to the small of her back. His show was pressing into her spinal cord. "One more word and you'll loose the feeling in your back, Black."
Emilia shifted to the other side. "Petty physical moves, eh, Snape? I don't suppose you'd follow your family traditions?"
"No, but speaking of which, sad there aren't any Muggles around? Like the last time there was a Quidditch match?" he replied vehemently.
Emilia stood and pulled out her wand before she thought about it. "Yes, I am sad there aren't any Muggles around. Want to try out what we do to them? Care for a spin, I daresay?" she hissed, pointing the wand at his neck. "Back off. I'm trying to have a nice time."
"Your pathetic threats don't intimidate me, Black. Go for it. I dare you."
Emilia shrugged. "Okay then, if you insist. Wingardium Leviosa!" she whispered, levitating Snape a couple of inches off the bench. He continued to rise, and there he sat, nonchalantly. Finally, he reached two feet of the bench. Snape did nothing, and teachers were beginning to turn and look. She laughed, jerked her wand up five more inches, and then sent him smashing down into the seat. Snape gave an obvious wince, and rubbed his backside. Emilia smiled, nodding at him. "'Course, then. Shut up, Snape."
She turned around again and sat down, content. Minerva looked at her disapprovingly, and Dumbledore had a sad glint in his eye. She knew what she did wasn't appropriate. Emilia had to put him in his place, though. Surely, being with him as long as they were, they'd understand this, right? Snape's tailbone must be aching right now. At least he was quiet. She really didn't think Dumbledore would appreciate this, but she kind of thought Minerva was on her side. Emilia suddenly felt a little silly. How could such a jerk get to her like this? It was all rather confus--
Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted with Gryffindor's cheering section going wild as Potter caught the Snitch. "Potter's got the Snitch!! Potter's got the Snitch!!" Lee Jordan's voice rang out across the pitch excitedly. Emilia felt that her excitement was washed out of her. She couldn't be that happy for Gryffindor as she should be. Quietly, she escaped Minerva's happy rejoicing and walked down the staircase. Sighing loudly, she walked outside and was blown back by a powerful wind. It was kicking up, and it was cold, she felt, as she unconsciously shivered and pulled the cloak a bit tighter.
She could still hear the loud cries of joy from the higher elevations. Now that she was out in the open, and it was just a little quieter down here, she didn't feel so cramped and cross. She felt…guilty. Emilia shouldn't have gone off on Snape like that. She just couldn't help it. He made her so mad.
She leaned against the wall of the stadium, and put her hands into her pockets. Pulling out her warm gray gloves, she put them on with great difficulty, as her hands wouldn't stop moving. Cupping them to her mouth, she breathed in and trying to get a bit warm.
Without warning, a hand shoved her back into the wall, and a hand dug into her shoulder. The surprise of the action knocked the breath out of her, and she coughed, trying to breathe. Looking up, she said, "What the—"
"How dare you," a voice hissed. "How dare you do that to me?"
Emilia glared at him. Snape had his wand pointed to her throat. "You dared me, Snape. What, you can dish it but can't take it? Every hear the saying, 'Do unto others and you would have others do unto you'?"
She felt a sting across her cheek and she was slapped hard. A hand was brought automatically up to her cheek, and the glove felt odd against it. "Don't like that much, do you?" he seethed. "Imagine all those people seeing that. Then going to your class, and teaching students who snigger behind your back. I can't stand you, Black. You constantly are making me look like a fool. One day I'm going to get you back, you'll regret ever coming to Dumbledore looking for that job."
"I hope you can promise me that, Snape," she spat, rubbing her cheek. "And you complain about that? Children sniggering behind your back? I've had to live with that all my life. You have no idea. You, of all people, should understand me. But you constantly are starting any fight, any argument—you start them." She pushed her shoulder to knock his hand off. It wouldn't move. She clutched her hand on his arm and dug into with all her might, but with the glove on, the nails really weren't much help. "Get off of me!"
Snape smiled inhumanly. "Don't like this much either, do you?"
Emilia's eyes grew rather round. She started to get a bit panicky. "Let go, now, Snape."
"I want to explain to you why I feel that you should leave. I want you to stop your little, 'I'm better than the World because I'm a Black,' routine. You have no right whatsoever treating me like this. What made you think that you could get me back for anything? I've been getting the roughest end of the deal," he said quickly, nonetheless angrily.
He dug his fingers deeper into her shoulder, shoving her back further into the wall. The fury of his anger made his grip strong. She never expected Snape to act physically, ever. This, and the slap, was almost totally out of character. He almost prided in that he had more intelligence to carry on a fight of words than with fists. "Let me go!" she said a bit louder. She could feel tears spring to her eyes. "This hurts, now let go," she snarled.
"No, I think not. Let's see how well you deal with all that's happened since you've come. I don't want any retaliation. I want you to know what you have done to me and my reputation."
"What, a reputation for being the meanest teacher here? Is that what you pride in?"
"No. I pride in being a strong teacher. You have made me look weak in the student eyes. I can't teach a proper class anymore. You shouldn't be here. You don't belong. I noticed that many of the teachers still don't trust you."
"And why should they trust you? A former Death Eater?"
"Yes, quite. Everyone's a Death Eater in your eyes. How did you come up with that one?" he replied sarcastically.
"My father is one, you idiot. I think I would know," she snapped. "You undermine my intelligence again." She lifted her foot and kicked his shin, to which he dropped his hand and winced noticeably. "The students are coming. You want to them to see you like this? Holding me to a wall? Even I can figure that's not good for your rep, since you pride yourself in that." She rubbed her shoulder. "Good day, Snape."
She walked away quickly, so that she could avoid anyone. Her shoulder hurt like hell. She couldn't help but grip it as she walked into the warm building. She walked upstairs into her room, and pulled off her cloak. Stuffing her gloves into the pockets quickly, she massaged her shoulder and walked into the bathroom mindlessly.
Turning her head sideways, she pulled down her robe to reveal the skin of her shoulder. It was very red, and had the beginning of purple on the outside edges. She grimaced when she tried to touch it softly. His grip had bruised her. It's been awhile that she'd gotten a bruise. In fact, she realized, there were a lot of awhile since she'd arrived. Awhile since she'd been teaching, talking to people, and seeing a Quidditch match…. It kind of made her nervous. Her stomach felt like someone had put it through a paper shredder. Sighing, she slid into a warm chair, and noticed the fire was going. She baked in its warmth, and covered her shoulder carefully with her robe. She'd have to bandage it, incase anyone would ask questions.
There was a rapt knock at the door. "Coming!" she yelled, "I'll be there momentarily." Standing slowly and carefully, if not to hurt herself more than already, she walked over to it. Pulling back on the old and used handle, she peered outside the door cautiously. "Yeah?" she asked.
Minerva's face was flushed from the wind. "Sorry to interrupt you, but Dumbledore wants to see you now." Her face looked sullen, despite the fact that Gryffindor had just won a match.
Emilia's stomach sank through the floor.
PS: Thank you so much for the 10+ people who have reviewed (I don't know if that will be the same when I post…). I will have a page at the end thanking each and everyone who reviews! I'm so snappy happy for this!
Chapter Four: The Quidditch Match
Emilia awoke with her head pounding. She had a headache something terrible, and she couldn't help but want to crawl back into bed again. It was eight o'clock, and the match would be in an hour. She knew she had to get up, whether she wanted to or not.
Yawning profusely, she got herself ready quickly and headed down to the hall for a quick bite before freezing outside. It wasn't all that cold, but it was supposed to be winter, after all. Or, somewhere close to it, at the very least.
The tension in the Great Hall was exceptional. The Slytherins, as the opposing team to the Gryffindors, weren't showing their best colors. The all sneered and snarled at the passing Gryffindors, and a fight broke our between a sixth year Gryffindor and a second year Slytherin that sent them to the Infirmary with one of them tap dancing uncontrollably and the other without the use of his left side. Emilia was hesitant to chuckle, and even more so to donning the Gryffindor colors. She didn't need any jeering from the Slytherins, and lest of all, from Snape. She hid her flag in her robes and the red and gold scarf inside her cloak.
Snape was already eating before she arrived. "Not quite punctual, are we?" he snarled.
Emilia sat down, hanging her cloak over the back of her chair. "Didn't know you wanted me here at a specific time, Snape, as I do look forward to our chats in the morning."
He narrowed his eyes. "I suppose you'll be cheering for those low- life Gryffindors, correct?"
Emilia smiled. "Snape, I didn't think we were supposed to take sides among the houses." She was implying most clearly that he obviously favored Slytherin, as his flag was laying on the table, and the scarf he usually wore (being green) was sticking out of his cloak that rested on the back of his chair. "And what if I were?"
Snape snorted. "I would say you are most like all those other drone Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers that have arrived. All of them have been a bit keen on Gryffindor. And they were lousy teachers. I think there happens to be a pattern, here, that you can't wait to fulfill."
"Ah," Emilia nodded. "So you imply I should cheer for Slytherin, then?" she replied sarcastically.
"Start a new trend, Black. Why not support your old house? Or perhaps, are you afraid to actually uphold your bloodlines?" he snapped.
"Actually, I don't quite care about my bloodlines as much as you think," which was a lie, Emilia thought, "and I don't care to cheer for Slytherin. I much prefer to be a drone."
Snape turned to his toast, and picked it up. "That's what I thought, considering your Gryffindor flag fell on the floor when you set your cloak on your chair." He stood, swung his own cloak on his arm, and walked out.
Emilia tutted as she sighed. "Over grown pr—"
"Good morning, Emilia," a voice said on the other side of her. It was a somewhat happy McGonagall, but all the excitement of a Quidditch match seemed to walk out with Snape. "I just bumped—quite literally, mind you—into Snape, who was muttering about insufferable new teachers. I'm guessing you two had another run in?"
Emilia felt cross. "Yeah, I guess we did," Emilia said, a bit more snappish than she would have liked. She was almost too happy for being Minerva McGonagall.
"So, then, are you going to the game? It starts in fifteen minutes. Just wanted to grab a bite to eat." That sounded like what Emilia came in here for. Now she didn't really seem too keen on going to the Quidditch match now.
"Yes, I guess I am going," she said dully. Right now, she wished she hadn't said anything to her last night so she could skive off this match and cheer for Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff, at the next match. At least, cheer for anyone but the two biggest rivals in the school.
She was in actually, torn, between the two houses. She grew up praising Salazar Slytherin and everything with the Dark Arts. Everyone who met her said she was very "ambitious", the token characteristic of Slytherin. She was, in fact, sorted into Slytherin while she was at school here. That was how she knew Snape; her first year was his fifth. Yet, she told McGonagall she was going to be all for Gryffindor. The only people that have been even remotely nice were the Gryffindors. That was why, she felt, she was going to cheer for Gryffindor. His words, though, did echo in her mind: "Why not support your old house? Or perhaps, are you afraid to actually uphold your bloodlines?"
She was afraid of upholding her bloodlines. Surely, these students have written home talking about school, and their new "teacher"; anything mentioning her name would bring up worry. Her father, as much as she tried to hide it, did commit most of the Muggle killings, right along side Lucius Malfoy. But then, last year Bartemius Crouch's son—who was disguised as Alastor Moody, by way of the Polyjuice Potion—was supposedly, a popular teacher. He was put in Azkaban for Muggle killings during Voldemort's rein, and was "the most faithful" servant of the Dark Lord. And the year before that, Remus Lupin—a werewolf—was a very popular teacher (in fact, anytime she heard such good comments from the students about her usually were compared with him—"Wow, Professor Black is just like Lupin!").
But none of these excuses made up for her being a Black, and there are some things that don't rub off. She looked at Professor McGonagall, who had finished eating, and was standing up to go to the Quidditch pitch. "Ready, Emilia?"
Emilia looked down at her plate. It had the exact same amount of food on it as when she started. Suddenly, she didn't feel much like eating. "Yes, I guess," she replied, and gathered her cloak. She picked up the Gryffindor flag that was on the floor, and looked at it. Walking quickly, she caught up to Minerva, who was already outside the Great Hall.
They walked down the flight of stairs to the Main Entrance and out of Hogwarts—the doors leading in are almost as magnificent as those are into the Great Hall, if not more. They walked along the path that led to the Quidditch pitch, and saw the rows were practically filled the brim. Three quarters of the entire stadium were sporting gold and red, and the rest—obviously the Slytherins—only one quarter. With this, only one teacher was sporting Slytherin colors in the teacher's box—Snape. Even Dumbledore was decked in red and gold.
Emilia walked up the flight of stairs that wound its way up to the highest box, which was reserved for the teachers. Emilia took a seat in the front, next to Minerva—and the person behind her was Snape. Emilia frowned, and wrapped her scarf tighter around her. Flushing slightly, she could see the Gryffindors being marked as they entered the stadium.
"Welcome to another year of Inter-House Quidditch! The first match of the year is between Slytherin and Gryffindor. And here is the Gryffindor team!" Emilia leaned over to see seven scarlet blurs shoot across the field. The cheers from the crowd were nearly deafening.
"Amazing," she whispered. The Slytherins came out next, also seven blurs, albeit they were slightly bigger blurs than the Gryffindor team.
"That's Lee Jordan," Minerva pointed out, focussing on the main speaker, who was commenting on the entire match. "A bit of Weasley in him, though."
Emilia laughed good-naturedly. "Yes, quite." Emilia looked about the stadium. Madam Hooch was in the middle of the pitch, yelling out incomprehensible instructions. Finally, she bent down, and let out the main balls of Quidditch: the two Bludgers, which zoomed about the players quickly; a small golden glint, which Emilia assumed was the Snitch; and the biggest ball, the Quaffle, which she threw up in the air to start the game.
The crowds once again went wild as the game started, all fourteen people were zooming about, a look of determination in their formations. Emilia smiled. It had been a while since she'd seen a Quidditch match. In fact, it'd been over a year; ever since the Quidditch World Cup last summer. She'd been there with her father as a treat. Laughing inside, she really didn't realize what kind of treat he meant—her first show of what they do to Muggles for "fun". It made her stomach churn, and she noticed her face fell at the thought. Minerva noticed her face lost the glow it'd had a moment ago. "Something the matter?"
"Er, what?" Emilia said, looking at her curiously. She'd been in deep thought.
"Spoken like a true blond," a voice said above them. "If you come to a Quidditch match, don't space out, Black." Snape smirked at her; the score was 90-30, Slytherin lead. She glared at him contemptuously and returned her attention to the game.
"Some people come for the view, Snape. Surprisingly, the Slytherins may have a lead, but they don't seem to have much of a cheering section, do they?" she spoke to him, her voice catching the wind. She was pointing out that every teacher except him had Gryffindor colors on.
Snape's foot shifted and was dangerous close to the small of her back. His show was pressing into her spinal cord. "One more word and you'll loose the feeling in your back, Black."
Emilia shifted to the other side. "Petty physical moves, eh, Snape? I don't suppose you'd follow your family traditions?"
"No, but speaking of which, sad there aren't any Muggles around? Like the last time there was a Quidditch match?" he replied vehemently.
Emilia stood and pulled out her wand before she thought about it. "Yes, I am sad there aren't any Muggles around. Want to try out what we do to them? Care for a spin, I daresay?" she hissed, pointing the wand at his neck. "Back off. I'm trying to have a nice time."
"Your pathetic threats don't intimidate me, Black. Go for it. I dare you."
Emilia shrugged. "Okay then, if you insist. Wingardium Leviosa!" she whispered, levitating Snape a couple of inches off the bench. He continued to rise, and there he sat, nonchalantly. Finally, he reached two feet of the bench. Snape did nothing, and teachers were beginning to turn and look. She laughed, jerked her wand up five more inches, and then sent him smashing down into the seat. Snape gave an obvious wince, and rubbed his backside. Emilia smiled, nodding at him. "'Course, then. Shut up, Snape."
She turned around again and sat down, content. Minerva looked at her disapprovingly, and Dumbledore had a sad glint in his eye. She knew what she did wasn't appropriate. Emilia had to put him in his place, though. Surely, being with him as long as they were, they'd understand this, right? Snape's tailbone must be aching right now. At least he was quiet. She really didn't think Dumbledore would appreciate this, but she kind of thought Minerva was on her side. Emilia suddenly felt a little silly. How could such a jerk get to her like this? It was all rather confus--
Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted with Gryffindor's cheering section going wild as Potter caught the Snitch. "Potter's got the Snitch!! Potter's got the Snitch!!" Lee Jordan's voice rang out across the pitch excitedly. Emilia felt that her excitement was washed out of her. She couldn't be that happy for Gryffindor as she should be. Quietly, she escaped Minerva's happy rejoicing and walked down the staircase. Sighing loudly, she walked outside and was blown back by a powerful wind. It was kicking up, and it was cold, she felt, as she unconsciously shivered and pulled the cloak a bit tighter.
She could still hear the loud cries of joy from the higher elevations. Now that she was out in the open, and it was just a little quieter down here, she didn't feel so cramped and cross. She felt…guilty. Emilia shouldn't have gone off on Snape like that. She just couldn't help it. He made her so mad.
She leaned against the wall of the stadium, and put her hands into her pockets. Pulling out her warm gray gloves, she put them on with great difficulty, as her hands wouldn't stop moving. Cupping them to her mouth, she breathed in and trying to get a bit warm.
Without warning, a hand shoved her back into the wall, and a hand dug into her shoulder. The surprise of the action knocked the breath out of her, and she coughed, trying to breathe. Looking up, she said, "What the—"
"How dare you," a voice hissed. "How dare you do that to me?"
Emilia glared at him. Snape had his wand pointed to her throat. "You dared me, Snape. What, you can dish it but can't take it? Every hear the saying, 'Do unto others and you would have others do unto you'?"
She felt a sting across her cheek and she was slapped hard. A hand was brought automatically up to her cheek, and the glove felt odd against it. "Don't like that much, do you?" he seethed. "Imagine all those people seeing that. Then going to your class, and teaching students who snigger behind your back. I can't stand you, Black. You constantly are making me look like a fool. One day I'm going to get you back, you'll regret ever coming to Dumbledore looking for that job."
"I hope you can promise me that, Snape," she spat, rubbing her cheek. "And you complain about that? Children sniggering behind your back? I've had to live with that all my life. You have no idea. You, of all people, should understand me. But you constantly are starting any fight, any argument—you start them." She pushed her shoulder to knock his hand off. It wouldn't move. She clutched her hand on his arm and dug into with all her might, but with the glove on, the nails really weren't much help. "Get off of me!"
Snape smiled inhumanly. "Don't like this much either, do you?"
Emilia's eyes grew rather round. She started to get a bit panicky. "Let go, now, Snape."
"I want to explain to you why I feel that you should leave. I want you to stop your little, 'I'm better than the World because I'm a Black,' routine. You have no right whatsoever treating me like this. What made you think that you could get me back for anything? I've been getting the roughest end of the deal," he said quickly, nonetheless angrily.
He dug his fingers deeper into her shoulder, shoving her back further into the wall. The fury of his anger made his grip strong. She never expected Snape to act physically, ever. This, and the slap, was almost totally out of character. He almost prided in that he had more intelligence to carry on a fight of words than with fists. "Let me go!" she said a bit louder. She could feel tears spring to her eyes. "This hurts, now let go," she snarled.
"No, I think not. Let's see how well you deal with all that's happened since you've come. I don't want any retaliation. I want you to know what you have done to me and my reputation."
"What, a reputation for being the meanest teacher here? Is that what you pride in?"
"No. I pride in being a strong teacher. You have made me look weak in the student eyes. I can't teach a proper class anymore. You shouldn't be here. You don't belong. I noticed that many of the teachers still don't trust you."
"And why should they trust you? A former Death Eater?"
"Yes, quite. Everyone's a Death Eater in your eyes. How did you come up with that one?" he replied sarcastically.
"My father is one, you idiot. I think I would know," she snapped. "You undermine my intelligence again." She lifted her foot and kicked his shin, to which he dropped his hand and winced noticeably. "The students are coming. You want to them to see you like this? Holding me to a wall? Even I can figure that's not good for your rep, since you pride yourself in that." She rubbed her shoulder. "Good day, Snape."
She walked away quickly, so that she could avoid anyone. Her shoulder hurt like hell. She couldn't help but grip it as she walked into the warm building. She walked upstairs into her room, and pulled off her cloak. Stuffing her gloves into the pockets quickly, she massaged her shoulder and walked into the bathroom mindlessly.
Turning her head sideways, she pulled down her robe to reveal the skin of her shoulder. It was very red, and had the beginning of purple on the outside edges. She grimaced when she tried to touch it softly. His grip had bruised her. It's been awhile that she'd gotten a bruise. In fact, she realized, there were a lot of awhile since she'd arrived. Awhile since she'd been teaching, talking to people, and seeing a Quidditch match…. It kind of made her nervous. Her stomach felt like someone had put it through a paper shredder. Sighing, she slid into a warm chair, and noticed the fire was going. She baked in its warmth, and covered her shoulder carefully with her robe. She'd have to bandage it, incase anyone would ask questions.
There was a rapt knock at the door. "Coming!" she yelled, "I'll be there momentarily." Standing slowly and carefully, if not to hurt herself more than already, she walked over to it. Pulling back on the old and used handle, she peered outside the door cautiously. "Yeah?" she asked.
Minerva's face was flushed from the wind. "Sorry to interrupt you, but Dumbledore wants to see you now." Her face looked sullen, despite the fact that Gryffindor had just won a match.
Emilia's stomach sank through the floor.