Harry Potter - foresight reawakened - ch10: Snape, homework, and 4am patrol
HP - foresight reawakened - (10) Snape, homework, and 4am patrol
*
By Monday it was obvious Draco Malfoy was the least popular boy in Slytherin. Draco trudged into Snape’s office with bushy hair and a burn in his robes-compliments of some unimportant second year who’d accidentally scorched it trying to lift Draco’s dinner goblet into the air to dump the contents on his head. Draco used hair gel to keep his hair down, but someone had spelled it to fluff up his hair instead, and none of the spells Draco knew to counteract this problem were working. Draco didn’t even have his wand anymore; Blaise had it because he’d stolen it back from a seventh year who’d gotten into their dorm and tried to jerry-rig Draco’s trunk to burn his hands when he touched it.
It had been a miserable weekend.
Draco plopped down on the chair before Snape’s desk and ran a hand through his terrible hair. Merlin, it looked like he’d slept on it. He would get back at the whole of Slytherin if it was the last thing he did.
“They’ll forget about the game in a day or so.” Snape swept in from the potions classroom in a dark wave. “In the meantime, let’s make sure this doesn’t happen again. You won’t be playing again this year, but there is still hope for the next.” Draco perked up at this. He almost forgot Snape had effectively grounded him from flying for the remainder of the term. Almost. The professor sat down on the other side of the desk. “Now, you need to learn to tell the difference between real people and these…apparitions…”
“The not-yets are a bit watery, and generally look older than me.”
Professor Snape frowned at him. “Generally look older than you. How much?”
Draco had been speaking sarcastically, so he nearly choked when Snape voiced the question. “I don’t know…just…older. Like, a year,” he reported, thinking of the not-yets snogging in the hospital wing. Suddenly, there was a tick near his right eye.
“Which apparitions? Are any apparitions your age?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Don’t be a fool-of course it matters. Figuring out how far they are in the future will help you immensely if you plan to change it.”
“Change the future?” Draco crossed his legs and sat back in the plush deep green easy chair. “How can I change the future?”
Professor Snape looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “Are you being deliberately obtuse, or do you really need me to spell this out for you?”
Draco sat up and uncrossed his legs. “I don’t see how knowing the future allows me to change it. Everything I’ve seen so far is…well, I don’t want it to happen, but I don’t know how to change it. Even Weasley’s brother-how do I change that? I don’t know how it happened.”
Snape breathed a sigh of relief. “So you listen. Fedelm’s curse is related to place and time. Come again the same time and day and listen in the hallway-you might find out more. If you see apparitions at all, something important is happening. Make a note of it and return to those places. You’ll find out more that way. Then come to me.”
“Notes…like a diary? Girls keep those.”
“A diary is an excellent idea, Mr Malfoy.” Snape stood up in a shock of black. He strode around the desk and began pacing before the fireplace behind Draco’s chair. Draco turned to look. It was rather dizzying. With Snape’s long strides, three steps and he was at the door, four and he was across the room at the bookshelves. “Yes, a diary.”
“Professor, anyone could find it.”
“Do you wish to keep it in here? Surely you’ve learned to spell your trunk closed by now, Mr Malfoy.”
Draco pouted. “Yes, sir. One thing-I don’t have a diary.”
“Get one in Hogsmeade. In fact, I’m assigning you this diary as a special project. I don’t need to know everything that you see-I know some things pertain only to your future…beloved…” Snape used the word dubiously. Draco felt mildly offended. “However, things you deem particularly important or dangerous I want you to report to me.”
“Of course, sir.” Draco had no intention of reporting to anyone. Snape gave Draco a look, as if to say, “I know exactly what you’re thinking,” but said nothing else.
“Is that all, sir?”
“For now, this is all. I want you to learn to tell the difference between these not yets, to keep a diary, and to report to me anything you deem dangerous to someone else or of singular importance. The death of a Weasley is one such thing, Mr Malfoy, even if their choices would not have been your own. Are we clear?”
Draco sighed. “Yes, sir, perfectly, sir.”
“Good.” Snape removed his hands from their place clasped behind his back and sat back down at the desk. “Now tell me, how is your mother holding up? I hear she visited your father this weekend.”
*
Draco did his homework in the library for the rest of the school week. He didn’t trust himself to do it in Slytherin without getting hexed and hexing someone else in return. It was too dangerous to be in his house right now. Perhaps Snape was right, and everything really would quiet down. He just had to stick it out. Problem was, it was already Friday, and-
He heard whispering behind him. Draco turned to see two fourth year Slytherins glaring at him from the bookshelves.
Draco turned back to his books. Merlin, if he could just stick it out.
*
After returning with his books to Slytherin, Draco slept until quarter to three and got up. Shrugging his robes on groggily, he stumbled out of the wall and into the corridor. It was time for the prefect to patrol.
Past the kitchens, past the great hall, checking the field for late night quidditch and the lake for late night shagging. Past Gryffindor Tower and Hufflepuff Hall and Ravenclaw’s turret and the Slytherin dungeons, Draco checked them all for stragglers and delinquent students out of bed. He found three boys coming back from the kitchen and took off house points. He bumped into to Filch, who liked him for some reason and wouldn’t stop talking about his desire to whip detention students like it was in the old days. He also ran into Professor McGonagall, who asked him how he was holding up in her kindly old spinster voice, then passed on when it was obvious there would be no heart to heart this night or any other.
Finally, it was four o’clock. Draco was done patrolling the halls. He was on his way back to Slytherin when he heard the noise. Looks like he’d be taking house points on the way to bed, Draco thought with glee. He wondered if it was Potter. That would be even better than the time he’d caught the fifth year couple shagging in a broom closet. Draco had taken off points out of pure jealousy-why was a fifth year getting laid while Draco was still a virgin? It was ridiculous.
Draco neared the sound with silent steps. It sounded like two boys, so no snogging then. Probably hungry and coming back from the kitchens. Too bad.
Draco was right next to the stone faery when he saw the most horrible kiss in existence: there he was, by the looks of it drunk as a lord, and about to kiss Potter. “Merlin, no,” he gasped. Draco closed his eyes tightly but the sight remained when he opened them again. He was kissing Potter and-wait, was that his leg winding around Potter’s thigh? Good god, this was horrible.
Draco turned from the not-yets in disgust and anxiously sought a different route to Slytherin. He was never telling this to anyone.
That night he dreamed he was sitting on Potter’s naked chest.
“Why do you keep kissing me?” he asked, confused and oddly complacent.
“You keep kissing me back,” Potter said.
Draco leaned over wrapped his hands around Potter’s throat. Then he realized that they were both naked. Fedelm’s laughter rang through the grassy meadow they were suddenly lying in. Potter was laughing too. His teeth were the color of pearls.
Draco woke up.
“Effing Potter,” he muttered.
“Spare us your wet dreams,” Blaise said from the next bed over.
Draco sneered at him. “Nancing wanker,” he muttered, and got out of bed. He might as well go down to breakfast.
*
By Monday it was obvious Draco Malfoy was the least popular boy in Slytherin. Draco trudged into Snape’s office with bushy hair and a burn in his robes-compliments of some unimportant second year who’d accidentally scorched it trying to lift Draco’s dinner goblet into the air to dump the contents on his head. Draco used hair gel to keep his hair down, but someone had spelled it to fluff up his hair instead, and none of the spells Draco knew to counteract this problem were working. Draco didn’t even have his wand anymore; Blaise had it because he’d stolen it back from a seventh year who’d gotten into their dorm and tried to jerry-rig Draco’s trunk to burn his hands when he touched it.
It had been a miserable weekend.
Draco plopped down on the chair before Snape’s desk and ran a hand through his terrible hair. Merlin, it looked like he’d slept on it. He would get back at the whole of Slytherin if it was the last thing he did.
“They’ll forget about the game in a day or so.” Snape swept in from the potions classroom in a dark wave. “In the meantime, let’s make sure this doesn’t happen again. You won’t be playing again this year, but there is still hope for the next.” Draco perked up at this. He almost forgot Snape had effectively grounded him from flying for the remainder of the term. Almost. The professor sat down on the other side of the desk. “Now, you need to learn to tell the difference between real people and these…apparitions…”
“The not-yets are a bit watery, and generally look older than me.”
Professor Snape frowned at him. “Generally look older than you. How much?”
Draco had been speaking sarcastically, so he nearly choked when Snape voiced the question. “I don’t know…just…older. Like, a year,” he reported, thinking of the not-yets snogging in the hospital wing. Suddenly, there was a tick near his right eye.
“Which apparitions? Are any apparitions your age?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Don’t be a fool-of course it matters. Figuring out how far they are in the future will help you immensely if you plan to change it.”
“Change the future?” Draco crossed his legs and sat back in the plush deep green easy chair. “How can I change the future?”
Professor Snape looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “Are you being deliberately obtuse, or do you really need me to spell this out for you?”
Draco sat up and uncrossed his legs. “I don’t see how knowing the future allows me to change it. Everything I’ve seen so far is…well, I don’t want it to happen, but I don’t know how to change it. Even Weasley’s brother-how do I change that? I don’t know how it happened.”
Snape breathed a sigh of relief. “So you listen. Fedelm’s curse is related to place and time. Come again the same time and day and listen in the hallway-you might find out more. If you see apparitions at all, something important is happening. Make a note of it and return to those places. You’ll find out more that way. Then come to me.”
“Notes…like a diary? Girls keep those.”
“A diary is an excellent idea, Mr Malfoy.” Snape stood up in a shock of black. He strode around the desk and began pacing before the fireplace behind Draco’s chair. Draco turned to look. It was rather dizzying. With Snape’s long strides, three steps and he was at the door, four and he was across the room at the bookshelves. “Yes, a diary.”
“Professor, anyone could find it.”
“Do you wish to keep it in here? Surely you’ve learned to spell your trunk closed by now, Mr Malfoy.”
Draco pouted. “Yes, sir. One thing-I don’t have a diary.”
“Get one in Hogsmeade. In fact, I’m assigning you this diary as a special project. I don’t need to know everything that you see-I know some things pertain only to your future…beloved…” Snape used the word dubiously. Draco felt mildly offended. “However, things you deem particularly important or dangerous I want you to report to me.”
“Of course, sir.” Draco had no intention of reporting to anyone. Snape gave Draco a look, as if to say, “I know exactly what you’re thinking,” but said nothing else.
“Is that all, sir?”
“For now, this is all. I want you to learn to tell the difference between these not yets, to keep a diary, and to report to me anything you deem dangerous to someone else or of singular importance. The death of a Weasley is one such thing, Mr Malfoy, even if their choices would not have been your own. Are we clear?”
Draco sighed. “Yes, sir, perfectly, sir.”
“Good.” Snape removed his hands from their place clasped behind his back and sat back down at the desk. “Now tell me, how is your mother holding up? I hear she visited your father this weekend.”
*
Draco did his homework in the library for the rest of the school week. He didn’t trust himself to do it in Slytherin without getting hexed and hexing someone else in return. It was too dangerous to be in his house right now. Perhaps Snape was right, and everything really would quiet down. He just had to stick it out. Problem was, it was already Friday, and-
He heard whispering behind him. Draco turned to see two fourth year Slytherins glaring at him from the bookshelves.
Draco turned back to his books. Merlin, if he could just stick it out.
*
After returning with his books to Slytherin, Draco slept until quarter to three and got up. Shrugging his robes on groggily, he stumbled out of the wall and into the corridor. It was time for the prefect to patrol.
Past the kitchens, past the great hall, checking the field for late night quidditch and the lake for late night shagging. Past Gryffindor Tower and Hufflepuff Hall and Ravenclaw’s turret and the Slytherin dungeons, Draco checked them all for stragglers and delinquent students out of bed. He found three boys coming back from the kitchen and took off house points. He bumped into to Filch, who liked him for some reason and wouldn’t stop talking about his desire to whip detention students like it was in the old days. He also ran into Professor McGonagall, who asked him how he was holding up in her kindly old spinster voice, then passed on when it was obvious there would be no heart to heart this night or any other.
Finally, it was four o’clock. Draco was done patrolling the halls. He was on his way back to Slytherin when he heard the noise. Looks like he’d be taking house points on the way to bed, Draco thought with glee. He wondered if it was Potter. That would be even better than the time he’d caught the fifth year couple shagging in a broom closet. Draco had taken off points out of pure jealousy-why was a fifth year getting laid while Draco was still a virgin? It was ridiculous.
Draco neared the sound with silent steps. It sounded like two boys, so no snogging then. Probably hungry and coming back from the kitchens. Too bad.
Draco was right next to the stone faery when he saw the most horrible kiss in existence: there he was, by the looks of it drunk as a lord, and about to kiss Potter. “Merlin, no,” he gasped. Draco closed his eyes tightly but the sight remained when he opened them again. He was kissing Potter and-wait, was that his leg winding around Potter’s thigh? Good god, this was horrible.
Draco turned from the not-yets in disgust and anxiously sought a different route to Slytherin. He was never telling this to anyone.
That night he dreamed he was sitting on Potter’s naked chest.
“Why do you keep kissing me?” he asked, confused and oddly complacent.
“You keep kissing me back,” Potter said.
Draco leaned over wrapped his hands around Potter’s throat. Then he realized that they were both naked. Fedelm’s laughter rang through the grassy meadow they were suddenly lying in. Potter was laughing too. His teeth were the color of pearls.
Draco woke up.
“Effing Potter,” he muttered.
“Spare us your wet dreams,” Blaise said from the next bed over.
Draco sneered at him. “Nancing wanker,” he muttered, and got out of bed. He might as well go down to breakfast.