lumos_maxima | open rp post #002

open rp post #002

THE OPEN "WE WERE GOING TO RP THAT, REMEMBER?" POST

SO, BASICALLY. If we have ever discussed plotting a PSL or doing a thread but haven't gotten around to doing it,
WELL, NOW WE CAN.

Either comment with a rundown of said plot we'd talked about, or post a starting thread to said plot.

ALSO OPEN TO ANYONE WHO JUST WANTS TO THROW THEIR MUSE AT SNAPE (or Remus, if you'd prefer Remus).
Just leave either a prompt, a thread suggestion, or a thread starter.

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At his mother's insistence, Draco returned to Hogwarts. It took a little over a year for the school to be rebuilt fully, and it was eerily beautiful, as Draco remembered seeing it when he was a young boy. His pale, misty eyes scanned the dining hall, and you'd have never known the war that tore the tables and the waiting dinnerware asunder. You never would have known all the death, and the chaos.

There was more tension than ever between rival houses Slytherin and Gryffindor; the way even some of the other houses spoke about the house with such sneering contempt made Draco's house name sound like a slur. And indeed, even within his own house, things were tense and awkward—Pansy was less vocal about her political views for fear of the consequences, especially given everything that had happened. They were all treated like villains, but not in the way like they were some sort of silly house of cartoon evil-doers—but as criminals, no matter what they said.

Truthfully, Draco supposed that it was fair, but that didn't mean he didn't hate it. He went through his studies decently enough, but in particular, Draco was almost as legend as Harry; the stares that stuck to him were scathing, and he was hollered passing threats. Draco flinched, sometimes, but hurried along and ignored things like this. The school knew, or had at least heard rumor, that Draco was ordered to kill Dumbledore. Even if he hadn't, it certainly didn't color his image well, especially with his behavior and talk all years previous to his sixth.

And perhaps most insufferable of all was probably the fact that Harry, Hermione and Ron were often catching his eyes as well—it was too uncomfortable to bear, and it made the bile in his throat rise up with contempt, as well as a heavy, sickly feeling that twisted viscuously in the pit of his stomach. It was a feeling he didn't have the heart nor gumption to name, and so he normally took to bitterly scowling in some other direction. Indeed, Draco was getting a taste of it, and this was not lost on Harry. Mysteriously, the two boys had stopped antagonizing eachother altogether, which was sometimes commented on by members of their respective houses, or the peers of the other houses involved.

Of course, things as delicate as they were, post war, a lot of the talk got too personal much too fast—often sore from the remarks of his schoolmates, Draco would make his comebacks too slighting, whipping on fresh wounds. He rowed with Ron Weasley, in fact, during such an incident, earning himself a black eye and a swollen lip. Weasley, on the other hand, had been stunned—the two boys were separated, the both of them given an agonizing week of detention together.

And it was common for Hermione or Harry to pick him up after detention—Hermione, while sweet on Ron, was still much more academically minded than anything else and was working hard to make up for lost time. Harry, however, seemed to miss the company of his best mate in the evenings.

Again, Harry's eyes uncomfortably caught on Draco's as Harry prepared to leave with Ron. "Hold on a moment," Harry said to Ron, gesturing with a nod of his head towards Draco. "You go on. I've got a word for this one." Careful to mask his intent, Harry said this with a very mild snarl on his face. Ron eyed him dubiously, and just as dubiously acknowledged his words. Ron then turns to leave.

Harry waited a moment, watching his friend, and then he approached Draco. Draco was immediately defensive in his posture and his expression, and Harry, unbelievably, seemed to try to start leveling with him. As unconvinced as Ron was, Draco listened uncomfortably—his feelings regarding Harry were perhaps the muddiest of all—but when Harry seemed to finish what he had to say, his voice as low as possible, Draco's eyes had gone wide.

Staring unblinkingly to middle-distance, Draco turned his head to look at Harry. "You must be having a laugh at me, Potter," Draco said with disbelief.

Harry smiled, regarding Draco without a single thing more to say.

"Why would you tell me something like that, even if it were true?"

And, Harry merrily marched off in wake of his friend. Draco, however, stared stupidly at Harry's back as he went.

This wasn't the first time that Harry eluded to something suspicious. It was something about Snape. Since even before returning to Hogwarts, Draco had the strangest feeling that Snape simply hadn't died; it was a vague sort of itchiness at the back of his mind, a unpleasantness in his chest and stomach; some sort of ineffably strange, terrible feeling. The more he dwelled on it, the more Draco felt he might have been going mad, unsure as to why he was fixating so obsessively on Snape specifically.

"I'd heard you were frustrated," Harry had said back then, when Draco had finished detention with Ron. "seeing that you couldn't properly grieve or process his death. I wouldn't tell you otherwise, but—" Draco could hardly process Harry's explanation as he continued on, his mind racing just like his heart. What was he saying?

"—he's well."

Draco began collecting all information he could about it, but he raced for all of this in secret—Harry knew regretfully little about his actual alleged whereabouts, which made Draco feel insecure in the actuality of this story.

He pulled Harry aside, some months later, towards the end of the term, though they hadn't really spoken much through the entire year.

"I'm going. Deflect any questions regarding my absence."

"Of course," Harry said with an arrogant lipcurl. "Why would I care?"

"Yeah. That's right." Draco looked Harry up and down with a disdainful glowering, nodding his head once. "You bloody better well not be pulling my leg on this, Potter, or—and I mean this with sincerity—I will kill you."

"Heard that before."

"Shut up."

Draco had set himself somewhat poorly for his quest. Having been pampered comfortably his whole life, he was not really used to roughing it this way. He did at least do his homework, and he did pack mostly enough to get him by. He went by broomstick to make most of the traversing easy—and he had a map that he'd poured into and scrawled on to help his way, based on what he'd discovered. It was reckless, and it was stupid, but the force driving Draco was not one he can explain or stifle.

The path was appropriately confiding and elusive, even with his broom, and with lots of obstacles—even without magic tampering his way, the way is very arduous even naturally. Draco had to leave his broom, as the terrain became too demanding; he didn't want it broken, and it would hinder him. It was all the sort of wildness untouched by man, even wizards, of intimidating heaps of cliffs and confounding mist. Draco had to stun wildlife, howling in alarm when something found him. It had been almost five days of looking, and Draco's jaw and upper lip became covered with a fine, short and pale stuble that was mostly made visible by the sun.

But, a further pain in his ass, he thinks it's around the mountains—and traversing them has been no easy task. Through lots of stumbling of different sorts, Draco lost his broom to an aggressive river.

Cursing, but otherwise managing, Draco came to a clearing in the treacherous, dark forest. He knew it was close. He could feel it, more and more.

It was impossible to see anything, with all of the mist—there was the distant, eerie sounds of the predators and prey around the area. Draco's chest heaved, his fair skin scraped at its cheak, and his hood hung heavily over his head, obscuring his face. It was damned cold, and Draco was beaten out; just exhausted.

It was at this point, closer than ever, Draco had to wonder what the hell he was doing when he realized just what sort of shit he was in. His parents were going to have him hanged, and he wasn't even positive of his leads.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that he was right on top of it... Even if he had sense it was further up, Draco had to rest; his body, lungs and mind all ached terribly. He wasn't accustomed to this exertion.

His pale eyes looked for something, and he found nothing, but the clearing itself was too conspicuously serene and clean to go ignored.

Severus was crouching down in front of a Fluxweed plant, carefully pruning the leaves with short, precise flicks of his wand. Each stroke emitted a small snap of white light that sliced through the twigs like shears. He was in a small clearing of the forest, a spot that was open enough for sunlight to get through that Severus had been able to grow himself a small garden over the time that he'd been hiding out.

The sound of scuffling and of a twig snapping had Severus abruptly looking in the direction of the noise. He listened closely and at another scuffling sound, he pushed himself up with a sense of mild alarm. He'd become so accustomed to the sounds of the forests, and was by habit always hyperaware of his surroundings, that any sound out of the ordinary never failed to catch his attention. Switching his wand across to his other hand and holding it out at the ready, he began taking slow, cautious steps towards where he'd heard the sounds coming from. He was safe behind the shields he'd put up; his hut, his garden that he'd been growing and himself were invisible to anyone outside of the shield. Anyone who tried to cross his shields would end up disintegrating on the spot - not that anyone had ever wandered down this part of the forest, apart from Potter, and occasionally Granger and Weasley, and Potter always sent notice ahead of time that he was coming.

Stepping around a large bush, his eyes widened at the sight of a man standing not far from him on the other side of the shield. It took him a few seconds to realise that the man was none other than Draco Malfoy, which gave Severus even greater pause. He looked healthier than when Severus last saw him. The same couldn't quite be said for Severus, though: Severus had lost a great deal of weight; his cheek bones jutted out prominently and his body was gaunt and sallow. His clothes hung off him where they were once upon a time tight-fitting. His hair was long and came down past his shoulder blades. He was typically neat and presentable, but otherwise a shadow of his former self.

He stepped up quietly to the edge of the shield, still invisible to Draco's eyes, and watched Draco with wary fascination. He considered remaining hidden and not revealing his whereabouts to Draco at all. Isolation and an aching need to see another familiar face had him choosing to do otherwise. With a complex wave of his wand, he opened a portal within his shield. Another flick of his wand and he was hauling Draco through the opening in his shield with a pull of magic. The moment Draco was inside his shield, Severus released the hold on Draco and turned to his shield to seal it back up.

With a swish of his robes, he faced sharply back to Draco, wand pointed at the young man's face. "Mr. Malfoy," he greeted with carefully schooled calmness, though there was a look of nervousness in his black eyes. "Fancy seeing you here."

Draco hollered with alarm when he suddenly felt himself grasped by magic, or perhaps pushed, he couldn't really tell—and he stumbled once the trapping was released. As he straightened up with a stagger, his ashen eyes went wide at the tip of Snape's wand. He was a decent Occlumens, truly, but Draco was never consistently on guard with it, especially since the passing of the Dark Lord.

His heart raced, and part of him was angry that Snape would draw his wand on him. But having learned what he'd learned, Draco supposed that circumstantially, it's understandable; to Snape especially, their standing must have been murky and unclear. Draco wondered what Snape was thinking, staring into his dark eyes. He swallowed dryly, trying to steel himself; he resisted his initial urge to counter Snape and draw his own wand, but his body was shaking from the adrenaline the panic had delivered him, shaky as he was ever since the war. Draco feared Snape, for he was powerful; so much that he somehow survived Voldemort's killing blow. Draco, among the rest of the wizarding world, had only known one other successful in this right.

He nervously flexed his hands, steadying them somewhat of their shakiness, and stood with his legs somewhat apart in a more confidant stance.

"I could say the same to you," Draco said, and something inside of him twisted and sank; he blinked away a stinging in his eyes, though his lower eyelid rimmed with a subtle pinkness. "Unlike you, I'm no ghost, professor; I can assure you I'm more surprised than you are."

To say that Severus didn't know where Draco stood with him was an understatement. For all Severus knew, Draco could have found his way here to exact revenge of some ilk. For all Severus knew, Draco could have had plans to take the news of Severus' whereabouts to the Ministry. And so, he kept his wand trained on him even as Draco spoke.

Severus trained his thoughts on attempting to penetrate Draco's mind. All he was able to detect was a strong sense of anxiety and fear; he couldn't get any further past Draco's mental shielding. He took a moment to look Draco up and down, trying to reconcile the fact that Draco was actually standing right here before him. If anything, Severus was quietly relieved to see that Draco was alive and well.

The fear and nervousness he could detect from within Draco's mind was evidence enough for Severus that Draco didn't pose any real threat - he couldn't detect malice within those emotions, and so he lowered his wand several degrees. Not completely, but enough to demonstrate that he wasn't going to attack Draco. At least, not unless the young man gave him reason to.

"One thing that always failed you as an Occlumens is your inability to completely control your emotions," he finally said. "I can smell your fear. What are you doing here? You came alone, I hope."

Edited 2013-09-28 02:57 (UTC)

"Spare me your damn criticisms! I've got no bloody reason to hide my feelings at the moment!" Draco blurted in frustration, his ears flushing pink with embarrassment. He would have liked to, honestly, for the sake of covering his own ass. But he felt no need to fully steel his mind, because he trusted Snape and was exhausted besides. "I heard something—rumors, you know, and I'd...I'd had a feeling beforehand, as well."

Draco's eyes fell for a moment, trying to think of exactly how to articulate himself, and he licked his dry upper lip, which was cracked on one side.

"Before I'd heard anything, I just—dreamt of something like this, kind of," he said finally, lifting his eyes to look at Snape. His body language was still kind of jittery and tense. "I thought maybe I was going mad, hoping you'd—somehow gone off somewhere, but it seemed impossible. All the same, no matter how much I told myself I was off about it, I couldn't convince myself I was wrong. So—I looked."

Draco deflated somewhat with a sigh, unsure of what else to say.

"And...here—" Draco swallowed hard, his breath shuddering as his head suddenly hung. "—here you are."

He felt overwhelmed.

Draco's immediate outburst had Severus clutching his wand just a little tighter, just in case Draco was going to follow that with any sudden, unwanted moves. And instead... Severus found himself watching Draco struggling to contain himself while also explaining himself. Draco's behaviour, his manner of speaking, how defiant he was trying to be while also on the very cusp of cowardice - it was so terribly Draco and familiar, which reminded Severus of Hogwarts, that Severus felt a momentary pang of homesickness.

He studied Draco while the young man stood with his head hanging low, and Severus slowly lowered his wand to his side. "You came all the way out here just to find me? How awfully touching," Severus said, hiding his genuine, if not somewhat touched, curiosity with a tone of snide impatience.

He watched the boy for a moment longer before he turned on his heel. "This way, Draco," he said as he began leading the way towards the small hut he'd been staying in. It was a rundown, somewhat dilapidated place, mended here and there with magic, and tidied up inside to Severus' standards - those standards being precise and neat. A place for everything and everything in its place.

"Sit," he told Draco once they were both inside. He gestured to the small round table with two rickety-looking chairs standing either side of it. Severus pulled one of the chairs out and sat down while giving a flick of his wand over his shoulder towards the kitchenette. A tray, two cups and a teapot instantly floated into the air from the draining board, assembled themselves together and hovered across to the table. Severus wordlessly summoned water from his wand into the teapot, then tapped it, and steam suddenly blasted out from within the teapot from the instant boiling charm he'd heated the water with.

He charmed the teapot to begin pouring the tea. Setting his wand down, he laced his fingers together on the table while two cups of tea were poured for Draco and himself.

"So, you expect me to believe you went out of your way to go looking for me, simply based on a hunch? No other agenda in mind? I find that rather difficult to swallow, Mr. Malfoy. You've come here for only one of two reasons: answers, or to finish the job. Perhaps even both."

With the mention of Draco's journey being "touching", Draco scowled and his nostrils flared somewhat, a bit embarrassed by the accusation—and miffed at the sarcasm, not positive how to feel about Snape's words overall.

He obediently followed his former professor, unsure where this was going, but his guard mounted increasingly; though it had been a couple of years since the war, Draco still greatly operates in the realm of fight-or-flight. It was easier, now, because it was safer, but sometimes even simple things put him on a sort of irritable, jittery edge.

Once inside, Draco again did as he was told, dropping himself on Snape's chair, glowering across the table at his object of irritation as petulant teenagers often do. He barely acknowledged the tea as it came together, having barely seemed to notice its initial assembly—though he did have a derisive little laugh about it to himself in his mind, how Snape at least had such modest comforts.

He supposed that Snape's skepticism is natural, given their history—and it was true that Draco had nothing else to offer by ways of his motivation. Something as vague as "a feeling" or "a calling" sounded like absolute rubbish, almost even to himself.

Were it not for the horrible agony it entailed, as he is a coward, Draco would have offered for Snape to just have a forceful look right into his damn mind to find his own convincing.

Draco tilted his head somewhat, retaining his mild scowl.

"If you really thought I was here to kill you, would you really be offering me tea?" Draco's eyes momentarily dipped to glance at the glossy, steaming surface of the tea, then back to Snape. "You no longer have any reason to be so polite with your enemies," Draco spat indignantly, "if that is indeed how you perceive me."

"I've never perceived you as my enemy," Severus replied matter-of-factually.

The teas poured, Severus unclasped his hands to reach for the cup nearest to him. He took up his wand with his other hand and conjured a small jug of milk onto the table. He didn't take milk in his tea, but perhaps Draco did. He gave his tea a quick stir, put the spoon down and took a careful sip.

"I'd be unsurprised if you still considered me to be your enemy, though after everything that's happened, this life I now have to live... I frankly can't bring myself to care. You're either here to finish the job or you're not."

He paused to take another sip. He pondered for a moment just how candid he ought to be with Draco, then decided it no longer really mattered. All was said and done. He was now a fugitive with nothing left to live for except survival itself. Severus no longer deemed it terribly necessary to be so clandestine about his thoughts and motives anymore.

"Is that a legacy you're still trying to uphold? Being a Death Eater to make your father proud? Or has Lucius finally learned to find pride in more dignifying things? How is your father, by the way?"

"Well," Draco spat tensely, his shoulders reflecting his irritability. "Thank you. But I didn't come here to tell you about how my father is doing."

"Well" meant that Lucius was staggering with his name, trying to cover his ass—again. Watching his family struggle with the shame was difficult, and it was also Draco's burden to share.

Snape's behavior wasn't a surprise; Snape had a special talent for finding one's sore spots, but it wasn't usually Draco subjected to this. Indeed, Draco normally got to have a laugh at Harry and his friends as Snape turned his dull-toned wit unto them.

But that was years ago. Draco didn't like the feeling that this fact evoked within him.

"Further," Draco began again, "there is no bloody being a Death Eater with the Dark Lord dead, is there? What's more—"

Draco's lip lifted, glancing at the corner of the table for a moment, his brows furrowing as he shook his head. His hands knotted anxiously, and he ignored the tea for now, chilly though he was.

"—I've got no interest in murder."

He couldn't say he'd made his father proud. Draco found Snape's eyes again, not wholly positive how to convince him.

"I am not here to finish any damn—job."

Severus listened to Draco's vitriolically spoken remarks with little more than a display of mild interest. Oh, he was very interested in what Draco had to say - but, being typical to himself, Severus only showed the barest hints of interest, while the cogs turned sharply over in his mind.

"I know," Severus replied simply to Draco saying he had no interest in murder. "I always knew you weren't cut out to be a Death Eater. Even despite your father's desperate attempts to groom you in his image, I could always tell, even when you were a young boy, that it wasn't in you.

"Still. Doesn't mean someone hasn't put you up to it. The Dark Lord being dead and his reign fallen doesn't mean someone with an unhealthy appetite for power isn't thinking of keeping the Death Eater regime going."

Severus waved his hand at Draco's untouched tea. "Drink your tea. It'll warm you up."

Draco fidgeted with irritation, lifting his upper lip to reveal a bit of teeth. He was irritated with Snape's insinuation that he hadn't what it took to be a Death Eater—the others had said so as well. But at the same time, Draco didn't want that sort of life—still, it felt like a jab at his competence. His lack of bravery.

Draco picked up the cup, but didn't drink; he didn't know how weak Snape has become since fleeing (he looks a bit badly off), but surely he wouldn't resort to petty poison to off a haggard, tired teenaged boy. Draco knew he was being paranoid, but with the politics of everything, the trauma of the war wearing on him heavily, he couldn't help but be that way.

"Nothing like that has yet come to my attention; likely that if it's true, my mother would try to keep me out of it." Draco's father, however, was another story, which is why Draco fails to mention. "If anyone's put me up to this, it's Potter," he spat.

Then, Draco decided to sip his tea, but he continued glowering across the table at Snape.

"At first I thought that he was giving me the run-around, but I could feel it—I knew he wasn't."

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open rp post #002

UH there are probably errors. i am sorry.

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OOPS SORRY FOR MULTIPLE POSTS GOSH

IT'S OK, BB <333

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