On day ten, Draco surprised him by conjuring up a rather clever glamour and begging to be allowed to go to Diagon Alley for no more than an hour. Against his better judgement, Snape allowed it, but Draco returned in good time and without incident.
But afterwards, Snape thought it had been a mistake to let him go, because ever since, Draco had been as high-strung as he'd been the very first day. On day fourteen, Snape realized that Draco wasn't sleeping and was barely eating. Snape withdrew to his potions lab to concoct a calming draught for him. But Draco had disappeared.
Trying not to panic, Snape called out for him. With relief, he heard a soft reply from his own bedroom. He fought down the fear that had turned to anger and roughly shoved open the heavy wooden door.
Anger turned to astonishment. There stood Draco in the middle of Snape's bedroom, dim candlelight glowing warmly on his pale skin and picking out the lace and satin of a delicate corset, the soft folds of silken pants, and the shimmer of sheer black stockings.
But it was the look on Draco's face that arrested him. Where a skilled seductor would have adopted the sensual, come-hither gaze of a paid tart, Draco's expression was stark and far too clear to mistake: he was uncertain, wretched, and utterly terrified.
"What...what are you doing?" Snape heard himself ask.
Draco looked back at him blankly and didn't answer. Looked at him as if he would never speak again.
"Why are you doing this? Surely you don't think I wanted...."
Draco's fingers were twisting around themselves in a betrayal of nerves. "I thought that I could... That you would...Don't you want me?"
Snape took a breath - two, three - before he could answer. "Listen, Draco. You don't need to do this. Not for me." He refused to let his mind explore the twisted logic that could lead Draco to even imagine this bizarre scene. He refused to think of Lucius.
"But I want to be good for something. I'm useless, I know. I thought..."
Snape let himself move towards the trembling boy, who didn't seem to know whether to be more afraid of success or failure. "You are not useless. Believe me. It's just taking us a bit of time to settle down, but there'll be a role for you. Soon. I promise. Now take these things off. I'll wait for you in the sitting room, and then we can discuss our future."
Draco's look of gratitude went straight to Snape's heart. "All right."
But before he closed the door, Snape couldn't resist one last, secret, tormented look at what he had just forfeited. What he had to forfeit if he meant to hang on to what was left of his pride. And his sanity.
But afterwards, Snape thought it had been a mistake to let him go, because ever since, Draco had been as high-strung as he'd been the very first day. On day fourteen, Snape realized that Draco wasn't sleeping and was barely eating. Snape withdrew to his potions lab to concoct a calming draught for him. But Draco had disappeared.
Trying not to panic, Snape called out for him. With relief, he heard a soft reply from his own bedroom. He fought down the fear that had turned to anger and roughly shoved open the heavy wooden door.
Anger turned to astonishment. There stood Draco in the middle of Snape's bedroom, dim candlelight glowing warmly on his pale skin and picking out the lace and satin of a delicate corset, the soft folds of silken pants, and the shimmer of sheer black stockings.
But it was the look on Draco's face that arrested him. Where a skilled seductor would have adopted the sensual, come-hither gaze of a paid tart, Draco's expression was stark and far too clear to mistake: he was uncertain, wretched, and utterly terrified.
"What...what are you doing?" Snape heard himself ask.
Draco looked back at him blankly and didn't answer. Looked at him as if he would never speak again.
"Why are you doing this? Surely you don't think I wanted...."
Draco's fingers were twisting around themselves in a betrayal of nerves. "I thought that I could... That you would...Don't you want me?"
Snape took a breath - two, three - before he could answer. "Listen, Draco. You don't need to do this. Not for me." He refused to let his mind explore the twisted logic that could lead Draco to even imagine this bizarre scene. He refused to think of Lucius.
"But I want to be good for something. I'm useless, I know. I thought..."
Snape let himself move towards the trembling boy, who didn't seem to know whether to be more afraid of success or failure. "You are not useless. Believe me. It's just taking us a bit of time to settle down, but there'll be a role for you. Soon. I promise. Now take these things off. I'll wait for you in the sitting room, and then we can discuss our future."
Draco's look of gratitude went straight to Snape's heart. "All right."
But before he closed the door, Snape couldn't resist one last, secret, tormented look at what he had just forfeited. What he had to forfeit if he meant to hang on to what was left of his pride. And his sanity.
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