Draco hopes that whatever expression that showed up on his face didn't convey the flash of emotions he felt when she spoke her piece. His indignation on behalf of Severus, still thus far an important figure in his life, belied by the uncomfortable truth in her words. Along with that came the acknowledgement of her righteous behavior, the seven years Severus used to wield undue power over a group of underaged kids, if only to exact his own form of petty revenge. And, of course, wry disbelief, more on the fact that McGonagall didn't see fit to warn him of the fact. He supposes that she might have enjoyed the thought of provoking him a little, a harmless enough knowledge if he leaves it as such.
Still, he felt his face move — a grimace or a frown, he doesn't know — and after an uncomfortable beat of silence, he forces himself to speak.
"I was not informed," he said, honest yet halting, almost pained. "I suppose it's only natural, as the Potions instructor. You'd be situated in the dungeons along with the rest of the house." Dungeons that he called home for seven years, with windows that looked into the depths of Hogwarts' lake. He remembers looking through those windows in his youth, admiring the vastness of the deep waters and creatures that watch them as they pass by, wondering how deep it would go if he ever decided to dive in. A passing fancy that called to his childlike curiosity, but he'd have been an idiot to say such out loud.
He wonders what would have happened if he was the Potions instructor, but he dismisses that thought as swiftly as it came. Just as Snape was never given the chance to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts until Dumbledore had no choice, Draco doubts that he would ever be given the dubious honor of sitting in his old professor's seat. Thus, he's chosen to make the climb, from the lowest parts of the dungeons to the highest tower, as far away from the temptation as he's able.
"When snakes bite they can be poisonous, but they take care of their own — that's what they've always said." It's an ideology passed down from Slytherin to Slytherin, a call to arms for every student to remember that they will rise and fall together, as they have always done. An old way of thinking, unfortunately instilled in so many of them. "As long as you take care of them, Granger, they will take care of you in turn — even if you are a - Gryffindor. Or, were."
Gryffindor, he says, but the passing thought of muggleborn crosses his mind so swiftly, that he tactfully purses his lips. Years of conditioning doesn't stop the thoughts from straying, but he can at least stop them now before they begin.
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Still, he felt his face move — a grimace or a frown, he doesn't know — and after an uncomfortable beat of silence, he forces himself to speak.
"I was not informed," he said, honest yet halting, almost pained. "I suppose it's only natural, as the Potions instructor. You'd be situated in the dungeons along with the rest of the house." Dungeons that he called home for seven years, with windows that looked into the depths of Hogwarts' lake. He remembers looking through those windows in his youth, admiring the vastness of the deep waters and creatures that watch them as they pass by, wondering how deep it would go if he ever decided to dive in. A passing fancy that called to his childlike curiosity, but he'd have been an idiot to say such out loud.
He wonders what would have happened if he was the Potions instructor, but he dismisses that thought as swiftly as it came. Just as Snape was never given the chance to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts until Dumbledore had no choice, Draco doubts that he would ever be given the dubious honor of sitting in his old professor's seat. Thus, he's chosen to make the climb, from the lowest parts of the dungeons to the highest tower, as far away from the temptation as he's able.
"When snakes bite they can be poisonous, but they take care of their own — that's what they've always said." It's an ideology passed down from Slytherin to Slytherin, a call to arms for every student to remember that they will rise and fall together, as they have always done. An old way of thinking, unfortunately instilled in so many of them. "As long as you take care of them, Granger, they will take care of you in turn — even if you are a - Gryffindor. Or, were."
Gryffindor, he says, but the passing thought of muggleborn crosses his mind so swiftly, that he tactfully purses his lips. Years of conditioning doesn't stop the thoughts from straying, but he can at least stop them now before they begin.