Chapter 7: No Pansies Tolerated

Note from the Author-ess: I'd like to take this chance to thank all my readers and reviewers, especially those who list my stories as favorite. At this point it feels like there are two forms of validation on TPP, one that lies with the wonderful, hard-working mods and one that lies with my reviewers. Thank you for your encouragment and support! I am confident that you will continue to be rewarded by this plot. *happy dance*

Chapter Seven: No Pansies Tolerated

I sighed heavily as I reclined in my chair. The ancient gramophone crackled as it reached the end of an ancient record. I closed my eyes and inhaled the essence of the scotch in front of me. Relaxing into the alcohol was a habit I had learned from my Muggle father, Tobias Snape, who escaped far too often during my childhood.

That day had been a rough one, what with a Gryffindor girl having been given a necklace from a dark wizard store, which I had frequented in the prime of my youth. Wandering down these dark passages of my own mind brought me to a more current impeding bloodbath. I had no idea what exactly the Dark Lord meant by using Draco to accomplish what he needed done. I recalled my Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa to protect Draco and complete his task. But quite frankly I had no idea what the task was. The Dark Lord did not see it fit to have the information stewing in the forefront of the mind of someone at Hogwarts. Bah. I downed another sip of the vile liquid before me.

A knock came at the door, and I murmured an invitation to enter. I was surprised to see Draco storm in, his hair sticking up in all directions and his face red. I regarded him under lazy eyelids.

“Sit, Draco,” I drawled. He sat grudgingly.

“Look,” he said, drawing up the sleeve of his left arm. An ever-writhing snake stood there to glare at me. It wasn’t hot. The Dark Lord wasn’t summoning him; therefore, I was not intrigued by what I saw.

“What do you mean to show me, boy? I don’t have time for your shenanigans tonight.” I sipped my scotch once more.

“I am his servant as are you.” He was livid. “Why isn’t the plan going fast enough?”

“Draco,” I said quietly, staring into the depths of my glass, “sometimes our Lord has things in his mind other than speed.”

“Why do you always talk to me like I’m a child?” he screamed, standing.

“BECAUSE YOU ARE ONE!” I responded, throwing my chair back and spilling my scotch. The glass broke on the floor, and the gramophone continued to crackle. We both panted, eyeing each other, both too headstrong to back down. This was the Dark Side; no pansies would be tolerated.

“Angry drunk, aren’t you, Sev?” He addressed me as though I was his inferior, as was the Malfoy way. He smirked at the shards on the floor. I felt myself about to crack.

“How dare you?” I uttered each syllable dangerously, relishing the flicker of fear that crossed his face.

He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a soft knock came at the door. I stalked over to the door and flung it open, only to find Hermione standing there, looking at me expectantly. She peeked around the corner and saw Draco at my desk, and a look of alarm crossed her face.

“I’ll just—”

“No, Miss Granger,” I said without missing a beat, “your detention will be served tonight. Mister Malfoy was just leaving.”

Draco stalked out and muttered something about the cleanliness of Hermione’s ancestry as he passed her. I had to restrain myself from killing the little tosser on the spot. I stepped aside to allow her in and was thankful that I was not intoxicated. As soon as the door was bolted, I crossed the room and gathered her into my arms, smelling her hair in bunches to calm myself. She sighed and rested her head on my chest. We were at peace for a few moments before she withdrew to set the record to its other side. I groaned with embarrassment as an American jazz song came on. She raised an eyebrow at me as a voice began to sing one of my favorite songs.

I sat on my desk and rubbed my eyes in time to the music. Hermione’s weight suddenly rested against me, and she hummed along to the rising and falling notes.

“I’ll be seeing you…” she crooned, patting my shoulder. I opened my eyes and allowed a smile to cross my face for a moment. She knew I had been drinking, but I didn’t care. There was a woman in the world who wanted me, and in that moment, that was all that mattered.

“Sir?” she murmured.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Hermione, call me by my first name.” I realized that I cussed a good deal more when alcohol was coursing through my veins.

She stepped back to sit in the chair next to me. “What is this really?”

“American jazz,” I responded as I sat on the other side of the desk.

“I mean what are we?”

Oh, no. The dreaded question. Where do you see us going? When are we going to take the next step? What do you think about us and our relationship? I groaned and fell back to rubbing my temples. The answer was that I had no idea what was going on between the girl before me and myself.

“What do you want me to say, Hermione?” I sighed, feigning irritation.

“I want to know what you think!” she wailed, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ve suffered quite a bit of guilt about this, and I’ll have you know—”

“Have me know what, Hermione?” I interrupted. “That I’m not good enough for you? I have already faced that, and it won’t come as a surprise when you leave!”

“Who said I was leaving?” she cried. I was shocked; I had never seen her this way. She was usually so rational, so grounded.

“Look,” I responded, “I don’t have time,” Ugh, I thought, the dreaded excuse once more, “for the games of a silly little girl. If you have your sights set on bumbling, blundering Ron Weasley, then be my guest. I look forward to meeting your freckled, bushy-haired children.”

“That was harsh.” Ah, yes, some of the fight I required at last.

“Yes, my dear, I am a bitter old man who happens to say bitter things.”

“Especially when drunk,” she muttered under her breath. She had a point.

I panicked; I wasn’t scaring her off. “Listen, what happened between us was a mistake, a bloody mistake. If you thought there was any type of affection involved, you were wrong. I am sorry if you feel that I have taken advantage of you, and you may hold me to the full penalty of the law if you desire.”

She looked murderous. She looked up at the ceiling so to prevent tears from tumbling down her cheeks. I felt a pang of guilt, but not much more.

“I think you’re going to regret this, Severus,” she whispered

“You are a student; you may not address me so informally.”

She laughed bitterly at this.

“Please get out of my office.”

“Gladly.”

And with that, she stalked to the door, unbolted it, and slammed it behind her. I didn’t catch a trace of a sob from the other side, as I had expected to. The girl was a mystery.