Chapter 11 - Snape the habitual
Okay, first, the title is stupid; I admit that before I go any further. Second, I know a lot of people don't like OC's, but it's a good way of getting history in, and anyway, I promise to try and keep it to a minimum unless I think that it'll do the plot good. Promise. Oh, Elspeth Lupin might not get much of a cameo, but I might just go for an AU Sirius, Lupin and Lily when I get my head around it. Most definitely Lily when I get around to it.
Thank you for reading so far. Feel free to read and review!
**********
Snape sat up with a jolt from his dream. He sat up, and looked around. He was in his quarters, in his bed, but there was something wrong, something different. He could smell smoke, wine and a meal and he could hear voices. One he recognised as his own, and, flumping back on his pillow, he realised that whatever hope he had that the arrival of his double was a bad dream was shattered. The other voice was Dumbledore's.
Snape also realised that he had been changed into his nightclothes. Or at least someone's nightclothes. He wore a pair of loose fitting black Pyjama bottoms and an even looser black tee shirt. They were definitely not what he wore to bed. They were drenched in sweat, a little in blood, not to mention some other substance he couldn't identify. He threw the covers off his bed, and much to his surprise, his body wasn't enveloped by the familiar cold, but seemed somewhat warm. He sat on the edge of his bed, and put his face into his hands. He noticed that his whole body was shaking feverously.
Snape decided that instead of staying here, in bed, he would get up and find out what was going on. The moment he stood up he fell over again, sending a small table near his bed (and the objects on it) flying. He let out the loudest and foulest curse he could think of, and then tried to get back up, only to fins his legs had turned to jelly, and his arms shook like columns in an earthquake. The door was flung open by his other self, who said with a little smirk, "oh, so you're awake then?"
Snape gave him a dark look, and grunted something that Snape hoped was a witty and sarcastic putdown, but was more a jumble of unintelligible sounds.
"You're still a bit weak from whatever poison got into your system." Replied Sev, with only understanding and a little concern in his eyes, "you should sit down, at least until you've got some strength back. " Sev helped him up. Snape was, not for the first time in his life, completely humiliated. He felt like an old bent man as Sev helped him to sit on the bed. They both sat there, for a moment, pondering certain thoughts until Sev finally spoke up and said, "You were screaming like a madman."
"Hmm." Answered Snape, his skin burning red.
"You screamed out a few names. Why were you screaming for Harry Potter?"
"I don't know, " replied Snape, rather gruffly, "you should know."
"I should, but I don't. "
"Ask Dumbledore."
"He asked me to ask you."
"Ask Dumbledore." Stressed Snape, his black eyes full of resentment and sadness.
There was an uncomfortable minute of silence. Then, Sev, as if trying again said, "You've been out all day, I had to take your classes."
Snape was silent, concentrating on making the air in the room as uncomfortable as possible for his double until his words sank in. "WHAT!" he exclaimed.
"I had to take your lesson's today, being the only spare hand around and all."
"Oh, and I suppose being an auror makes you qualified to take over my.....lessons." slurred Snape angrily.
"I wasn't intending to do this for the rest of my life!" Snapped Sev, "I don't even want to be here, I'm only here as a favour to Dumbledore. I don't even see why I should be here, trying to stop you from blowing yourselves up! I could've left you to die; I could have done that easily and in good conscience. "
"No you couldn't." sneered Snape, "because you always have to play at being a hero."
"Well, that explains a lot about you then!" retorted Sev, "Because you seem fond of the put-upon victim of circumstance!" and with that, Sev got up, swishing his robes theatrically. Then, as if trying to rub salt into an non- existent wound he shouted, "I wouldn't mind so much if it weren't for the fact that I knew that you didn't have to be a spineless, resentful servant of he-who-must-never-be-named!" and with that he slammed the door on him.
Snape sat quietly, unmoving as the air in the room settled again. He shivered, not out of fear or the cold, but because of his illness. He sat there, practically bent double, feeling weak and confused. His head pounded as thoughts ran through his mind, thoughts of how his Double was wrong, he had to be wrong, and he was right, and some thoughts that his double might actually be right. But finally, lying back on the bed, he sighed and shut his thoughts out.
**********
A place a long way away physically, but remarkably close geographically, a sixteen-year-old boy sat at breakfast, playing with his food. He sat around with friends as the OWL post came, and looked out for a letter for himself. He was sorely disappointed to see none, but continued to look at the table, as if he had hardly noticed anyone else was there.
The boy ripped his bred roll into increasingly smaller pieces as he listened to what everyone was saying.
"Hey, listen to this!" said Ron Weasley, "You know that band, The Mongrels, well, The Prophet says that last week, at their concern their main singer, y'know, the one with the blue hair, well, he semi-transformed into a werewolf on stage at his concert."
"Cool, " replied Harry Potter, shoving Bacon into his mouth, "What's The Prophet got to say on that?"
"Well, they're pissed off of course." Said Ron, "saying he's corrupting our youth and so on. "
"Well, it could have been dangerous!" said a second year called Elspeth Lupin.
"Yeah, probably Ellie, " answered Harry, "Ron, does it say whether he took Wolfsbain during the concert?"
"Nah, he claims to have taken it before." Said Ron, for once being the purveyor of the paper, "And something about what he did trying to prove that werewolves were no threat. Well, a lot of bloody good his antics did to convince us that he isn't insane."
"Ron, why on earth do you read that junk? Isn't the world around us more important than whatever the lead singer of The Mongrels did last week?" scolded Hermione.
"Sure it is, that's why we'll find it out later!" said Ron.
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "Ron, sometimes I think you're an idiot."
"You think he is?" asked Harry jokingly, "I know he is!"
Ron hit Harry on the arm and went back to reading the paper. "Oh, look at the crossword, seven down, what is a five letter word for an stupid git? I know, H-A-double R-Y. "
The boy dropped his roll on his plate at this point, and rested his head on his hands. His long, greasy black hair was tucked behind his ears and his hooked nose created an impressive shadow on the table.
"Hey, Michael, when you're done ripping that roll into shreds, you might want to join the world of the living." Said Hermione.
"Oh, " he said, a little distractedly, "sorry, I didn't sleep much last night."
"We know." Said Ron Darkly, "You were up at the crack of dawn doing an essay due in for next week."
"Well, if I'm going to reach six foot I need to start early! " he protested weakly, "Anyway, I hate charms."
"First of all, you've reached two foot already, and we only got the essay last period Friday, so you've almost done your essay anyway. Second, on Friday night, no one apart from you works and last of all, you don't hate charms." Said Harry, "No one else has even started that damn essay yet."
"Apart from me." Interrupted Hermione, "But even I think you took it too seriously. I mean, you got up early to work on it. And today's Saturday. This is the day when we help everyone else on their homework."
"You're one foot ahead of me, I've got to keep up!" he joked. They all gave him rather unimpressed looks. "Okay, I just....I just had some weird dreams last night. "
"Michael Snape? Dream? Since when has a dream ever made you miss your morning lay in?" quipped Harry.
Michael stuck his tongue out at Harry and replied, "since now. So, what's your dad got to say?"
"Not much." Said Harry, "just that he's enjoying his Quidditch practise and that he can't say much in case any opposing teams intercept the mail."
"Am I thinking opposing teams as in 'Fudge' and 'Ministry' rather than 'Bulgaria' and 'France'?" asked Michael, smiling a little.
"More or less." Answered Harry.
"Anything big in the paper Ron, apart from The Mongrel's stage acts?" asked Michael.
"Oh, a break in at the Ministry, I'll give it to you in a minute, once I've finished reading about Mad eye Moony's reasons why we should welcome allowing the ministry to have access to our family records."
"He's wrong, y'know."
"Whatever Mike, "answered Ron, "and the seven letter word beginning with M for an opinionated charms obsessive is M-I-C-H-A-E-L. "
"I'm more of a potion's obsessive than charms obsessive." Said Michael, leaning back in his chair, "you've known me long enough to know that."
"As I said, 'whatever'."
Michael's hair flopped back, revealing an angry red scar down the side of his face that he usually kept covered with hair. He'd had it as long as he could remember, but apparently he had got it when he-who-must-never-be- named had come to their house and killed his mother. He-who-must-never-be- named had come into their house, killed his mother, and had been unable to find him, but had unintentionally let a piece of furniture hit him on the head, which had left the scar. At this point a man known as Billy Berrick had come in and had managed to fight he-who-must-never-be-named to the death. Both had died in the process. But there were whispers around, and Michael had heard them a lot lately. It was common knowledge that the dark Lord had somehow managed to survive, and it was also known, although not accepted, that he had a great following from the Psyxen people. Which, in so many words meant that because Fudge had successfully lobbied to the separate education for those with Psyxen blood[1], he was one of the few Psyxen left in Hogwarts, and therefore a magnet for all discontent and trouble.
Which he felt was a little unfair. After all, he was mostly wizard, and he, unlike Harry, (who although slim has the muscles for a fight) was built like a stick. He simply got beaten to pulp in any fight that he could fight without magic. Which happened to be most fights. He placed a piece of roll in his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. At least he had a few good people on his side. Harry, his best friend most of his life, was the son of the England seeker, which instantly made him a force to be reckoned with. The Money wasn't as brilliant as everyone made out (he got paid as much as most people who worked at the ministry did) but the Potters were generous. And then Ron was his friend, well, most of the time. They were good for each other, making sure they stuck together and so on, but Michael often got the feeling that Ron didn't quiet trust him. Hermione was his study friend, siblings in arms. She didn't really care much about where he had come from, as she was almost oblivious to it. As long as he didn't disturb her when she was finishing a project. Then there was Little Elspeth Lupin. She was four years younger than them, but Harry and him had taken it upon themselves to keep an eye out for here. After all, Remus Lupin was a great friend to both of them, and Elspeth needed a helping hand from time to time. And yes, (although they did their best to make sure no one found out) she was a werewolf.
Michael was almost feeling relaxed as Draco Malfoy decided to grace the Gryffindor table with his presents. Michael sat back up, and tried to look interested in Ron's conversation about The Mongrel's music as he walked past. But, unfortunately, Draco wasn't looking for a fight. He had already set his target.
"Ah, Snape, good morning?"
Michael ignored him.
"Snape? Snaaape? Can you here me?" he drawled, "or are you deaf as well as inhuman?"
"Morning Malfoy," he answered, not even bothering to look up, "what lovely insult do you have for me this morning?"
Draco was a little taken aback as Michael's frankness, but carried on as his Slytherin followers watched him.
"Have you seen the news this morning?"
"No, I haven't. "
"Well, I suppose you already know, being part Psyxen and all. We all know they were in on it."
"In on what?" asked Michael, still trying to ignore him.
"The break in at the ministry. Apparently one of your kind broke in and went through ministry files. I suppose they were looking of ways to bring down our world around our heads. It seems the kind of senseless act that you might do."
"'Right Malfoy," said Michael, flashing his sea blue eyes at him, "you let me know when you've got an argument put together worth wasting my time on."
"It's, just, well, " sighed Malfoy with mock pathos, "It was the Metaphysic's ministry they broke into. They were messing around with a new project, some sort of weapon I suppose. I mean, that's all you people are good at, isn't it? Fighting and experimenting."
"Malfoy, if you're going to insult my race, at least get your facts straight." Replied Michael, a small chink in his almost impenetrable armour showing, "It's your family who're the death eaters, not mine."
There was a visible intake of breath from everyone around them. The Gryffindor's looked rather shocked at Michael's inept bluntness, while the Slytherin's look mortified, as if what Michael had said had been an insult to Malfoy's family name, rather than a badge of honour.
Draco Malfoy's nostrils visibly flared. His eyes widened at Michael's audacity, his sharp tongue blunted for a second. But then, as if suddenly realising that in his moment of weakness he had just hit the metaphorical jackpot, he gave the room in general a tight-lipped smile.
"But at least my family is in our world, Snape."
Michael suddenly looked up sharply. He stood up, the hall suddenly going quiet as Malfoy's revelation echoed around as the two blue eyes, one like ice, the other cobalt, met. They held each other's gaze, creating mild tension around themselves, before Michael whispered, in a voice so silent but so menacing that it seemed to fill the hall, "What did you say?"
"My father work's at the ministry, y'know. He has a proper job, not just searching for the dead. Your mother's dead and everyone knows that your father is off his rocker...."
"Wait a minute!" interrupted Harry. But Draco had already prepared his battle.
"Oh, and famous Potter's not all that brilliant either. Not with the company he keeps. Mud bloods and werewolf's and crazies and not to mention his business in metaphysisis'. Maybe he thinks that they might make him a half-decent seeker."
"Take that back!" Barked Harry.
But Draco ignored him, and turned back to Michael, "Oh, we know what they're doing, Snape. It's just if it weren't so incredibly useful, we'd tell Fudge."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Said Michael, looking considerably agitated.
"Oh, lets just say that the Snake knows what its doing." Said Draco before grinning nastily at him, and walking off.
"What the hell was that comment all about?" exploded Harry at Michael, who was simply looking on in the distance, his eyes in a half-trance as his fingers began to ball up into fists.
"I..... don't know." He answered, breathing out, his hands resting limply at his sides. He sat down and put his elbows on the table, made a bridge with his hands and placed his chin on it. He looked thoughtfully sideways and said, "Malfoy has it coming to him. He is going to get a fist rammed up his arse any day now."
"That's not a nice though over breakfast Mike." Said Hermione, a slightly weary expression on her face, "I really could have done without it."
"Bah." He replied, putting his head in his hands, "this is the kind of morning when there sickness over breakfast."
"I don't want to know." Retorted Hermione, "I wouldn't want to live in your world."
"Nor would I, if I had a choice." Added Michael, with a sly grin. He picked up some of his roll and ate it.
**********
The last line is one I use too often. It doesn't make sense, but you'll find that much of what Michael says doesn't make sense. He talks like many a weirdo I know and love. The idea for him is that he's the odd one out, but at the same time very much one of them. I don't know how that works, so thank you for reading.
Sincerely
Xandra the Blue. ----------------------- [1] Another thing that was much to Dumbledore's distaste. He had practically lobbied for ever student to stay, but, as usual, with a little scare mongering and a lot of court proceedings, the numbers decreased either out of parent's fear for their children, or because they had been forced out.
Okay, first, the title is stupid; I admit that before I go any further. Second, I know a lot of people don't like OC's, but it's a good way of getting history in, and anyway, I promise to try and keep it to a minimum unless I think that it'll do the plot good. Promise. Oh, Elspeth Lupin might not get much of a cameo, but I might just go for an AU Sirius, Lupin and Lily when I get my head around it. Most definitely Lily when I get around to it.
Thank you for reading so far. Feel free to read and review!
**********
Snape sat up with a jolt from his dream. He sat up, and looked around. He was in his quarters, in his bed, but there was something wrong, something different. He could smell smoke, wine and a meal and he could hear voices. One he recognised as his own, and, flumping back on his pillow, he realised that whatever hope he had that the arrival of his double was a bad dream was shattered. The other voice was Dumbledore's.
Snape also realised that he had been changed into his nightclothes. Or at least someone's nightclothes. He wore a pair of loose fitting black Pyjama bottoms and an even looser black tee shirt. They were definitely not what he wore to bed. They were drenched in sweat, a little in blood, not to mention some other substance he couldn't identify. He threw the covers off his bed, and much to his surprise, his body wasn't enveloped by the familiar cold, but seemed somewhat warm. He sat on the edge of his bed, and put his face into his hands. He noticed that his whole body was shaking feverously.
Snape decided that instead of staying here, in bed, he would get up and find out what was going on. The moment he stood up he fell over again, sending a small table near his bed (and the objects on it) flying. He let out the loudest and foulest curse he could think of, and then tried to get back up, only to fins his legs had turned to jelly, and his arms shook like columns in an earthquake. The door was flung open by his other self, who said with a little smirk, "oh, so you're awake then?"
Snape gave him a dark look, and grunted something that Snape hoped was a witty and sarcastic putdown, but was more a jumble of unintelligible sounds.
"You're still a bit weak from whatever poison got into your system." Replied Sev, with only understanding and a little concern in his eyes, "you should sit down, at least until you've got some strength back. " Sev helped him up. Snape was, not for the first time in his life, completely humiliated. He felt like an old bent man as Sev helped him to sit on the bed. They both sat there, for a moment, pondering certain thoughts until Sev finally spoke up and said, "You were screaming like a madman."
"Hmm." Answered Snape, his skin burning red.
"You screamed out a few names. Why were you screaming for Harry Potter?"
"I don't know, " replied Snape, rather gruffly, "you should know."
"I should, but I don't. "
"Ask Dumbledore."
"He asked me to ask you."
"Ask Dumbledore." Stressed Snape, his black eyes full of resentment and sadness.
There was an uncomfortable minute of silence. Then, Sev, as if trying again said, "You've been out all day, I had to take your classes."
Snape was silent, concentrating on making the air in the room as uncomfortable as possible for his double until his words sank in. "WHAT!" he exclaimed.
"I had to take your lesson's today, being the only spare hand around and all."
"Oh, and I suppose being an auror makes you qualified to take over my.....lessons." slurred Snape angrily.
"I wasn't intending to do this for the rest of my life!" Snapped Sev, "I don't even want to be here, I'm only here as a favour to Dumbledore. I don't even see why I should be here, trying to stop you from blowing yourselves up! I could've left you to die; I could have done that easily and in good conscience. "
"No you couldn't." sneered Snape, "because you always have to play at being a hero."
"Well, that explains a lot about you then!" retorted Sev, "Because you seem fond of the put-upon victim of circumstance!" and with that, Sev got up, swishing his robes theatrically. Then, as if trying to rub salt into an non- existent wound he shouted, "I wouldn't mind so much if it weren't for the fact that I knew that you didn't have to be a spineless, resentful servant of he-who-must-never-be-named!" and with that he slammed the door on him.
Snape sat quietly, unmoving as the air in the room settled again. He shivered, not out of fear or the cold, but because of his illness. He sat there, practically bent double, feeling weak and confused. His head pounded as thoughts ran through his mind, thoughts of how his Double was wrong, he had to be wrong, and he was right, and some thoughts that his double might actually be right. But finally, lying back on the bed, he sighed and shut his thoughts out.
**********
A place a long way away physically, but remarkably close geographically, a sixteen-year-old boy sat at breakfast, playing with his food. He sat around with friends as the OWL post came, and looked out for a letter for himself. He was sorely disappointed to see none, but continued to look at the table, as if he had hardly noticed anyone else was there.
The boy ripped his bred roll into increasingly smaller pieces as he listened to what everyone was saying.
"Hey, listen to this!" said Ron Weasley, "You know that band, The Mongrels, well, The Prophet says that last week, at their concern their main singer, y'know, the one with the blue hair, well, he semi-transformed into a werewolf on stage at his concert."
"Cool, " replied Harry Potter, shoving Bacon into his mouth, "What's The Prophet got to say on that?"
"Well, they're pissed off of course." Said Ron, "saying he's corrupting our youth and so on. "
"Well, it could have been dangerous!" said a second year called Elspeth Lupin.
"Yeah, probably Ellie, " answered Harry, "Ron, does it say whether he took Wolfsbain during the concert?"
"Nah, he claims to have taken it before." Said Ron, for once being the purveyor of the paper, "And something about what he did trying to prove that werewolves were no threat. Well, a lot of bloody good his antics did to convince us that he isn't insane."
"Ron, why on earth do you read that junk? Isn't the world around us more important than whatever the lead singer of The Mongrels did last week?" scolded Hermione.
"Sure it is, that's why we'll find it out later!" said Ron.
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "Ron, sometimes I think you're an idiot."
"You think he is?" asked Harry jokingly, "I know he is!"
Ron hit Harry on the arm and went back to reading the paper. "Oh, look at the crossword, seven down, what is a five letter word for an stupid git? I know, H-A-double R-Y. "
The boy dropped his roll on his plate at this point, and rested his head on his hands. His long, greasy black hair was tucked behind his ears and his hooked nose created an impressive shadow on the table.
"Hey, Michael, when you're done ripping that roll into shreds, you might want to join the world of the living." Said Hermione.
"Oh, " he said, a little distractedly, "sorry, I didn't sleep much last night."
"We know." Said Ron Darkly, "You were up at the crack of dawn doing an essay due in for next week."
"Well, if I'm going to reach six foot I need to start early! " he protested weakly, "Anyway, I hate charms."
"First of all, you've reached two foot already, and we only got the essay last period Friday, so you've almost done your essay anyway. Second, on Friday night, no one apart from you works and last of all, you don't hate charms." Said Harry, "No one else has even started that damn essay yet."
"Apart from me." Interrupted Hermione, "But even I think you took it too seriously. I mean, you got up early to work on it. And today's Saturday. This is the day when we help everyone else on their homework."
"You're one foot ahead of me, I've got to keep up!" he joked. They all gave him rather unimpressed looks. "Okay, I just....I just had some weird dreams last night. "
"Michael Snape? Dream? Since when has a dream ever made you miss your morning lay in?" quipped Harry.
Michael stuck his tongue out at Harry and replied, "since now. So, what's your dad got to say?"
"Not much." Said Harry, "just that he's enjoying his Quidditch practise and that he can't say much in case any opposing teams intercept the mail."
"Am I thinking opposing teams as in 'Fudge' and 'Ministry' rather than 'Bulgaria' and 'France'?" asked Michael, smiling a little.
"More or less." Answered Harry.
"Anything big in the paper Ron, apart from The Mongrel's stage acts?" asked Michael.
"Oh, a break in at the Ministry, I'll give it to you in a minute, once I've finished reading about Mad eye Moony's reasons why we should welcome allowing the ministry to have access to our family records."
"He's wrong, y'know."
"Whatever Mike, "answered Ron, "and the seven letter word beginning with M for an opinionated charms obsessive is M-I-C-H-A-E-L. "
"I'm more of a potion's obsessive than charms obsessive." Said Michael, leaning back in his chair, "you've known me long enough to know that."
"As I said, 'whatever'."
Michael's hair flopped back, revealing an angry red scar down the side of his face that he usually kept covered with hair. He'd had it as long as he could remember, but apparently he had got it when he-who-must-never-be- named had come to their house and killed his mother. He-who-must-never-be- named had come into their house, killed his mother, and had been unable to find him, but had unintentionally let a piece of furniture hit him on the head, which had left the scar. At this point a man known as Billy Berrick had come in and had managed to fight he-who-must-never-be-named to the death. Both had died in the process. But there were whispers around, and Michael had heard them a lot lately. It was common knowledge that the dark Lord had somehow managed to survive, and it was also known, although not accepted, that he had a great following from the Psyxen people. Which, in so many words meant that because Fudge had successfully lobbied to the separate education for those with Psyxen blood[1], he was one of the few Psyxen left in Hogwarts, and therefore a magnet for all discontent and trouble.
Which he felt was a little unfair. After all, he was mostly wizard, and he, unlike Harry, (who although slim has the muscles for a fight) was built like a stick. He simply got beaten to pulp in any fight that he could fight without magic. Which happened to be most fights. He placed a piece of roll in his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. At least he had a few good people on his side. Harry, his best friend most of his life, was the son of the England seeker, which instantly made him a force to be reckoned with. The Money wasn't as brilliant as everyone made out (he got paid as much as most people who worked at the ministry did) but the Potters were generous. And then Ron was his friend, well, most of the time. They were good for each other, making sure they stuck together and so on, but Michael often got the feeling that Ron didn't quiet trust him. Hermione was his study friend, siblings in arms. She didn't really care much about where he had come from, as she was almost oblivious to it. As long as he didn't disturb her when she was finishing a project. Then there was Little Elspeth Lupin. She was four years younger than them, but Harry and him had taken it upon themselves to keep an eye out for here. After all, Remus Lupin was a great friend to both of them, and Elspeth needed a helping hand from time to time. And yes, (although they did their best to make sure no one found out) she was a werewolf.
Michael was almost feeling relaxed as Draco Malfoy decided to grace the Gryffindor table with his presents. Michael sat back up, and tried to look interested in Ron's conversation about The Mongrel's music as he walked past. But, unfortunately, Draco wasn't looking for a fight. He had already set his target.
"Ah, Snape, good morning?"
Michael ignored him.
"Snape? Snaaape? Can you here me?" he drawled, "or are you deaf as well as inhuman?"
"Morning Malfoy," he answered, not even bothering to look up, "what lovely insult do you have for me this morning?"
Draco was a little taken aback as Michael's frankness, but carried on as his Slytherin followers watched him.
"Have you seen the news this morning?"
"No, I haven't. "
"Well, I suppose you already know, being part Psyxen and all. We all know they were in on it."
"In on what?" asked Michael, still trying to ignore him.
"The break in at the ministry. Apparently one of your kind broke in and went through ministry files. I suppose they were looking of ways to bring down our world around our heads. It seems the kind of senseless act that you might do."
"'Right Malfoy," said Michael, flashing his sea blue eyes at him, "you let me know when you've got an argument put together worth wasting my time on."
"It's, just, well, " sighed Malfoy with mock pathos, "It was the Metaphysic's ministry they broke into. They were messing around with a new project, some sort of weapon I suppose. I mean, that's all you people are good at, isn't it? Fighting and experimenting."
"Malfoy, if you're going to insult my race, at least get your facts straight." Replied Michael, a small chink in his almost impenetrable armour showing, "It's your family who're the death eaters, not mine."
There was a visible intake of breath from everyone around them. The Gryffindor's looked rather shocked at Michael's inept bluntness, while the Slytherin's look mortified, as if what Michael had said had been an insult to Malfoy's family name, rather than a badge of honour.
Draco Malfoy's nostrils visibly flared. His eyes widened at Michael's audacity, his sharp tongue blunted for a second. But then, as if suddenly realising that in his moment of weakness he had just hit the metaphorical jackpot, he gave the room in general a tight-lipped smile.
"But at least my family is in our world, Snape."
Michael suddenly looked up sharply. He stood up, the hall suddenly going quiet as Malfoy's revelation echoed around as the two blue eyes, one like ice, the other cobalt, met. They held each other's gaze, creating mild tension around themselves, before Michael whispered, in a voice so silent but so menacing that it seemed to fill the hall, "What did you say?"
"My father work's at the ministry, y'know. He has a proper job, not just searching for the dead. Your mother's dead and everyone knows that your father is off his rocker...."
"Wait a minute!" interrupted Harry. But Draco had already prepared his battle.
"Oh, and famous Potter's not all that brilliant either. Not with the company he keeps. Mud bloods and werewolf's and crazies and not to mention his business in metaphysisis'. Maybe he thinks that they might make him a half-decent seeker."
"Take that back!" Barked Harry.
But Draco ignored him, and turned back to Michael, "Oh, we know what they're doing, Snape. It's just if it weren't so incredibly useful, we'd tell Fudge."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Said Michael, looking considerably agitated.
"Oh, lets just say that the Snake knows what its doing." Said Draco before grinning nastily at him, and walking off.
"What the hell was that comment all about?" exploded Harry at Michael, who was simply looking on in the distance, his eyes in a half-trance as his fingers began to ball up into fists.
"I..... don't know." He answered, breathing out, his hands resting limply at his sides. He sat down and put his elbows on the table, made a bridge with his hands and placed his chin on it. He looked thoughtfully sideways and said, "Malfoy has it coming to him. He is going to get a fist rammed up his arse any day now."
"That's not a nice though over breakfast Mike." Said Hermione, a slightly weary expression on her face, "I really could have done without it."
"Bah." He replied, putting his head in his hands, "this is the kind of morning when there sickness over breakfast."
"I don't want to know." Retorted Hermione, "I wouldn't want to live in your world."
"Nor would I, if I had a choice." Added Michael, with a sly grin. He picked up some of his roll and ate it.
**********
The last line is one I use too often. It doesn't make sense, but you'll find that much of what Michael says doesn't make sense. He talks like many a weirdo I know and love. The idea for him is that he's the odd one out, but at the same time very much one of them. I don't know how that works, so thank you for reading.
Sincerely
Xandra the Blue. ----------------------- [1] Another thing that was much to Dumbledore's distaste. He had practically lobbied for ever student to stay, but, as usual, with a little scare mongering and a lot of court proceedings, the numbers decreased either out of parent's fear for their children, or because they had been forced out.