Harry Potter - Foresight Reawakened - ch8: grounded
foresight reawakened: (8) grounded
*
Professor Snape was putting papers in his desk when Draco entered the office. Without preamble, Draco said, “Professor, we need to put colors on the balls.”
“Excuse me?” Professor Snape folded his long fingers together and set his elbows on the desk.
Draco sat down without being invited; he hadn’t needed invitation since his first visit in first year. “The quidditch balls. I can’t tell which is real and which isn’t when I’m in the air. I got hit by a bludger that doesn’t exist, and nearly broke my arm on one that does!”
“Draco, we cannot put colors on the quidditch balls.”
“Why not? I have a…a disability,” he muttered dejectedly.
“Draco, you’re going to have it all of your life, from the looks of it. I realize it’s hard, but you must learn to deal with it now, or it truly will become a disability.”
“I can’t be Seeker like this.”
“Mr Potter is fine a Seeker and his eyes are next to useless.” The professor seemed loath to say it.
Draco snickered, but sobered almost immediately. “He can spell his glasses and make them no worse than a normal pair of eyes. I can’t just spell my eyes.” He slouched in his chair. “We’ll lose the game because of me.”
Professor Snape frowned. Draco knew how competitive he was with the other houses. It didn’t seem to be enough, however. “If we were to do as you suggest, people would ask questions. Your affliction would become common knowledge in a matter of hours.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way!” Draco insisted. “Professor, I need those colors, at least for the match Saturday. I caught the wrong snitch, for Merlin’s sake.”
“Draco.”
“Sorry sir. I’m very frustrated. We practiced for hours and nothing seemed to help. I’m almost glad I’m not captain.”
The professor snorted. Draco managed a grin. “Isn’t there something I can do?”
The professor’s dark eyes almost seemed sad. “We can’t color the balls, Draco. Under other circumstances I would suggest warding the field against specters or spelling your inner eye to keep it shut-”
“You can do that?”
“Of course-what do you think muggles do when they don’t want to know something? Theirs is a lesser form of magic, but it’s the same principle. It won’t work in your case though, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“Why not?”
“Your particular case is…a special one, Draco. Seeing as we don’t know what you have, exactly-”
“I looked into the Eye of Fedelm when I was a child.”
Snape smirked at this before he seemed to realize the gravity in those simple words. He stood up and loomed over his desk. It felt like Snape’s body stretched even over Draco’s chair. “Fedelm? The Eye of Fedelm? Are you certain?”
“Quite,” Draco said, trying to sound casual. “Mother told me about the ritual and the room, and then Granger told me about curses, and when she started talking about it the Eye I remembered seeing it directly.”
The professor started pacing back and forth between Draco and the desk. Draco let him and sat in silence, used to such things. Snape stopped. “How much do you know about the Eye of Fedelm?” he asked.
“Only what Granger told me.”
The professor’s eye gave a little tick. Draco felt his fingers twitch in sympathy. Nosey Gryffindors. “What did Miss Granger tell you? Tell me everything.”
Draco did.
When he was finished, Professor Snape looked upset. “Well, she certainly has done her homework,” he said. “How did she know to look in the first place?”
“The sliced beetles. The question I answered in class,” Draco clarified. “Twice.”
“Clever little witch,” he muttered. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the side of the desk. “Far be it for me to suspect her of foul play on her own. Draco, this is a bigger problem than a simple quidditch game. You may play in the match on Saturday, but after that I’m afraid you’ll need to stay on the ground.”
“What?!”
“I must speak to the headmaster, but I’m sure he’ll agree. Come to my office on Monday at eight o’clock-sit down, Mr Malfoy. No, you’re not in trouble. No, it is not detention,” he said, forestalling Draco’s questions, “I’ll explain it to you on Monday.”
Draco was going to write his mother. She would surely do something about this outrage! There was no need for him to be ground-
“Draco?” Snape called from the doorway Draco had just stormed out of, “Give your mother my best.” The door closed, an air of finality in the echoing click.
*
Professor Snape was putting papers in his desk when Draco entered the office. Without preamble, Draco said, “Professor, we need to put colors on the balls.”
“Excuse me?” Professor Snape folded his long fingers together and set his elbows on the desk.
Draco sat down without being invited; he hadn’t needed invitation since his first visit in first year. “The quidditch balls. I can’t tell which is real and which isn’t when I’m in the air. I got hit by a bludger that doesn’t exist, and nearly broke my arm on one that does!”
“Draco, we cannot put colors on the quidditch balls.”
“Why not? I have a…a disability,” he muttered dejectedly.
“Draco, you’re going to have it all of your life, from the looks of it. I realize it’s hard, but you must learn to deal with it now, or it truly will become a disability.”
“I can’t be Seeker like this.”
“Mr Potter is fine a Seeker and his eyes are next to useless.” The professor seemed loath to say it.
Draco snickered, but sobered almost immediately. “He can spell his glasses and make them no worse than a normal pair of eyes. I can’t just spell my eyes.” He slouched in his chair. “We’ll lose the game because of me.”
Professor Snape frowned. Draco knew how competitive he was with the other houses. It didn’t seem to be enough, however. “If we were to do as you suggest, people would ask questions. Your affliction would become common knowledge in a matter of hours.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way!” Draco insisted. “Professor, I need those colors, at least for the match Saturday. I caught the wrong snitch, for Merlin’s sake.”
“Draco.”
“Sorry sir. I’m very frustrated. We practiced for hours and nothing seemed to help. I’m almost glad I’m not captain.”
The professor snorted. Draco managed a grin. “Isn’t there something I can do?”
The professor’s dark eyes almost seemed sad. “We can’t color the balls, Draco. Under other circumstances I would suggest warding the field against specters or spelling your inner eye to keep it shut-”
“You can do that?”
“Of course-what do you think muggles do when they don’t want to know something? Theirs is a lesser form of magic, but it’s the same principle. It won’t work in your case though, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“Why not?”
“Your particular case is…a special one, Draco. Seeing as we don’t know what you have, exactly-”
“I looked into the Eye of Fedelm when I was a child.”
Snape smirked at this before he seemed to realize the gravity in those simple words. He stood up and loomed over his desk. It felt like Snape’s body stretched even over Draco’s chair. “Fedelm? The Eye of Fedelm? Are you certain?”
“Quite,” Draco said, trying to sound casual. “Mother told me about the ritual and the room, and then Granger told me about curses, and when she started talking about it the Eye I remembered seeing it directly.”
The professor started pacing back and forth between Draco and the desk. Draco let him and sat in silence, used to such things. Snape stopped. “How much do you know about the Eye of Fedelm?” he asked.
“Only what Granger told me.”
The professor’s eye gave a little tick. Draco felt his fingers twitch in sympathy. Nosey Gryffindors. “What did Miss Granger tell you? Tell me everything.”
Draco did.
When he was finished, Professor Snape looked upset. “Well, she certainly has done her homework,” he said. “How did she know to look in the first place?”
“The sliced beetles. The question I answered in class,” Draco clarified. “Twice.”
“Clever little witch,” he muttered. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the side of the desk. “Far be it for me to suspect her of foul play on her own. Draco, this is a bigger problem than a simple quidditch game. You may play in the match on Saturday, but after that I’m afraid you’ll need to stay on the ground.”
“What?!”
“I must speak to the headmaster, but I’m sure he’ll agree. Come to my office on Monday at eight o’clock-sit down, Mr Malfoy. No, you’re not in trouble. No, it is not detention,” he said, forestalling Draco’s questions, “I’ll explain it to you on Monday.”
Draco was going to write his mother. She would surely do something about this outrage! There was no need for him to be ground-
“Draco?” Snape called from the doorway Draco had just stormed out of, “Give your mother my best.” The door closed, an air of finality in the echoing click.