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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 14, 2008 23:50:18 GMT 1
((Unie? Not entirely sure what that is, to be honest.
My only class today was Basic Algebra I. It's not necessarily... hard, but the Professor doesn't explain things well enough at times, and she speeds through everything so quickly I get confused. Haha. Usually it's okay though.
-shrug-
And actually, it works brilliantly. I was thinking of messaging you about who we could have the stranger be... I was thinking Lucius, and it looks like you were on the same train of thought. Nice. Haha!))
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Post by loekie on Nov 14, 2008 23:57:33 GMT 1
((seems like it coolios lol... uni is short for university. I was never ever good at maths (any part of it) which would probably be why I'm studying law at the moment... lol))
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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 15, 2008 0:11:13 GMT 1
((Ah. I guess if I had thought about it, that would be obvious. Haha.
And I'm... okay at Math... I don't really find it that hard, but then, I've only done Algebra before. -shrugs- Still, it's not my forte. Which is why I'm majoring in Psychology instead of Math. Haha.
What sort of law are you studying?))
Harry had been very careful to touch the other lightly for two reasons; one was it was Malfoy, for Merlin's sakes, and the only real contact Harry had ever had with the other boy was when they brushed against each other accidently in Potions, or the halls, and he was perfectly content with keeping it at that. Two, this Malfoy looked so tiny. Malfoy had always been tall and skinny, come to think of it, with a slight body, but this Malfoy was even smaller. It almost looked like the wind could blow him over. So needless to say, Harry was a bit confused when a flicker of panic and fear came across his features—and then it was gone, leaving Harry to wonder if he had imagined it. He had never really seen Malfoy afraid, but he knew what the emotion looked like, and if he could only use one word to describe the look he had just been given, it would be that. Afraid. It was hard to imagine Malfoy afraid, though. Even when he was this young. His personality was very similar to the older version, after all, and that was one thing he had never associated with him. Fear.
He couldn't dwell on it for long, though, as the footsteps were growing closer and, as gently as he could considering, Harry pulled Malfoy behind the statue. He let Malfoy press against the statue first, and automatically, Harry's stance grew defensive, his own body shielding the slighter one, protecting him from sight. He listened carefully, glancing down at Malfoy for a moment, instantly confused again. The younger Malfoy's expression was strained—his eyes were tight, like he was trying to keep something to himself, but couldn't entirely. Harry could almost see the glimmer of fear—he looked away, not wanting to associate Malfoy with that emotion. He didn't want to think of Malfoy afraid, period, because when this was over, when Malfoy was Malfoy again, he didn't want things to change. If this wasn't a trap, and something had really happened to Malfoy to make him younger, Harry didn't want to feel pity for the boy when he was older again. He didn't want Malfoy to seem any more human than necessary.
His anger kept him sane.
Carefully, with one hand still resting across Malfoy's forearm, as if he thought he was going to run out into the corridor any moment and his touch would somehow prevent him from doing that, he leaned forward a bit, glancing past the statue to see who it was. He was very aware of Malfoy doing the same thing, and his eyes hardened when he spotted a familar flash of blond hair. He remembered his original reason for heading downstairs—it was just minutes ago, but it seemed much longer than that. He swallowed, his jaw clenching, and he looked down worriedly at Malfoy, praying that he wouldn't call out. He was relieved when the boy remained silent, and the glimmer of fear across his face was nearly palable—he brushed the thought aside. Malfoy wasn't afraid. He couldn't be. It was his father, after all, and Malfoy had always been Mommy and Daddy's little boy. Maybe he simply hadn't seen him.
Still, Harry found it hard to control his own anger toward the man. He wanted very much to pull out his wand and curse the other, even though he hadn't done anything wrong. Right then, anyway. And yet.
Relief washed across him when Malfoy Sr. disappeared, rounding the bend, his footsteps fading fast.
In an awfully big hurry, wasn't he?
Malfoy sighed, and Harry gave him a curious look, his brow wrinkled ever-so-slightly, his curiousity and confusion tripling at the sight of his hands, turned into tiny fists.
He adverted his gaze.
Ignorance was bliss, after all.
He was glad that Malfoy didn't just instantly dart out into the corridor—he was unnaturally well behaved for his age, what ever that was. It didn't surprise him as much as it should, he was sure.
Another minute passed before Malfoy moved, slipping out from underneath Harry's grasp and away from the statue, into the corridor. Harry followed him, casting one careful look down the corridor, his anger unresolved. He fought to keep it under control, hidden, and he looked at Malfoy. Again, he felt like he should say something—anything—the fact that Malfoy hadn't gone running to Daddy right then was mildly suspicious, and would make sense if this was a trick—but he didn't know what to say. And, even worse, that's not what he wanted to say. Instead, he wanted to find some way to comfort the boy, not completely able to erase the thought of him being afraid out of his mind, and he had to remind himself who he was looking at.
Finally, he settled with a simple, "Let's go."
And turned, continuing their journey to the dungeons, his pace a bit quicker than before. He didn't want to meet anyone else and the sooner he got Malfoy to Snape the better—funny, really, considering there was still a large part of him that thought this was a trick. Was he really in such a hurry to meet death? They headed down the last flight of stairs, the temperature dropping considerably, and Harry shivered. It really wasn't that cold, but there was just something about the dungeons that made him uneasey—he knew the Slytherin common rooms were just like the Gryffindor ones, save for the colors, but the corridors... they were different. Vacant. Most of the portraits and statues were upstairs, taking their color and life with them, and the torches seemed dimmer, unable to spread their flickering warmth through the halls.
It was probably just his imagination, but that knowledge hardly changed the feeling of unease that threatened to swallow him.
He headed in the direction he thought Snape's office was.
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Post by loekie on Nov 15, 2008 0:43:55 GMT 1
((I'm doing Eurpean Law school at the moment... I'm not sure yet really what way I want to go... how's psychology working out for ya?))
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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 15, 2008 0:45:31 GMT 1
((Ah. Nice.
Psychology is fun. I'm a geek. Haha. Seriously though, I love it. It's so interesting, and my current Professor is awesome. I'm hoping to do Criminal Psychology, actually, so I'll probably end up having to minor in Law.))
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Post by loekie on Nov 15, 2008 0:54:43 GMT 1
((that's awsem! where are you from if I may ask))
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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 15, 2008 0:58:14 GMT 1
((Michigan. It sucks.
Okay, so I guess I can't really say that... it could be worse, and all things considering, I'd much rather deal with snowstorms than hurricanes or tornadoes... but... does it really have to be so... cold?
-wrinkles nose-
Where are you from, love? England or Australlia? I'm guessing England, considering the time difference and whatnot. But I'm probably wrong.))
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Post by loekie on Nov 15, 2008 1:01:03 GMT 1
((lol... well.. I love snow... lol...
close... I'm from holland... it's quit near england...))
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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 15, 2008 1:02:41 GMT 1
((Mmph. See. I like snow. And I like the cold. But not together. lol
Ah. Gotchya. Told you I was going to be wrong. Heh.
Bah. I should work on math homework but I REALLY don't want to.))
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Post by loekie on Nov 15, 2008 1:27:28 GMT 1
The blond was well aware of the hand that tried to keep him in place. He swallowed hiding the fear he felt. He looked up and once again felt the other boy’s stare on him. Why did he always have to do that? The boy wondered though if the raven-haired had noticed his fear though. Something told the blond he did and that didn’t sit well with the youngster.
Then he noticed something in the boy’s eyes. Anger… unbelievable anger when they saw his father. He wondered what his father had done to him to make him angry and he just hoped that it wouldn’t be let out on him.
It wasn’t so strange for Harry to think that the teen version of the blond would have ran to his ‘daddy’ crying and whining. But truth be told, it was all an act. An act to keep hard questions at bay, an act to survive. And the fact that he would make a big deal out of seemingly minor injuries. It usually wasn’t the injury that got to him. Every once in a while he just needed a break, and a few days away from school and his so called friends. No-one would ever guess how tiring it could get to have to deal with his father’s demands, schoolwork and the constant threat of suffering if something didn’t go his father’s way.
He just knew though, that his father was looking for him, and soon or later he was going to be found and he just wanted to put that of as long as possible.
When he looked behind him to see if the raven-haired was following him he could see the anger still in his eyes. Ah well… he would just have to deal with whatever was comeing he continued on his way ignoring the feeling of the teen’s eyes on him. This was just bloody brilliant he thought bitterly as he now followed the teen towards the dungeons. It got colder and darker as they walked along and the blonde boy subconsciously drew his robe closer around him. They headed through corridors and apart from the ‘let’s go’ there was another silence. He however didn’t mind since he didn’t really enjoyed talking, or being the center of attention for that matter.
This too was in strong contrast of what most people would believe, even at this young age, he, for strangers, would seem to love the attention he and his family got wherever they went. Everyone may think he was a awful actor, but he become quit adapt at the art.
He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about home right now. He had let on too much as it was and he just hoped the older boy could keep his mouth shut.
The walls of the dungeons were dark and seemed cold and bare. It sort of reminded him of his room, that apart from his bed desk and cupboard was practically empty with a small window. Most of his stuff would be in the large closet and mostly, it would stay there.
The only thing the blond truly loved more then anything was his broom. He absolutely loved to fly. It made him feel so free. It was as if nothing existed, and if that was true, neither did pain. Yeah… flying was something even his father had not yet been able to suck the fun out of, even though the blond figured it would be long before he’d get competitive with that as well.
When in the first year, Harry had made the team, his father had paid him a visit, and he had heard all about it. But for now, the 6 year old couldn’t think of anything that he liked more then soaring through the air with his broom, and already having quit a handle on the device muggle only used to clean. The blond looked around trying to take everything in. Was the office still far? What would happen when they got there? “Where is his office?” he eventually asked but they had now already stopped in-front of two large doors. The boy frowned. He now remembered that he had awoken not to far from here. It didn’t matter though as now all they had to do was knock on the door and enter.
He figured since, well, it was his godfather… he should make the first move. That, and the fact that the raven-haired seemed to rather sprint of in the opposite direction then to actually go in. The small boy took a deep breath, lifted his small hand and knocked in the door softly patiently awaiting a reply. He ran a hand through his longish blond hair trying to keep it from falling into his face and to try and make it look less disheveled. A Malfoy should never look unkempt, or so his father said.
He glanced up at the boy beside him and sensed his unease. He smirked inwardly. Was Snape really that bad? He had never experienced it and he hoped that that now would be the case as well… ----------------
((I should be studying as well.. but… well… I’m lazy.. and the subject at the moment is reasonably easy…(knock wood) he you maybe have like msn or yahoo messenger or something?))
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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 15, 2008 1:38:03 GMT 1
((Would you like to play Snape, or would you like me to, love? Either way is fine with me. I've played him before, so. -shrug-))
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Post by loekie on Nov 15, 2008 1:39:59 GMT 1
((I have never played him... so I was kinda hoping... maybe you could?..... if you don't mind too much...))
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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 15, 2008 1:42:23 GMT 1
((I don't mind at all.
I do have a Severus, actually. He's a bit rusty, but I've played him the most in about this era, so it works. ^.^
I've MSN, btw. loveandliesgohandinhand@hotmail.com, if you want to add me. I'll get on now.))
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Post by loekie on Nov 15, 2008 1:44:19 GMT 1
cool.. I've added you!
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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 15, 2008 2:38:31 GMT 1
Harry was relieved when the corridors started to look more and more familar—he had taken to wandering them sometime, at night, early last year. It helped him think. He had always had his map, though, and without it he was a bit worried he wouldn't be able to find his way around. Apparently, he didn't have anything to worry about, and he was glad. He could just see himself getting lost in the dungeons with Malfoy—could just hear Malfoy's complaints, even at this age, and the eventual harassment he'd get if he ran into anyone. And while he was in a bit of a hurry to get rid of Malfoy, the walk to Snape's office was much shorter than he would have liked. They walked in silence—Malfoy thinking about Merlin only knew what, and Harry thinking about everything and nothing at once.
One moment, he was thinking about the situation at hand—what he was going to do if this was a trick, possible strategies and whatnot,—and then the next, he was thinking about his near-expulsion and what he had learned of the Ministry of Magic—and then he was thinking about last year, about what else he could have done—and then about his parents and then—well, you get the picture. It was strange. He knew that, should this be a trick, he was walking right into it and he was in very real danger. And yet, he couldn't make himself focus. Maybe he was suicidal.
Focusing on their surroundings again, wanting to make sure they weren't lost, Harry rounded another corner, pleased to see one of the few statues—that was one thing he didn't like about the dungeons. Statues and portraits were rare, making it very easy to get lost. And, unfortunately enough, Harry had no sense of direction what so ever.
"Where is his office?" asked Malfoy, drawing Harry's attention to him, right as they turned another corner. Two wide doors were in front of them and the plate that should have said which Professor's quarters these were, were empty. Figures. Bloody antisocial death-eater. Considering they were right there, Harry didn't think he really needed to ask that. A bit more cautious, now, they approached the door. He hesitated, fear making one last grasp at his heart. It wasn't too late to turn around and go see Dumbledore. And really, though that may be the case, Harry knew they couldn't. Well, he could, technically, he supposed—he could leave Malfoy there now, let him fend for himself, but he could just see the arse ripping he'd get from Snape on the small chance this wasn't a trap.
He wondered why Malfoy hadn't acted yet, and a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Malfoy visibly straightened and ran a hair through his hair before his small hand reached up and knocked on the door.
Harry tensed, directing his eyes at the problem at hand.
They stood there for a good minute or two, Harry's unease taking a better hold of him every second—the anxiety setting in—and just when Harry was about to knock again, in case Snape hadn't heard Malfoy, the door swung open.
To say Snape didn't look happy would be nothing out of the norm—he rarely, if ever looked happy. But right then, that was especially true. Apparently, he didn't like to be bothered at his personal quarters, and Harry was sure that the fact it was him bothering him was just the icing on the cake.
Snape's eyes narrowed to black, deep slits, a startling contrast to his complexion. Harry fought the urge to shift uneasily from one foot to another and said, in the nicest voice he could manage, "Good Evening Prof—"
"—the Headmaster better be on his death bed, Potter," interrupted Snape, his tone clipped, "for you to make a call at this hour."
He flashed Harry a slight smirk.
"Speaking of, I do believe it's past curfew—twenty points from Gryffindor."
Harry inhaled deeply, biting his tongue. Oh, it was past curfew alright. By two bloody minutes.
"Professor, I just—"
"—just what? Spit it out, Potter."
Harry locked his jaw. If you'd give me a bloody word in edge-wise. Instead of opening his mouth again, and risking the chance of something inappropriate coming out, he shot a pointed glance to his company. Snape's eyes followed his, taking the young Malfoy in, and before Harry could process the expression on his face, Snape was jerking the door further in, his voice almost a bark.
"Potter, Malfoy, get in."
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and followed Malfoy into his quarters, resisting the curiousity to look around and take in his surroundings. He didn't think Snape would appreciate that very much. Besides, he really didn't care to see Snape's collection of troll heads, because that was certainly what it smelt like in there. Snape headed further in, his robes billowing dramatically behind him, and Harry wondered if he ever changed out of them. Honestly. Obviously a bit more hesitant than Malfoy, he followed him, his eyes barely taking in the couldron in front of the fire place before returning to Snape's pointed face.
"Now what is the meaning of this, Potter?" asked Snape, his voice dangerously low. "What did you do to him?"
Harry couldn't stop the indignant look from crossing his face, and he crossed his arms over his abdomen, careful to keep his voice even. Polite.
"I didn't do anything to him," he said, unable to erase all of his defensiveness, "unless finding him counts."
Snape gave him an unbelieving look and Harry carefully adverted his gaze. Oh yes, coming to Snape was a brilliant idea. He was slightly relieved when he turned his attention to Malfoy, though still uneasy, Harry shifted, his hand dropping so that it was near his wand pocket. Just in case.
"Malfoy," Snape started carefully, his voice much softer than before, though it still had an edge to it. Harry thought he was going to be sick. "Draco, how old are you?"
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