Chapter 6
The stew took time to cook, and by the time it was done, Harry was surprised to find that he was famished. Snape had assisted the Gryffindor since he was not particularly familiar with cooking on a wood-burning stove – albeit while adding snide comments that if the boy had paid attention more in potions, he wouldn't be quite so mystified. Harry wasn't so sure that the professor's assertion was true, but he wasn't about to contradict the man, not after narrowly escaping expulsion.
Draco, meanwhile, had apparently decided to spend his time being as annoying as possible. At first, he complained that the meal was taking too long, and then he devolved into comments on how he was oh so bored. Harry had rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time when Snape finally snapped and informed the blond that if he couldn't find something to occupy his time then something would be found for him, and it would likely involve researching the mundane uses of flobberworms. The Slytherin boy had quickly chosen to retreat to the other room, leaving the professor and the Gryffindor to cook in peace.
When the stew was finished, Snape declared they would eat in the parlor, since the dining room had yet to open (presuming there was one). They each carried their own bowl – with Draco having to be ordered to do so by his head of house – and situated themselves around the coffee table. Snape sat in the middle of the long side with his back to the couch, and the two teenagers took up the space at each end. Once they were settled in place, they began eating in silence, but a nagging thought kept prickling at Harry's mind.
"Professor, can I – I mean, may I ask a question?" The Gryffindor asked.
"If you must." Came the silky reply.
Harry stirred the spoon in his bowl. "Why does time feel strange in here? Logically, it seems like it should only be time for lunch –"
"And yet, your senses are telling you that this feels more like the evening meal?" Snape finished for him without looking up from his stew.
The raven-haired boy nodded. The professor had hit the nail on the head. "The light coming in from the windows has gotten dimmer, like the sun is setting or something."
The professor glanced up. "How very observant of you." He said, his voice snide. "Too bad those observation skills are often lacking in the classroom."
From his side of the coffee table, Draco snorted in amusement.
"To answer your question, though, Potter, time is compressed in the cube." Snape said. He took another bite of his stew, then continued. "What takes 24 hours in the regular world occurs in less than half that time here. If we remain for very long, you will notice that there is only time enough for one main meal per day."
"Oh. That makes sense, I guess." Harry said before the conversation lapsed into silence. The Gryffindor figured he should probably take that time to consider what questions he should ask next, but instead, he found his thoughts drifting to his two best friends. Were they sitting down right now to dinner in the Great Hall? Had they been worried about him all day? Had Hermione spent her free hours in the library – dragging Ron along with her - to research how to rescue him? They were supposed to have Potions tomorrow, which would probably be a free period now that Snape was stuck in here. They would have time to spend in the library then. And what had his teachers or Dumbledore been doing?
By either providence or coincidence, Harry and the two Slytherins each finished their stews at approximately the same time. Without being asked, the Gryffindor collected the bowls and utensils, and carried them into the kitchen to be washed. His actions earned him a raised brow from the potions instructor, but the man did not comment.
The boy-who-lived was busy washing the second bowl when Draco appeared behind him.
"That stew wasn't half bad, Potter," The blond drawled.
Harry tensed. The Slytherin boy was not one to hand out free compliments. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco move to his side – to the same spot Snape had occupied an hour or so before.
"And you seem to be accustomed to manual labor." The Malfoy heir said as he watched Harry wash the bowl by hand, his lip curled up in disgust.
The Gryffindor waited. He wasn't quite sure where Draco was going with this, but it was probably nowhere good. Just as he began washing one of the spoons, the other boy spoke again.
"You know, if you need somewhere to stay after you are expelled, I may be able to convince Father to allow you to work in the Manor kitchens. It might do you some good to learn your proper place."
Harry paused and looked over at his classmate. Apparently, Draco had not yet been informed that he was not going to be expelled after all. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Malfoy? Having me serve you?"
The other boy smirked. "Obviously. Of course, you'd have to be supervised by the house elves. Can't have you spitting in my soup."
Closing his eyes, the Gryffindor resisted the urge to dunk Draco's head in the soapy water. It wouldn't do for Snape to walk back his decision about having Harry expelled because of a sudden assault on one of his precious Slytherins – even if said Slytherin was one of the biggest bullies the raven-haired boy had ever known.
As the blond quickly grew bored and retreated to the parlor, Harry tried to imagine what would be worse – being expelled and going to live with the Dursleys full time or having the same thing happen and working for the Malfoys. On the one hand, he would be living with Dudley; on the other, he would have to deal with Draco. Both were bullies, but his cousin was more physical while the Malfoy heir preferred verbal assaults. Both were cowards, though Harry supposed Dudley would be easier to outwit than Draco.
Placing the third and final bowl on the drying rack, the Gryffindor returned to the parlor to find the two Slytherins waiting on him. He expected snide comments, as always, but Draco was preoccupied waving his wand like a baton and Snape, who was busy reading a text from one of the bookshelves, merely looked up and informed the raven-haired boy that it was his turn.
Harry took one look at Draco's wand and had his question ready. He spoke, and the quill quickly went to work.
16. What is the make up of your wand?
The Slytherin boy looked up, annoyed. "I was going to ask that, Scarhead."
"Too bad," Harry said, "Mine's holly, 11 inches long, with a Phoenix feather core."
Draco looked down at the piece of polished wood in his hand, a scowl on his face, clearly unhappy at having his question stolen. "10 inches and Hawthorn wood. My core is made up of a Unicorn Hair." The boy stated.
The boys both turned to Snape, who closed the book he had been perusing and set it on the small table beside the armchair. "13 inches. Ebony. Dragon Heartstring core." The man waited until the page flashed gold. "Mr. Malfoy, it is your turn."
The Slytherin boy thought for a moment, and then smirked. Harry tensed as the teen asked his question, but it turned out to be rather benign.
17. What kind of home did you grow up in, and how many bedrooms did it have?
Ah, Harry thought, Malfoy just wants to gloat.
"A mansion." Draco said proudly. "Sixteen bedrooms. Two of them were mine."
Of course. How very Dudley of you. The Gryffindor ruminated to himself.
Snape answered next, though he seemed to find the question boring. "A brick row house. Four bedrooms."
Harry looked at the ceiling. "Just a regular house." He stated, hoping the book would take that answer, since he didn't really know any technical terms for housing. "Four bedrooms."
The book flashed gold, to the Gryffindor's relief. He hadn't been positive it wouldn't count the cupboard under the stairs as a bedroom, though he really didn't consider it one.
It was Snape's turn next.
18. What are some responsibilities you had as a child?
"Interesting." The man mused. "I half expected the book to reject that question, since we all know that the famous Harry Potter likely had very few, if any, responsibilities during his pampered childhood."
Harry cast an irritated glance at the potions instructor, and purposefully ignored the look of delighted smugness that appeared on Draco's face at the man's remark.
"Actually," the Gryffindor said, "I had plenty of stuff I was responsible for. I had to pick up after myself. I had to help with cooking, washing dishes, weeding the garden. Should I go on?" A bit of challenge laced his tone as he looked over at Snape.
The page flashed gold between them, the quill having apparently recorded Harry's response.
From his left, Draco cackled mirthfully. "Weeding? Dishes? Merlin, Potter, they treated you like a common house-elf. I was right, you would make a good servant."
The raven-haired boy frowned. He decided then and there what his next question was going to be.
"At my house," The blond continued arrogantly, "I was only responsible for keeping up with my studies. The house elves took care of everything else."
Harry looked to Snape as the page flashed gold again. The man's expression was unreadable, but the Gryffindor presumed that he was caught between giving in to his penchant for making snide remarks about the Boy-Who-Lived and facing the reality that Draco was the one who had lived out the pampered childhood, not Harry.
Ultimately, the potions instructor opted not to comment on either of their responses. "I was primarily responsible for keeping up with my studies and keeping my bedroom neat. My mother also often requested my help with potion-making."
The page flashed, accepting the instructor's answer, and Harry immediately asked his question.
19. Who is/are the worst bullies you have ever known?
He looked over at the blond as he spat his answer. "Dudley Dursley and Draco Malfoy."
The page flashed gold.
The Slytherin boy's mouth fell open. "I'm not a bully." The teenager protested.
"The book disagrees with that statement." Harry said, nodding toward the mentioned text.
"Fine," The other boy spat. "Harry Potter." He said, directing his answer to the book.
The page flashed red.
Draco closed his eyes, and then sighed. "Lucius Malfoy." He spoke after a moment. The page flashed gold.
The Slytherin teenager looked up at Harry under his blond fringe, and the fury in the boy's eyes spoke volumes – it was as if he was angry with Harry for making him admit that particular truth. The tension between the two teenagers grew until it was so thick it could be cut by a sharp instrument.
That instrument turned out to be the baritone voice of the potions instructor, as he offered up his own response to the question Harry had posed.
"Sirius Black." The man said, staring down at the book, "and James Potter."