Snape stands his ground and waits until he's very sure that Draco has made his decision. Draco is not so stupid to have missed his point. He's seen the young man react with guilt too often to be mislead now, and about things of relatively greater importance. It would not have made it right, but Snape would have regained some measure of respect for him if he had admitted his error and apologized, but that's not what's happening here. No, he's playing as though he's missing the point entirely. And in a sense, he is. He's missed that he's been given a chance to make this a little better for himself.
"Clearly," he says slowly, enunciating the word with a slow finality. He seems to square his shoulders, seems as though he's not merely looking down at Draco who his seated but looking down on him, because lying for a cause is one thing but lying to someone who had done the things that Snape has done for Draco is quite another. Ungrateful comes to mind. Spoiled as well. Entitled.
"Unfortunately, it seems your practical studies have found their way into my supply cabinet," he starts, at first just condescending, but when Draco dares try to play innocence further, it's rage, and his expression goes dark and he leans in, "Don't you dare play innocent with me, Draco Malfoy," he spits out his full given name.
It wasn't just anger that informed the decision of what he did next, but also the fact that there was little that would teach Draco a lesson. The usual punishments were soon forgotten, inconvenient and a worthy fine for an action that he would ultimately repeat again if the need arose. This might not be fair, he knew that this need was real, he'd seen the need in the young professor the first night in the great hall, the way his hands shook sometimes, that distant, haunted look in his eyes. The potion explained it all, suggested more, suggested that along with shakes and panic, there were nightmares, things that kept him up and, waking, things that kept him in fear.
It might not be fair to punish him for seeking an end to his suffering, but Draco of all people should know that if he needs help, all he needs to do, when it comes to Snape at least, is ask.
"Stand up," he says finally, and now his voice is empty, hollow, void of anger. A punishment like he has in mind is not one to be delivered in anger, in a rage, uncontrolled. He wouldn't dare risk harming him, but Draco did need to learn, and he knew him well enough to know that humiliation, if not pain, would likely speak to him more readily than inconvenience.
no subject
"Clearly," he says slowly, enunciating the word with a slow finality. He seems to square his shoulders, seems as though he's not merely looking down at Draco who his seated but looking down on him, because lying for a cause is one thing but lying to someone who had done the things that Snape has done for Draco is quite another. Ungrateful comes to mind. Spoiled as well. Entitled.
"Unfortunately, it seems your practical studies have found their way into my supply cabinet," he starts, at first just condescending, but when Draco dares try to play innocence further, it's rage, and his expression goes dark and he leans in, "Don't you dare play innocent with me, Draco Malfoy," he spits out his full given name.
It wasn't just anger that informed the decision of what he did next, but also the fact that there was little that would teach Draco a lesson. The usual punishments were soon forgotten, inconvenient and a worthy fine for an action that he would ultimately repeat again if the need arose. This might not be fair, he knew that this need was real, he'd seen the need in the young professor the first night in the great hall, the way his hands shook sometimes, that distant, haunted look in his eyes. The potion explained it all, suggested more, suggested that along with shakes and panic, there were nightmares, things that kept him up and, waking, things that kept him in fear.
It might not be fair to punish him for seeking an end to his suffering, but Draco of all people should know that if he needs help, all he needs to do, when it comes to Snape at least, is ask.
"Stand up," he says finally, and now his voice is empty, hollow, void of anger. A punishment like he has in mind is not one to be delivered in anger, in a rage, uncontrolled. He wouldn't dare risk harming him, but Draco did need to learn, and he knew him well enough to know that humiliation, if not pain, would likely speak to him more readily than inconvenience.
"And bend over your desk."