Chapter Eight: Ball and Brawl
Though Lili had always been impressed by the Great Hall, she found her breath actually stopped in her throat as they entered, her arm light and awkward through Draco's. Sparkling silver frost dripped down every wall. Hundreds of garlands zigzagged between the ceiling's twinkling stars, drenched in the bright but soft candlelight that flickered everywhere like liquid gold. The normal house tables had been replaced by many smaller ones, all draped in rich velvet cloths with mistletoe centerpieces. As she entered, flurries sifted down from the ceiling, tiny diamonds on the sleek silver of her dress.
"Wow," was all Dia could offer from beside her. Seamus was waiting across the room, already waving her over with his wide eyes. Millicent growled audibly as Dia went over to him, jaw set and looking more vicious than ever trussed up in periwinkle dress robes.
Lili met several glances, most of them cold. Her dress was twinkling wildly under the candlelight, iridescent rainbows bouncing around her like firecrackers.
She pressed her lips together, tight, probing her damp lipstick lightly with her tongue. She was clearly getting attention. Her dress had, for the last two days, been the subject of many conversations, the majority of which she was glad not to have heard. Mishal had warned her that a couple of Gryffindor girls were planning to feign an accident and spill their drinks on the gown that very night. The conspiracy had, as far as she could tell now, wilted into merely shooting her a few bitter sneers.
Draco, however, was basking in the celebrity. From the grin now overpowering his other features, she knew that he found nothing uncomfortable in the attention: he met every cool stare with a smirk.
She caught herself fiddling with her sleeve-ends. If only to have such aplomb…
Draco was turned, speaking to Crabbe and Goyle in slow, four-year-old tones. Lili sat down in a corner, wondering if people would stop looking at her long enough to let her look back. From a few sweeping glances, she caught sight of Dia and Seamus stealing into a far and shadowed corner along the opposite wall, leaning in towards each other, only their faces visible by candlelight. Most couples were dancing, including Harry Potter and his date, Ginny Weasley. They were actually rather clumsy, clomping around the dance floor, Potter looking as though it took every fiber of his being not to trod on her feet. Daniel and Pansy were making quite a display of the sort of romantic gymnastics that any couple but them would have had the decency to save for a more private setting. It wasn't until Dumbledore passed them with a heavy cough, that the two extricated themselves from one another and decided to give the dance floor a whirl.
Draco left to get their drinks. Lili found her eyes on the table, watching as several delicate flurries landed on the wood and dissolved into fading droplets.
"Miss Lee."
Her gaze shot up, heart attempting to leap out her mouth.
Snape stood over her, looking down his hooked nose, dark hair dotted white with snow.
"Professor." She stood, though she wasn't sure why. "I—I didn't expect to see you here."
"And why is that, Miss Lee?"
"Well, you— " She squirmed. Could she put this in a way that wouldn't seem-- rude? "I just thought, perhaps, you're not really—"
He arched an eyebrow. "I'm not the type for a ball, is that it, Miss Lee?"
"No, it's not that, it's just--well, um, yes, actually. I never took you for the social type."
"And you would be right. Dumbledore requested my presence here this evening. Chaperoning."
She bit her bottom lip, hard. He was standing rigid across from her, examining her with a cool distance she found disquieting. "Um, would you like to--sit?"
She winced as soon as she said it. Of course he wouldn't. Why would he want to sit down with her, in the middle of this ball, with everyone around them, and, with her, a student? Stupid, stupid.
"No thank you, Miss Lee," he said, watching her with a surprised but obvious distaste. "I believe that is Mister Malfoy's seat. I merely wished to tell you that your dress is as opulent as all accounts of it. Mister Malfoy seems to have found the perfect fit."
"Yes, um, thank you. You look—nice too."
It was a lie. He was wearing what he always wore: black and black. The only difference being that these particular black robes were of a thicker material and a different cut, causing them to billow off his gaunt body in a more formal and stately manner. He obviously hadn't bothered to wash his hair. Lili wondered if there was anything for which he'd be willing to wash it. The candlelight was not kind to him, causing his eyes to appear sunken and sharp over his washed-out cheeks.
The compliment had caught him off guard. He seemed, for a split second, embarrassed.
It wasn't an overwhelming transformation: a twitching at the corners of his mouth, a dilation of dark eyes, and a hasty withdrawal from his taut stance. He stretched out his fingers, thinking of touching the table, but withdrew them quickly. "Miss Lee, we are Slytherins: such empty flattery does not become us." It wasn't nearly as scathing as he would have liked. He had turned his eyes outward.
She joined him in looking away. "Professor?"
"Yes." It was a warning not to say anything else that might embarrass him.
"I was thinking about those Alleviolixirs still on order. Since there aren't any classes or anything, we could probably get some made later tonight. I'm pretty sure I'm ready to make them on my own now, and if we work about as fast as normal, we should be able to get, I dunno, ten or twelve done pulling through all night."
His face didn't turn back. "I think I can afford to give you the night off, Miss Lee."
"No, it's alright. I mean, this can't last more than three hours or so. I could be down there by eleven or twelve." She watched him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. "Actually I think it'd be a nice way to relax. I—I don't think I'm really too comfortable being out here on display in front of all these people either."
It was a risky thing to say something personal in front of Snape: quite often, he would merely mock her, rewarding her with some sarcastic remark and moving on as if she had said something of no importance whatsoever.
This time, however, he did not. "I will be making potions this evening. You have your hall pass."
He remained turned away and his silence suddenly made her very uncomfortable. Her lips parted as if to speak several times, but she could find nothing to say.
"Lili!"
Draco returned, two silver goblets tinkling in his hands. He looked up at Snape with an odd mixture of casual recognition and Slytherin camaraderie. "Oh, hello, Professor."
"Mister Malfoy. I was just complimenting your date on her attire. Your father has impeccable taste--as always."
Malfoy simpered so broadly Lili thought his face my crack along the seam. He chose not to acknowledge the comment, a back-handed tactic she'd noticed quite common in Slytherin. "Lili, would you like to dance? I'm sure we could wipe the floor with Potter and the Weasley twerp." It was a winning smile, as he offered her his arm.
She was careful not let her eyes flicker back to Snape as she took Draco's arm, awkward but attempting grace. "That sounds wonderful." She set her goblet down and watched as tiny flakes skated along the yellow skim of the cider within.
"I'll see you later, Professor."
But Snape was already lost in a flurry of dress robes, making for the opposite side of the Hall.
She and Draco danced for almost an hour. Lili did well considering the only practice she'd had was with her father as a girl. Draco was surprisingly gifted, leading her across the floor with a grace and an ease that seemed, for him, at once appropriate and incongruous. They chuckled about many things: the couples around them, Daniel and Pansy's mysterious disappearance after only thirty minutes, and, of course, Hagrid's poor attempt at a dance with Professor McGonagall. "I'd be surprised if she doesn't end up on the bottom of the big lout's boot," Draco snorted, whirling Lili so quickly that her dress blossomed and contracted in a burst of sparkles. "If only I could get him to dance with Vector, I wouldn't have to worry about that homework over the break…"
By the time Dumbledore called for quiet in the hall, Lili and Draco had retired to a table, drinking lazily. The Headmaster raised his glass to all the seventh year students, especially this year's Head Boy and Girl, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. The two Slytherins listened, impatient, as he extolled their virtues. Lili busied herself searching the many tables for Professor Snape. He had already left.
"And so, may you all—even in these times—remember that joy is what we're fighting for and so, accordingly we ought to enjoy a perfectly lovely holiday filled with presents and sweets and of course a good many pairs of warm, woolen socks!" The Headmaster beamed, taking a long drawl from his goblet and staring out with twinkling eyes.
Both she and Draco raised their glasses only slightly and without much attention. The apple cider poured warm down her throat.
There were a few moments of awkward silence before Malfoy sighed elaborately, stretching. "Well, it looks as though Dia and that Seamus stooge are leaving," he observed, gesturing towards the Great Hall's doors.
Sure enough, the two of them were tiptoeing out of the Hall, looking nervous. Lili returned Draco's sigh. She hoped they weren't going to get themselves in trouble.
"I had a nice evening. You're not a bad dancer."
"Nothing like you. You do it with such ease," Lili said, running her fingers around the edge of her goblet, trying to avoid his eyes.
"Father has tons of functions at the Manor. I had no choice but to learn."
She smiled, trying not to show just how tired she was feeling. It must have been around midnight by now. She was beginning to kick herself for promising Snape to drop by and help…
Snow began to fall in large, delicate flakes from the ceiling and several of the castle's ghosts flew out of the walls, weaving in and out of one another in an elaborate display. Lili was barely able to suppress a groan.
"I think the synchronized flying is my cue to go." She stood, brushing the light pepper of snowflakes from her gown.
"Stay a bit longer. There aren't any classes-- live a little. People will start calling you Hermione if you don't unwind every once and a while."
She smiled. There was something sincere behind the insult—at least it seemed there was. But she was too tired to endure more grandeur. Somehow, at that moment, nothing sounded better than being bathed in the steam of a softly simmering cauldron, alone—or, close enough to alone. "We'll see who thinks they can get away with calling me 'Hermione'. Besides, I promised Professor Snape I'd help him make a few more potions before tomorrow." She attempted not to blush as she said the next bit. "But I did have a wonderful evening. Thank you so much for everything: the dancing, the dress robes. I don't know how to thank you."
This seemed to please him enough, and he waved one hand, nodding. "No need to thank me. I will see you bright and early tomorrow morning, yes?"
"I'll be ready."
Her legs almost gave out several times taking the stairs down to the dungeons. Too much dancing, she decided. And taut nerves. And perhaps too many stairs…
Her mind was already in the dungeons, sitting over her cauldron, watching the soothing bubbles of blue, smelling the thick scent of fairywing and venus root. She hoped Snape had left the door unlocked so she could slip in and get to work with little or no interruption.
She passed the familiar statue of Weltrag the Wealthy, whose particularly crooked smile had always reminded her vaguely of Draco. It was normally her best landmark for finding the staircase leading to the dungeons. Passing it this time, however, she caught a wisp of gown on Weltrag's pointed shoes, and, bending over to extricate herself, she saw a hair-thin line of torchlight just behind Weltrag's shoulder.
Stepping close and quiet, she tried to peak through the tiny crack where, she knew at once, someone must be hiding.
Mmmf.
She pushed her ear up to the goblin's shoulders.
It's not a big deal—
No, I know, I just, I don't want to, that's all..
Lili stopped her breath behind her teeth. The second voice had been Dia's. The first Seamus'.
I don't understand, Dia. We've been seeing each other for so long. Come on, please. Just kiss me. I won't do anything you don't want, I promise….
Lili's heart was beating. She shouldn't be hearing this…
No, I don't think so, Seamus. I think I'm getting tired. I'd like to go back to my common room.
Come on.
There was a muffled thud. She tried to quiet her breath to hear more. Was he keeping her there? She found it difficult to make out anything over the thundering of her heart.
Seamus, don't. I mean it.
There was no reply, just light shufflings.
The Ball's getting out soon, someone will hear you…
Again no response. Dia's voice shook more and more.
Stop, Seamus—Her voice grew muffled.
Lili's hand moved instinctively to her wand. She raked her hands and eyes over the statue, trying to figure out how exactly they'd gotten to the passageway behind it. She could find no entrance, and Dia's stifled voice had altogether disappeared.
She aimed her wand at the statue and blasted it in two.
"Dia?"
The sound of scurrying feet.
"Lili!"
She held her wand out further but could make out only Dia's figure, trembling against the wall. "Dia, are you okay? Where's Finnigan?"
"He—he ran when he heard the statue explode. I think he's headed for the other end." Lili could hear the sobs jostling in her throat.
"Look, Dia. You're alright. --Now tell me, where does this passage come out?"
"He had his mouth and his tongue and his hands—"
"Look at me, Dia," Lili pressed, squeezing the girl's bony shoulders. "It's okay. I'll take care of it. Just tell me where this passage comes out."
She swallowed, still not looking up. "Near the Gryffindor common room. Across from the Fat Lady's painting, behind a tapestry."
"Can you make it to the common room?"
"Yes-- I can."
She offered Dia another squeeze and as warm a smile as she could manage with her blood so full of heat. "Alright, tell Artibius to go get Malfoy and to meet me at the portrait of the Fat Lady. Hui and Mishal will take care of you. Everyone will be out of the Ball soon. Trust me."
Staying only long enough to see Dia disappear in the direction of the common room, she jumped out from behind the statue and sailed down stairs, through corridors and past paintings, forgetting momentarily her earlier fatigue. Her hot skin sweat, her teeth clenched. The hand about her wand tightened to white.
By the time she reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, she was unsure if Finnigan had already made it into the common room or if the passageway was just circuitious enough...
She waited, crouched behind a suit of armor, until several seconds later, Seamus' thin figure popped out, making a dash for the portrait hole.
"Petrificus totalus!"
The dashing boy fell forward with all his weight, stiff. His eyes were wide and dilated, darting madly as they tried to find the assailant's form.
She stood over him a moment, relishing the look of wide black circles quivering in white. She aimed her wand straight at his face and, whispering, levitated him from ground until he was standing straight. She grabbed his neck, forcing him against the wall.
The Fat Lady, awoken from her slumber, let out quite a scream. Seamus could make no noise at all.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?"
"Mmmm-mm-mff--" he replied.
She could feel herself shaking all over, Dia's pale, expressionless face still grey in her mind's eye. "You think you're some mighty Gryffindor who can impose himself wherever you like, hmm? Go and slum a bit with a Slytherin like Godric's bloody stud?"
A desperate squeak.
"What you fail to realize, is that Slytherin has friends. Friends who won't see her disrespected …"
Seamus' eyes were filling with tears, and his face blanched. Part of her was screaming, in a rage, thinking up any number of curses to reel off. But deeper down--
No, he deserves this. It's for Dia.
Her hand gripped his thin neck more tightly. "You're going to pay for what you did to Dia, I swear by Circe." She dug her wand into his side, hard. "You and all your other high-and-mighty Gryff friends would do well to remember: anyone stupid enough to disrespect a Slytherin like that will pay the price, do you understand?"
He was too wide-eyed and ash-faced to respond.
She shoved the wand tighter against him, whispering a soft curse. He shuddered in pain.
"Do you understand?"
Seamus had stopped kicking his feet or struggling in any way. He nodded.
It was only now that she realized someone was behind her. She turned, letting Seamus slide to the floor in an eruption of coughs and gasps.
Malfoy stood, watching her through steel eyes. He pointed forward to Seamus trying to stand.
She held out her hand, shaking from a frenzy of nerves and impulses. Seamus found himself hovering slowly off the ground again as he tried to run. She concentrated hard, breathing deep and hot.
He rose higher and higher until finally his body was above even the top of the Fat Lady's frame.
It took every fiber of Lili's being to keep him in the air. She wasn't exactly sure why she was doing it, but it was clearly terrifying Seamus who, having regained full use of his limbs, was thrashing about in mid-air, begging her to let him go, apologizing for what he had tried to do. "I—I didn't mean it—oh, please let me down—I didn't mean to hurt her—"
A flash through her veins. "Didn't mean to hurt her? Didn't mean to hurt her?" She pulled back her hand, letting him fall about nine or ten feet to the hard floor. He let out a howl of pain, but clearly wasn't hurt.
It was only now that Malfoy and his two henchmen emerged from the shadows, circling Seamus, Slytherin vultures. Artibius fluttered down and nipped lightly on Lili's ear.
"What do we have here?" Malfoy sneered, stopping as Crabbe and Goyle continued their circuits. "Gryffindor trash who thinks himself good enough to even touch Dia Morrighan." He kicked at Seamus who was trying, again, to stand. "You're too dirty to even say that name, Mudblood." He spat. "I would think in times like these your kind would know better than to attempt such unions. People are watching, and there will soon be consequences for trash like you…."
Seamus finally managed to push himself up, slouching towards the portrait hole. Malfoy stepped even closer, blocking his way, the two boys now toe to toe, eye to eye. "What I mean to say is…if you ever think about coming near Dia again…you'll have more than Slytherin house to contend with. I promise."
It was a thick threat, and one that made even Lili squirm. She wasn't sure she understood the intimation, but, if she did—if he meant—
She took that moment to remember something Harry Potter had told her. Malfoy's father had been a Death Eater…
But surely he couldn't mean…
Serious or not, it was enough to cause Seamus to flash them both a look of extreme disgust before scurrying through the Fat Lady's distressed portrait.
Mudblood. It was a term Lili heard whispered in every corner of Slytherin. It wasn't one she preferred to use. Blood didn't interest her: as far as she was concerned plenty of people were bad enough without having to look any deeper than personality. Especially Finnigan.
Malfoy turned to her, something guarded but unmistakably wild in his face. "Doesn't look like you needed much help. You scared the living daylights out of him."
She nodded. It had felt good for a while, but now her stomach was turning, wrenching. "If I didn't, that surely did. You…you weren't serious, were you?"
"Why shouldn't I be? People like Finnigan disgust me."
The air clotted. He turned to look at her, and she stared back, his pale skin drenched in the shadows. He was watching her as if, somehow, she could understand this feeling: as if, somehow, the words she had said meant the same thing as his.
"I should get back and see about Dia."
It was the second time in her life she had felt this—this hot shiver of guilt. The first had been seeing Hermione Granger breathless on the stone floor.
No, she reassured herself. This was different. Finnigan deserved everything he got. And more.
Crabbe and Goyle's dim eyes felt very heavy on her shoulders. They were looking at her with a respect usually only reserved for Malfoy.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Draco."
"Tell Dia I'm sorry she had to deal with that."
"Yes, I will. I'll be sure she reports him too. Should give McGonagall something to go on about."
He looked at her for a long moment, as if trying to understand a particularly perplexing Arithmancy equation. "You can't really be that naïve, can you?"
"What?"
"Nothing," he sighed, turning back to the Fat Lady with clicking, hollow steps. "Perhaps she should report it—worth a try. But what McGonagall won't do, we can."
She nodded.
And who was "we"?
She pulled a grin to cover the thought. "G'night Draco."
She was shaking, hot to the bone. Every word she had said now came shooting back at her, accusing, with the harsh sting of a ricocheting curse. She wasn't sure where the guilt was coming from. He tried to take advantage of Dia, her best friend: why should she feel anything but joy to see him cower in fear? She had meant everything she'd said: she would be sure he paid, one way or another. But, somehow, it wasn't the same as what Draco had said. They sounded the, but, somehow, his words stuck in her gut, a splinter of threats and pedigree. For a split second she had felt as though she was standing somewhere else: a different world, a different time—as though she had been watching Seamus, hunched on the floor, through the dark of a mask and a hood...
She shuddered and deliberately sped up. A foolish thought. She was a Slytherin: she of all people should know that Slytherin didn't have to mean…
But she didn't even want to think it.
Half-way down the corridor, she turned back to see Draco still standing straight, silhouetted in the torchlight, staring up at the Fat Lady with a flat, defiant smile.
"No, Lili: I won't."
She had shaken her head, vehement.
Lili begged her for at least an hour, but Dia had still refused to report Seamus to anyone.
"Why won't you tell Professor McGonagall?" Lili had handed her another tissue. "I can understand that it's embarrassing, but McGonagall's, well, sort of a woman. And besides, Seamus is in her house."
Dia's face was ghostly pale—even more than normal. She had pulled the covers up to her chin and turned away everyone but Lili. "And what will McGonagall say? 'What were you two doing sneaking around the castle by yourselves anyway?' Come on, Lili. Who would believe me? Seamus is a Gryffindor, a Quidditch player—one of the highest in our class. And you think McGongall would listen to me, a Slytherin--nobody."
Her face, though pale as death, was covered with a shadow dark enough to make Lili swallow hard. Suddenly she understood what Draco meant about being naïve.
"The Gryffindors could get away with murder—just look at Harry Potter and crew," she snapped, wiping at her eyes. "They do nothing but break rules, and when Draco reports them, it's usually him that ends up in detention somehow…"
"Alright, then. Tell Snape. If anyone will stand up for a Slytherin, it's Snape."
"You think I want to tell Snape about this!" It was almost a shriek. "No, no. Not for all the Galleons in Gringotts. I feel bad enough without—just think of what he'd say, Lili. The man doesn't care about anything…"
Lili had been struck by the urge to defend him: again, she wasn't sure why. It was certainly true; she had trouble mustering enough courage to ask him for another jar of fairywing, let alone telling him anything so personal. But still, some part of her had to believe that he would understand--that he would make things right.
"I'll tell him then, Dia. He'll listen to me. You won't have to come near him."
She still refused. She thanked Lili for standing up for her and then, with a sniffle, turned away, pulling the sheets over her head.
So Lili had changed from her heavy gown and trudged down to the dungeons, cold and weak, losing herself in the deep black hollow of the cauldron. She added a touch more scarab beetle.
"Miss Lee? Is something bothering you?"
She didn't look up at him, nor did he stop stirring or glancing at his book. "What?"
He cleared his throat, sitting back and watching the blue liquid to bubble and froth. "You seem to have something on your mind."
She had to clench her teeth a moment to keep the entire story about Dia from jumping out her mouth. "No, it's nothing really."
"I see."
He pulled an excorior from the table beside him and began skimming his potion carefully. His hair was damp with steam, and he pushed it loosely from his face.
They worked for hours in silence, both competing in an unspoken battle of wills. Their arms drooped and their legs seemed weak, but neither gave any hint of stopping. Lili wondered if he was afraid, as she was, of going to bed, of being stuck with nothing but his own thoughts…
Finally, around three-thirty in the morning, Snape, having scraped the thin layer of white Alleviolixir into an empty vial, wilted into a nearby chair.
She lifted her head, which seemed forty pounds heavier than a mere hour before.
"I think we'd better call it a night, Miss Lee," he sighed, wiping the steam and sweat from his face. His lips were parched-white even in the shadow of his nose. "I'm sure we can finish the order tomorrow night, thanks to your diligence this evening."
She blinked. "Oh—um, I'm sorry. You didn't know. I'm not going to be here tomorrow."
It was his turn to raise his head. "What?"
"I—That is, Malfoy's family has invited me to stay with them for the rest of the Christmas holidays."
It was an odd look that met her as she said this. Snape's eyes, which had been so dim, flashed with life, his limp muscles suddenly stiffening. "Malfoy Manor?"
"Erm, yes." He was staring straight into her. "I—I thought it was a kind gesture. You know, since my Dad…"
Snape stood and swept across the room, stopping at a counter where he went about arranging and rearranging bottles of scarab beetles. "Miss Lee—" But he too fell off. The bottles clinked together several moments before he seemed able to speak again. "Well, I suppose, then, I shall have to give you your Christmas present now."
Her stomach flipped like a pancake.
As Snape disappeared into his office, she tried to wipe the shock from her face, fiddling with her sleeve ends again. A gift? Why in the hell would he have gotten her a gift? She hadn't gotten him anything—would he expect something? She realized coolly that she wouldn't have the first clue what he'd want…
He emerged once again, a box wrapped in silver and green in his hand. He extended it towards her.
She took it from his thin fingers as lightly as she could. The tag atop, scrawled in neat, green ink, read, "From Professor S. Snape to his pupil and the 'Queen of Slytherin,' Miss Elizabeth Lee." She felt a searing blush erupt across her cheeks. She hadn't thought he knew her popular epithet…
"I'm not in the habit of giving many gifts," he said, shifting between his feet. "So don't expect anything spectacular. I merely thought that you have made yourself helpful and perhaps--Open it."
As keen to avoid his eyes as he was hers, she set to pulling the wrapping carefully, trying to steady her hands. She peeled back the paper to reveal a simple cardboard box. She opened it slowly.
Inside, under several sheets of tissue paper, were two books.
Of course, books. What else would he have gotten her? What else mattered to him?
She pulled them out, setting the box on a table behind her. "Complex Concoctions by David R. Fitzwellington." It was a thick hardback, elegant black with silver lettering. She flipped through it for several moments, glancing at a rather complicated diagram of a plant called Andripitus forscathion.
"I'll admit to being a bit mercenary. These are the most complex potions imaginable. The Ministry has just ordered a couple of them, and it would be beneficial if you could acquaint yourself with some of the properties and ingredients."
She closed the book with a thud, forcing a smile. "Of course. I'll have a look at it over the holidays." She turned to the next book, a thin and tattered paperback. It was obviously used and quite roughly from the looks of it. She read the title silently. Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky. The pages inside were dog-eared and heavily marked.
"Oh, that is a Muggle book. You said you didn't know much about Muggle literature, and this is just a—recommendation."
She wondered, for a moment, why, then, he'd given her this old copy. He certainly wasn't, she supposed, in the habit of giving people gifts. "Thank you, professor. I confess, I didn't think to get you anything."
"Miss Lee, I long ago stopped expecting gifts from anyone. But--your services here have been adequate compensation."
That was, she guessed, some Slytherin equivalent of a 'thank you.' Uncomfortable with gratitude, especially from Snape, she turned and busied herself setting the books back in the cardboard box.
He too seemed more anxious than he'd have liked and took to examining a nearby cauldron, wiping at its lip. "How—how long will you be at the Malfoys'?"
"Two weeks. Until the start of classes." She placed the lid back on the box and hefted it under her arm.
"I see."
And then— "Professor—the Malfoys—they were—Death Eaters?"
Snape seemed shrink under his skin. His eyes turned up, dark. "What?"
"Draco's father was—a Death Eater. He was in Azkaban, is that right? But he was acquitted --twice-. And tonight, Draco—he said something—it made me wonder." The air of the dungeon was frozen, warm steam all shriveled into quiet. As she spoke, puffs of white air formed and dissolved from her mouth.
And then, quite unexpectedly, Snape stepped towards her. She felt the overwhelming urge to recoil, her body shivering, but she kept her eyes straight on his, held.
"Miss Lee." His voice was soft, a tone that made her heart race even faster. "The Malfoys are a—powerful family. Mister Malfoy was acquitted of the Death Eater charge when he was younger and again just two years ago. He was, he said--and everyone at the Ministry eventually agreed—under the Imperius Curse."
But do you agree? She couldn't force her cold lips apart.
"Just keep your eyes open, that's all. You'll see all you need to answer that question." She felt as if his eyes were burning into her skin.
For the second time that evening, she was both shivering and sweating, bones hot, skin pricked with goose pimples.
"As for Draco, I think—I think you will be good for him." He looked away now, straightening the left sleeve of his cloak with great care. "Who knows what he is."
Her knees objected with a wobble, and her skin was flushing from the manic hot-and-cold of it all. She wanted nothing more than to get away. To bed, if not to sleep.
"Th-thank you for the books, Professor. I'll have a look at some of these potions and be ready for work when I get back."
He nodded, returning to his scarab beetles with a brusque expression. It was his way of telling her that the conversation was over, and that she was not to act as if anything particular had just been said.
She opened her mouth to say something more but changed her mind. Her fingers fumbled for the door handle, cold and metal.
"Good night, Professor."
"Good night, Miss Lee."