The Time For Silence
Characters and main events leading to this story belong to JK Rowling.
To Vera, as a very humble birthday present, yet hopefully more tasty than a virtual cake.
ooo
7.
"Oh, yes! Wonderful! That girl is extraordinary!" squealed Minerva, her eyes glued to the Omnioculars.
"Damn it, Minerva! Take me off the wall! That's my team for which you're jumping up and down like an excited Niffler!"
Minerva sighed, put the Omnioculars down, lifted Snape's portrait and carried it to the window.
"Can you see?"
"My eye-sight has always been excellent... Oh, dash it all, pass me the Omnioculars!"
Minerva carefully placed the Omnioculars in front of the portrait's eyes.
"Draco isn't there," grumbled Severus.
"The girls are fantastic, though. Can I have the Omnioculars back?"
"Minerva, I want you to call Horace."
"Now?"
"The Quidditch trials are now. That's when I want Draco on the pitch."
"Why? Miss Parkinson is a much better Seeker..."
"We'll talk about that later. Get Horace, please."
Minerva sighed and lifted her wand. The silver cat with spectacle markings slipped out of the room.
"He'll be coming. Can I have the Omnioculars now?"
"Of course you can!"
"Urquhart is a real idiot if he doesn't get the girls on the team."
"Minerva, do you realise this is the Slytherin team you are talking about?"
"Of course. Girls on the Slytherin team!"
"If I'd known that would make you so happy..."
Severus left his sentence hanging for Minerva to interpret it the way she liked, but when it came to Quidditch issues, Minerva lost all coherence and self-control. Severus was glad when Horace walked into the office. Annoyed, though: the man had been taking his time. Severus had always made a point of coming fast when the Headmaster called.
"Yes, Minerva, I mean Headmistress."
"Look, Horace, the Quidditch trials!"
"Oh yes, indeed. May I summon a more comfortable chair?"
"Horace, I didn't invite you to watch a Quidditch match out of the window," snapped Severus. "I want Draco Malfoy on the pitch."
"You want...? But Severus..."
"Why isn't Draco Malfoy on the pitch?"
"But... Because Draco Malfoy doesn't want to be on the pitch."
"Well, I want him there. Go and tell Draco I want him on the pitch now."
Slughorn cast a wistful glance at Minerva's straight-backed chairs and walked out.
ooo
Draco was lying on his back gazing moodily at the ceiling. He had finished all his homework and couldn't think what to do with himself. He saw no point in studying anything that hadn't been required by the school curriculum. He wasn't interested in reading or listening to Theo's exposition on the different types of Slytherins. He could go for a walk, but it would be hard not to hear the racket that was going on around the Quidditch pitch. Girls on the team. Draco hoped they fell off their brooms and broke their necks. Especially Pansy. She thought she could be a Seeker, did she? All she was good for seeking was a rich man, and even that she had missed. Something must be wrong with Snape's portrait. And with Sluggy. Well, it was obvious a lot was wrong with Sluggy.
"Professor Slughorn wants to talk to you."
Theo had poked his head into the dormitory. Draco could tell he was annoyed at having been interrupted in the middle of his Slytherin discussion with Blaise.
"Tell him I'm sleeping."
"Tell him yourself."
Theo's head disappeared.
Theo had never obeyed Draco's orders. He wasn't going to start now.
Draco considered staying on his bed, but what was the point of staring at the ceiling and wondering what Slughorn wanted? He dragged himself up.
Professor Slughorn was sitting in the best armchair, telling Blaise something about West being connected to the element of water.
"What?" barked Draco, stomping into the common-room.
"Ah, Malfoy. Professor Snape wants you on the Quidditch pitch."
"Professor Snape's dead."
"Tell that to his portrait."
"It's trials for girls. I'm not a girl."
"It's trials for everybody." Slughorn's voice was calm, but it had dangerous undertones.
"Who says I have to play Quidditch?"
"Professor Snape does and if you tell me he's dead, it's detention."
"A' right," muttered Draco.
Kicking his feet on the stone steps, he trudged out of the dungeon, to the bright, noisy, hostile outside world. He kicked pebbles on the way to the Quidditch pitch. It was almost fun. He splashed a few into the lake. West is related to the element of water, what crap.
ooo
"Malfoy is there," said Minerva, who had the Omnioculars.
"I know. I'd recognise that hair anywhere. Is Horace with him?"
"No. Malfoy is alone."
"Perhaps you ought to go down there, then. I hope you understand this isn't about Quidditch. It's about Draco. The boy used to love flying."
Minerva put the Omnioculars down.
"I'm going."
ooo
All the girls were screeching and hugging each other. Greg was looking at Milly as if he'd never seen her before.
"Come to try out, Malfoy?" called Urquhart.
There seemed to be a jinx on the position of Quidditch captain. Whoever was captain became blind to all external considerations. Urquhart only cared about one thing:having the best team possible to win the Cup. Political affiliation and war record were forgotten.
"Parkinson's Seeker. But you might do well as Keeper."
Keeper? Draco shrugged.
"Try it."
Urquhart seemed quite eager.
Ha, the team couldn't do without him.
"I'll get my broom."
.
When Draco emerged from the changing room, the mood had changed. The girls had stopped screeching and hugging and Urquhart looked nervous. Professor McGonagall had joined Madam Hooch in the stands.
Draco raised an eyebrow and decided he didn't care about the old hag. He swung his leg over the broom, gripped the handle and kicked off. Cold air rushed at his face. The pitch, McGonagall, Urquhart, Pansy and her silly friends, all shrunk beneath him. He was free. He was above it all. Higher and higher he soared, further away from Hogwarts
Exhilaration. Ecstasy. Lightness. He had forgotten what it felt like.
"What's he playing at?" grumbled Urquhart.
"He is much too high." Professor McGonagall grabbed a broom.
"I'll get him," said Madam Hooch.
But Professor McGonagall was off.
She looked just like a witch in a Muggle book, thought Milly, with her pointed hat piercing the wind.
Draco's eyes were beginning to water. His ears ached. Could he reach that cloud?
The pitch had shrunk beneath her. Cold air rushed at her face.
Exhilaration. Ecstasy. Lightness. She had forgotten what it felt like.
"Malfoy!"
He ignored her.
"Malfoy! Come down!"
Draco laughed drunkenly.
"You'll get pneumonia if you fly into that cloud!"
"What do you care?"
"Down!"
Draco didn't want to go down. Ever.
"Down!"
Professor McGonagall whipped out her wand. Draco saw her mouthing a word he didn't hear and his broom dived. Hogwarts, the pitch, Urquhart, Pansy and her silly friends, all rose to meet him. His feet smoothly reached the ground. The air was stiflingly still.
"Why did you do that?" snarled Urquhart.
"I like flying. I want to be Chaser, not Keeper."
"We'll see about that."
Professor McGonagall had landed with unexpected grace. She handed her broom to Madam Hooch, who was watching her with undisguised admiration. Her cheeks were flushed and her glasses flashed strangely.
"That was incredibly foolish and irresponsible, Malfoy!"
"I want to be Chaser!"
"You want? It's about time you learned you are not getting everything you want. What say you, Madam Hooch?"
"Malfoy is a good flyer, but unfocused. You can't just disappear into a cloud in the middle of a match, boy."
"I won't do that! I want Slytherin to win!"
"Er, shall I give him a go?" asked Urquhart.
Professor McGonagall pinched her lips.
"Consider yourself lucky Professor Snape wants you on the team, Malfoy. And remember: no flying above a hundred feet or you are definitely out."
.
"I don't like it," said Madam Hooch, as Professor McGonagall took place next to her in her stands. "Malfoy was a Death Eater. They've already got Goyle on the team, and now the girls. I didn't say anything, because I am glad the girls are in at last... But Malfoy... That's too much. It doesn't look good, you know. Too many Death Eater sympathisers."
"Severus says..."
"No offence, Minerva, you know I have always admired you..."
" But...?"
"But you are the headmistress. And you aren't acting like one."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You are a splendid flyer... but it was my job to go after Malfoy."
Minerva's glasses flashed again. Rolanda felt uncomfortable: it was a rather liquid flash.
"Get a grip, Minerva." Her voice was somewhat softer. "I hardly ever hear you speak, these days, without beginning your sentence with 'Professor Snape says' or 'Severus thinks'. No offence to Severus, he is a hero..."
"But...?" whispered Minerva.
"But he is dead."
"The portraits are there to help me."
"Dumbledore never let the portraits boss him around."
The glasses glistened towards the other end of the pitch. Malfoy was being acclaimed.
"He can focus when he wants to," muttered Rolanda. "What that boy needs is discipline."
Minerva blew her nose.
"Quidditch can provide him with the structure and discipline he needs. I think that's what Severus..."
She blew her nose again.
"How about moving Severus to the Slytherin common room?"
"Tradition demands that the previous headmasters' portraits should be in the Headmaster's... Headmistress' office."
"Tradition demands the Headmistress keep her feet on the ground while the flying instructor pulls students out of the clouds."
"Yes, well..."
"It's been a long time, hasn't it? Since you were last on a broom?"
Minerva nodded vaguely.
"You see, Rolanda, Quidditch is where these students can find their place again."
"I am a flying instructor, not a post-trauma therapist."
"Not a what?"
"Forget it. It's a Muggle thing."
"I am responsible for these students, Rolanda."
"So long as it's you and not a dead man..."
"Rolanda!"
"What? I said no offence, didn't I? And Urquhart is the one who'll make the decision. It's just that it won't look good."
"It will make a good match."
"I thought you were all for inter-house co-operation and friendship."
"Generally speaking, that's the aim. But this is Quidditch."
"Yes, this is Quidditch," nodded Rolanda.
ooo
"Malfoy is in. You can be happy now."
"Happy?" repeated Snape's portrait.
"Rolanda thinks it's bad for Slytherin's image."
Snape frowned. Minerva took advantage of his silence to ask,
"May I rest before you send me off on another mission?"
"You'll have plenty of time to rest when you're a portrait."
"Why don't you rest?"
"You know why, Minerva."
"All right. Well, I am taking the night off."
"Minerva!"
She froze, but didn't turn to look at him.
"If you are having a cat's night, please bring back some rat spleens for the Potions classroom."
The heavy oak door slammed noisily.
ooo
"Minerva!" exclaimed Slughorn, aghasted. "Things aren't done that way."
" New ideas have to be introduced sometimes. A second portrait of Professor Snape in the Slytherin common room will be helpful to everyone. The students will be able to speak to him without coming to my office, and both of us will be better off if he spends less time badgering us ."
"Well, you do have a point..."
After all, thought Horace, if Snape's portrait wanted to take on the role of eternal Head of Slytherin, he, Horace Slughorn, might be able to go back to his well-deserved retirement. Granger, Longbottom, Weasley and Lovegood would be out of school next year. He was an old man. It was time to move on.
And if he was not mistaken, in a few years, the school would count two new Slytherin teachers, perhaps even three, and a Slytherin librarian. If Severus had been a good Head of house, there was no reason why Blaise couldn't be.
Hadn't he, Horace Slughorn, done his bit for Slytherin and for his own conscience by contributing to the downfall of Tom Riddle? Undeniably.
"That's an excellent idea you had, Minerva. What a pity you were never part of the Slug Club."
She sniffed.
"If I remember rightly, in those days, girls were not considered important enough."
"My mistake, my dear, my big mistake..."