some thick prose, because it makes me happy.
"Mr. Malfoy, please come in."
An oily voice floated through the door just as white knuckles went to rap upon it. When he tried the knob he found it slightly ajar, which was unusual even though his attendance was expected.
He stepped past the heavy wooden slab and pulled it shut behind him with the ghostly slam of iron links clicking.
He was present at 12 sharp, just as the note had requested him to be, and Draco was nothing if not punctual. Especially at a time like this, or with someone like this.
Draco's head jerked back as he continued the war against his fringe, pulling it impatiently from his eyes.
When his vision cleared he spied his Professor sitting at a long oak desk, papers spread out in front of him, various phials neatly arranged along the perimeter, ink within arm's reach and quill at the ready.
Professor. He nodded shortly, anxious to find why he'd been summoned.
He wasn't worried necessarily, they almost never spoke of Uncle V or the War while inside of Hogwarts, but it did seem as though that very topic always hung thick in the air between them.
On a private work station across from his teacher, Draco could see, and smell, a purple concoction gently simmering in a silver cauldron. He recognized it as the same healing potion that Poppy Pomphrey had used on his face after it's recent fight with the Quidditch Pitch.
Snape had looked up at him briefly when he'd walked in but didn't now as he addressed him, still somewhat absorbed with his eyes down on his work.
"I appreciate you being on time, as usual," Snape began, his drawl somewhat tired.
Of course.
"Have you finished inspecting the Wiggenweld Potion samples from class last week?"
Nope. Draco needed to think, fast.
The majority, yes. Admittedly, I was so disappointed with the resulting grades that I did lose some enthusiasm, but they will be on your desk by tomorrow morning. This was true: he thought of how he would be spending plenty of good sleeping time on finishing this project tonight, and he stifled a groan.
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching up his face as he did so. Draco strained to hear the words going into Snape's palm,
"...suppose that yes.. that would suffice." Snape looking right through him now, "But i'll remind you that letting your opinion of their grades effect your productivity is unacceptable."
You're right, Professor. It was a mistake. He knew exactly what Snape wanted to hear.
Satisfied, Snape leaned back in his chair, stretching his back, as though he had been sitting for a long time, before both of their eyes shifted onto the cauldron which began to boil.
With a swish of his quill as though dotting a signature, "would you give that a turn for me," Snape indicated the healing potion, "clockwise." It wasn't really a question.
This couldn't be what Snape asked him here for, but Draco didn't hesitate to close the gap between himself and the cauldron. He pulled his wand from his robes and concentrated, skillfully working the elixir clockwise.
Meanwhile Snape dropped his quill into the inkwell, again leaning back against the chair and the suffocating robes he had placed over the back of it a few hours previous. He began to cuff his sleeves; in the dungeons it was just as hot as the rest of the castle, and then stuffy due to constant potion making.
"I have a few time-sensitive errands that will keep me from teaching two upcoming classes," Snape paused before cuffing the sleeve on his left arm, glancing up at Draco's back, before deciding it was hot enough [and his company compliant enough] to pull the sleeve past his elbow. Draco finished stirring and turned to meet his eye.
"You'll need to write a lesson plan for the 1st year Gryffindor/Ravenclaw class tomorrow, and the 2nd year Slytherin/Gryffindor class on Monday, as you will be teaching them. As for your TA schedule, it remains the same."
Draco really needed to concentrate on not letting his jaw drop. His usual TA duties AND teaching 2 classes? WHY? What of his Quidditch League meets? He couldn't speak.
"Is there an issue, Draco?" Snape put both of his hands behind his head, the Dark Mark clearly shown right next to his face as Snape used the boy's given name. The combination was just right.
Of course not Sir, I look forward to the challenge. Was that convincing enough?
"Good. And take a draft of that potion to Poppy on your way out. That will be all." Snape's hands came back to his quill and papers, hunching over them again.
"You're dismissed".
Yes, Sir.
Draco took the empty glass phial next to the cauldron and filled it with sweet purple elixir, turned towards the heavy door and the links unclicked. As if Snape could see through him somehow, as if Snape knew of the nasty face Draco was giving that door, he spoke to Draco's back as he left,
"I'll have you know that teaching is really not all that challenging," Snape recounted, his personal amusement coming through somewhat.
Without turning,
I won't disappoint you, Sir. And he was gone.
Snape sniffed once, his lips pursed slightly, before he looked down and continued his work.
And for a second, produced one lone smirk.
An oily voice floated through the door just as white knuckles went to rap upon it. When he tried the knob he found it slightly ajar, which was unusual even though his attendance was expected.
He stepped past the heavy wooden slab and pulled it shut behind him with the ghostly slam of iron links clicking.
He was present at 12 sharp, just as the note had requested him to be, and Draco was nothing if not punctual. Especially at a time like this, or with someone like this.
Draco's head jerked back as he continued the war against his fringe, pulling it impatiently from his eyes.
When his vision cleared he spied his Professor sitting at a long oak desk, papers spread out in front of him, various phials neatly arranged along the perimeter, ink within arm's reach and quill at the ready.
Professor. He nodded shortly, anxious to find why he'd been summoned.
He wasn't worried necessarily, they almost never spoke of Uncle V or the War while inside of Hogwarts, but it did seem as though that very topic always hung thick in the air between them.
On a private work station across from his teacher, Draco could see, and smell, a purple concoction gently simmering in a silver cauldron. He recognized it as the same healing potion that Poppy Pomphrey had used on his face after it's recent fight with the Quidditch Pitch.
Snape had looked up at him briefly when he'd walked in but didn't now as he addressed him, still somewhat absorbed with his eyes down on his work.
"I appreciate you being on time, as usual," Snape began, his drawl somewhat tired.
Of course.
"Have you finished inspecting the Wiggenweld Potion samples from class last week?"
Nope. Draco needed to think, fast.
The majority, yes. Admittedly, I was so disappointed with the resulting grades that I did lose some enthusiasm, but they will be on your desk by tomorrow morning. This was true: he thought of how he would be spending plenty of good sleeping time on finishing this project tonight, and he stifled a groan.
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching up his face as he did so. Draco strained to hear the words going into Snape's palm,
"...suppose that yes.. that would suffice." Snape looking right through him now, "But i'll remind you that letting your opinion of their grades effect your productivity is unacceptable."
You're right, Professor. It was a mistake. He knew exactly what Snape wanted to hear.
Satisfied, Snape leaned back in his chair, stretching his back, as though he had been sitting for a long time, before both of their eyes shifted onto the cauldron which began to boil.
With a swish of his quill as though dotting a signature, "would you give that a turn for me," Snape indicated the healing potion, "clockwise." It wasn't really a question.
This couldn't be what Snape asked him here for, but Draco didn't hesitate to close the gap between himself and the cauldron. He pulled his wand from his robes and concentrated, skillfully working the elixir clockwise.
Meanwhile Snape dropped his quill into the inkwell, again leaning back against the chair and the suffocating robes he had placed over the back of it a few hours previous. He began to cuff his sleeves; in the dungeons it was just as hot as the rest of the castle, and then stuffy due to constant potion making.
"I have a few time-sensitive errands that will keep me from teaching two upcoming classes," Snape paused before cuffing the sleeve on his left arm, glancing up at Draco's back, before deciding it was hot enough [and his company compliant enough] to pull the sleeve past his elbow. Draco finished stirring and turned to meet his eye.
"You'll need to write a lesson plan for the 1st year Gryffindor/Ravenclaw class tomorrow, and the 2nd year Slytherin/Gryffindor class on Monday, as you will be teaching them. As for your TA schedule, it remains the same."
Draco really needed to concentrate on not letting his jaw drop. His usual TA duties AND teaching 2 classes? WHY? What of his Quidditch League meets? He couldn't speak.
"Is there an issue, Draco?" Snape put both of his hands behind his head, the Dark Mark clearly shown right next to his face as Snape used the boy's given name. The combination was just right.
Of course not Sir, I look forward to the challenge. Was that convincing enough?
"Good. And take a draft of that potion to Poppy on your way out. That will be all." Snape's hands came back to his quill and papers, hunching over them again.
"You're dismissed".
Yes, Sir.
Draco took the empty glass phial next to the cauldron and filled it with sweet purple elixir, turned towards the heavy door and the links unclicked. As if Snape could see through him somehow, as if Snape knew of the nasty face Draco was giving that door, he spoke to Draco's back as he left,
"I'll have you know that teaching is really not all that challenging," Snape recounted, his personal amusement coming through somewhat.
Without turning,
I won't disappoint you, Sir. And he was gone.
Snape sniffed once, his lips pursed slightly, before he looked down and continued his work.
And for a second, produced one lone smirk.