She was too busy arguing to notice the turned heads, the craned necks, the looks of surprise and horror that spread through the crowd.
"I'm suitably dressed," she insisted, shoving his thin hand away from her. "I don't need the bloody cloak!"
Severus shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as they stood at the foot of the bleachers. "Your coat…" he said, taking a deep breath and trying to call upon patience that wasn't there. "…is red."
"I know perfectly well the color of my coat," Lilith said, stepping up into the bleachers to get his hand off her back. Just yesterday the man had wanted to kill her, and today he was pushing her, nudging her, touching her. It made her edgy. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."
With a hiss of frustration, Severus threw the cloak at her, forcing her to catch it; if she hadn't, it would have covered her head and shoulders completely. "You're here to support someone, you halfwit, the least you can do is not wear the opposing team's colors."
And as the players filled the sky above them, Lilith's mouth fell open and the only response she had was "Oh." Sliding on the green cloak—and it really was warmer than her coat—she looked around her and saw the sea of green and black on all sides of her. It continued for a way on her left side, then tapered off into empty bleachers, then picked back up in red and gold. Only one person sat in that stretch of empty bleachers, orange robes stubbornly bright against the dreary weather, the streak in her hair visible even from a distance.
She stayed silent for the first part of the game, watching her nephew and the Potter boy fly at will around the stadium, their eyes sharp, their bodies tensed. Severus sneaked glances over at her now and again, the short, sleek curls of her hair blowing around her face in the wind, her brown eyes intent on the sky.
And when the Snitch was released, Severus's attention was split between her and his Quidditch team. She'd stayed silent and still for so long that the gasp just seemed to burst forth from her as Draco swooped down from the sky, dropping so quickly it looked like an accident. Harry was trying a different tactic, sweeping around the outskirts of the stadium, spiraling his way down.
"He's good!" she exclaimed, the surprise in her voice evident. It was as though he was completely separate from the game—above his head, Ginny Weasley was handling the Quaffle with ease, heading toward the Slytherin Keeper. No one in the game had eyes for the Seeker—but everyone in the stands watched the both of them.
Draco and Harry spotted the Snitch at the same time, below Harry but above Draco, and Lilith pressed a hand to her mouth.
It was dangerous and stupid and risky, she knew, but she wanted very badly for him to catch it. He pulled up, eyes blazing, just as Harry flew down, executing a tight turn as he let the gravity pull his upper body away from the broom and to the Snitch. In a split second, the game was over, the Snitch fluttering wildly in Harry's hand, and Draco had landed and dismounted.
The game over, he walked away from the pitch, having no urge to remain.
"Good game!" Colin Creevey called after Draco, thinking nothing of it. What he got in return for his niceties was a mouthful of curse words, none too quiet.
"Oy! You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Peter Plimpton, a Gryffindor first-year, asked, tugging on one prominent ear.
"Don't you remember?" Another student, a Ravenclaw this time, leaned lazily over the stands and watched Draco, whose retreat had slowed. "He doesn't have a mother. Apparently Hogwarts is an orphanage now." Unfortunately, the pitch and stands acted like a large amphitheatre, and the acoustics were nearly perfect. The exchange carried all too well.
Lilith gasped and started to make her way down from the stands; Severus stayed her with a calm hand, knowing her presence would not help, especially not now.
Draco turned slowly, his eyes cold beyond measure, and he started to speak in his own defense, started to make his way back to the blithering Ravenclaw who clearly wasn't smart enough to have been properly sorted into that house.
And then Ginny Weasley stepped forward, and Draco stopped cold.
"Stop it," she commanded the Ravenclaw tersely, sending the entire crowd into a hush. "You've no idea what that must be like. How'd it be if I started in on your mother, eh?" The Ravenclaw flushed a dark, brick red, and he had absolutely no witty rejoinder for the clearly angry Gryffindor in front of him.
Ginny met Ron's wide, disbelieving eyes, and cast them away quickly, looking for the young man she'd just defended.
He was already gone.
~~~
"He's magnificent." She couldn't seem to say anything
else—couldn't really think of anything appropriate to say—as she walked back to
the castle. "That was what you wanted me
to see, wasn't it? How well he
played. How much he loves it."
"I don't know what you were supposed to see," Severus said, wanting suddenly to be away from her. He'd seen that speculative look in Dea's eyes and didn't care for it a bit. He was quite through babysitting the Malfoy bastard. "I was told to take you, and so I did."
"You follow orders well, then," Lilith spat back, cold inside and out after seeing her nephew's troubles on the pitch. It was so hard for him, and likely had been from the very beginning.
She supposed Malfoys were predisposed to unhappiness.
"I trust you can find your way back to your room," Severus retorted, wanting to push her away from him. He was awfully good at that, and at the moment, when all he wanted was a little time to think, solitude seemed best.
Solitude was his choice.
But after the fair-haired woman glared at him and swept into the castle, he was not to have his solitude. Another shape, also slight, but brightly-robed and dark-haired, stepped to his side.
"She has your cloak," Dea said thoughtfully. "I suppose you'll have to get that back from her at some point."
"Thank you for stating the obvious," Severus said through clenched teeth. "And they say Ravenclaw intelligence is overrated."
"I've found," Dea said, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from outwardly laughing at this man, this poor, confused man whose buttons were so easy to push, "That whoever 'they' are, 'they' are most often incorrect."
"Was there something you wanted, Dea?"
"Only to ask how things were with the Malfoy miss. You seemed to be getting along, for a few moments, at least." She'd watched them, and not covertly, through a good portion of the game. They'd sat side by side, light and dark, night and day, their expressions of awe and attention nearly identical as they watched the only thing they had in common—Draco.
"Ignoring someone—or even tolerating them— doesn't necessarily mean getting along with them," Severus said pointedly, arching a raven eyebrow. "As you should well know."
Though she knew he spoke of himself and Remus, she smiled brightly. "I don't know what you're talking about. No one can ignore me and my crass brand of American charm." Then, suddenly, with no warning, the cheer fell away and she grasped Severus's arm, suddenly serious. "She cares about him, Severus, as much as she can. Don't automatically start judging and shoving just because it's your nature." She saw him start as though shocked, and then he opened his mouth to speak, but she rolled her eyes and pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't try to tell me it isn't. It is, and well I should know. Better than anyone, I should know that." Shaking her head, she put her arms around him, her breath puffing out in the still-cool morning air. "She's beautiful," she said, and tried to keep the tiny tinge of regret from her voice.
"Meddling witch," Severus said, but it was said wonderingly as Dea walked away from him.
~~~
It was Monday before she saw him again, and against her strongest inner protests, she was still embarrassed about what had happened on Saturday. Had she really stuck up for a Malfoy?
She'd been late, but that hadn't mattered—in mid-step in the corridor on her way to the "class," she'd simply been uprooted and transplanted into the classroom, right on time.
"One would think," Draco said coldly from the window where he sat, "That you would eventually realize you had to come here, whether you wanted to or not. The Weasley wit is somewhat lacking."
"I was on my way here," Ginny bit back, but didn't feel any heat in the words. She felt sorry for him; she couldn't help it. She knew he'd scorn her pity, turn it around on her and make her look the fool, but it was simply there. She'd grown up with family, extensive, emotional, unconditionally loving family, and this young man in front of her had been fundamentally alone.
"Good for you," Draco said, keeping his eyes out the window. What a humiliation the weekend had been, insult on top of injury on top of countless previous layers of each. It was bad enough to lose the Quidditch match, but to have his blasted… "aunt" sitting out there was even worse. There had been rumors and whispers and talking, and though no one ever spoke to "The Malfoy," he heard the whispers anyway.
That gorgeous, drop-dead blonde in the stands was many things, according to the students of Hogwarts. She was a reincarnation of Lucius, she was an evil (or eviler) twin. She was a Succubus and a Squib, a Muggle-born, a glamour-cast witch with an ax to grind.
Now Draco just had to figure who she really was, and if it meant anything to him.
"You played well this weekend," Ginny said, sitting down at a desk and taking out her homework. She'd not meant to make an issue of it, but then she could feel those eyes on her, pinning her securely. "What?"
"You'd do well to wipe this weekend from your memory, Weasel." Under his fair, translucent skin, Draco's cheeks burned red. "Your pity is the last thing I need."
"I don't doubt that," Ginny said, keeping her eyes down, away from his. "What you need first and foremost is some family, someone to smack some bloody sense and manners into you now and again." Unable to concentrate, she slammed her quill down, breaking it and spattering ink all over her parchment. Oh, well, she thought. It's only Potions. "Which, I note, you have family. Now all you have to do is suck it up and accept it." Pleased with her conclusion, she reached into her bag to dig out another quill, and though she could feel his eyes on her again, she didn't look.
She didn't see that he was actually considering her remark.