Sight Unseen

Sight Unseen

"Here you are!"

Snape startled, jerked out of his reverie, and the cosy woollen blanket he had wrapped himself in slipped from his shoulders. Draco was standing there, beaming, dangling a bottle of Firewhisky in front of his face.

"Look what I've found! I'm sure Father won't mind - after all, we've got a lot to celebrate!" Draco said, cheerily.

Snape was about to turn him down when he caught sight of both the boy's eager eyes and the bottle's label. He sighed and straightened up a bit, tugging the blanket back over his shoulders. Draco pulled up a small side table and arranged two heavy crystal tumblers neatly on top, then rushed off to rekindle the fading fire.

"Draco. Sit. Your rushing around is helping no one." Snape said, unable to suppress the tinge of nagging in his voice.

Draco let himself plop into the armchair opposite Snape but seemed unable to sit still. Fidgeting for some time, he finally lowered himself on the edge of the chair, only to jump up seconds later to fetch the corkscrew from the mantelpiece.

Snape heaved another sigh, but as he looked at the boy, his silver eyes shining brightly, his lower lip sucked between his teeth, he couldn't bring himself to turn Draco away. "It's a whisky bottle. You won't need this." Despite the slight blush creeping up the pale cheeks, Draco bestowed him a gushing smile, and Snape lifted the right corner of his mouth in return.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of being honoured with your father's best and presumably most expensive whisky?" he drawled.

"Oh, but can't you guess? Have a look at the clock, then." Draco chuckled and momentarily stopped trying to open the bottle's seal to point at the grandfather clock next to the fireplace. "It's now time for the old man to vanish from the surface of the earth for once and all times!" He went back to fumbling with the cork, which seemed to slip from his grip again and again. Catching sight of Snape's raised eyebrow, he muttered a tad defensively, "I would've told the house-elves to do this, but I wanted to be alone with- I prefer my privacy-"

Wordlessly, Snape snatched the bottle from him and opened it with a skilful twist of his hand. The rich, almost tangy flavour of the old Single Malt hit his nose immediately, and his mouth began to water as his stomach warmed in anticipation. He poured about two fingers of the amber liquid into each tumbler and handed Draco one of them. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to raise the glass slowly, to concentrate on taking only a tiny sip.

Draco sniffed at his glass and nodded knowingly. "Good stuff. It's so wonderful to be here, and away from Hogwarts. Although, I have to admit that I almost wished I were there right now. I would simply love to see the old man being buried - just to know that it's real, you know?"

He gave a nervous laugh and continued talking, his voice rising a fraction. "I mean, I do know that it's real, I've been there. I was present after all, when you- when you did it. When you killed him."

Snape took a huge swig. "Yes."

"So, I'm aware that he's dead, that we're finally rid of him. Merlin, I hope Dad knows about this already - Mum said it's so difficult getting in contact with him, but he will rejoice, even though it wasn't m- Well, he always despised Dumbledore, rumbled him for what he truly was. My Dad's nobody's fool, now is he? And now, after this victory, the. The Da-." He swallowed. "Father will be released soon." Pressing his lips together, he cast Snape a slightly challenging glance.

Downing the last mouthful of his whisky, Snape nodded and reached for the bottle.

"Yes, it worked out wonderfully. Almost perfectly." Draco leaned back, releasing his breath with a gush, and smirked. "Still - imagine the fuss they're making right now, I would just love to see it! I bet there'll be lots and lots of people there, representatives of the Ministry, guests from everywhere, all of them giving speeches, babbling on about his noble character and his good heart, about what a loss to the Wizarding world he is and how much we're all going to miss him, blah, blah." He rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Most likely, yes."

"And I bet that most of them are just putting up a show. Merlin, I remember my grandfather's funeral. Now that was a truly impressive event, all the grand families of the Wizarding world came to pay their last respects to him. It was a dignified and honourable interment, with none of that fancy codswallop they've most likely got going at the old man's funeral. Father spared neither effort nor cost, of course, even down to the smallest details - thousands of candles from France floating in the cathedral, and the catafalque was drawn by twelve horses. Double choir for the requiem. That is how a real wizard's funeral should be. Did you know that we had Jean Pierre Paléstrin play the organ? I'm sure they're having some corny, heartrending lamentation for the old man to make sure all the saps are sobbing and snivelling their little hearts out, don't you think?"

"I suppose that Fawkes will bid his farewell to him," Snape muttered, more to himself, and took another hearty draught.

"Fawkes? Oh, I remember - that ugly, blasted bird of his. Is it true that it's very dangerous?"

"A phoenix is a powerful creature. You should know that."

"Ye-es, of course I know that - but what do you expect, considering our Magical Creatures education? My father wanted that cretin to be sacked; but no, Dumbledore wouldn't have it. Besides, he was never too concerned about having dangerous beasts prancing the grounds of Hogwarts, anyway. He and his pet oaf!" Draco gave a disdainful snort. "You wouldn't believe it, but I still have the scars, see!"

Snape was about to say that he believed it, absolutely, he did; but Draco had already rolled up the sleeve of his right arm to reveal three thin white lines, ever so slightly paler than the surrounding skin. Snape could see the veins shimmering through the almost translucent epidermis, the blood rushing through them, and he felt an unusual tenderness rising, tugging at his heart. How young, how alive the boy was! He lifted his gaze and found Draco's eyes brimming with emotion.

"He didn't care! He didn't visit me at the infirmary, didn't talk to me once, didn't even ask - not that I would've wanted him to, mind! I never needed his attention, I would've despised it!" The tumbler clank audibly as Draco set it violently on the table which started to wobble, and Snape got hold of the tilting bottle just in time. Since he had it in his hands, anyway, he refilled his almost empty glass.

"And I'm sure they're burying him in Gryffindor colours! That much for House unity! As if we ever fell for that stunt. All red and gold, and we Slytherins can go fuck ourselves, like it had been during all those wasted years! Merlin, Father was right - I should've gone to Durmstrang!"

Snape snorted and gave a shrug. "You think so?"

"Oh. Oh no, I. I didn't mean - I mean, I enjoyed your classes enormously. Loved being a Slytherin, that goes without saying! It's just- oh, whatever. Everything will take a turn for the better."

"You think so." Snape wrapped his arms briefly around his belly and then lifted the tumbler to take another sip.

"Why, yes. Of course." Draco stared at his hands, letting the whisky swirl around in his glass. "I bet Potter's crying. Crying like a baby."

"Presumably."

"Pathetic sycophant." He fixed his gaze on Snape, his chin raised. "I didn't cry at my grandfather's funeral." Grabbing the poker, he got up to rake the fire, almost extinguishing the tiny flames with his vehemence. Impatiently, he drew his wand and pointed it at the fireplace. The next moment, a roaring flame whooshed up. Draco jumped back, startled.

Snape couldn't help but smile. So much vigour, so much passion to be channelled. When had he killed his own fervour, he wondered briefly, and knocked down the remaining contents of the glass. "Come here," he said. "Leave the fire, it'll burn on anyway." He tapped at Draco's side of the small table, and when he withdrew his hand, he seized the opportunity to pick up the bottle and refilled his glass.

"How long does it take? What do you think?"

"Mh? Oh. No idea." Snape raised the tumbler, drained it at one gulp, and pressed the glass against his forehead, enjoying its coolness on his skin.

"My grandfa-" Draco stopped mid-sentence and laughed nervously. "I'm sorry, I keep droning on. I forgot that you were at his funeral too. You. You've been a friend to my father, to our family as long as I can remember."

"M-hm."

"This last year. It has been, well, you know. Hard. I've- My mother said- You know," he said, tentatively, "I'm no longer cross with you that you. That you did it. Instead of me."

Snape squeezed his eyes shut, frowning, and helped himself to another filling and inhaled the scent which was rising from the liquid. "I know."

"I- I don't. Don't know- I'm not sure whether-" Draco stammered, and then, with a sudden rush of confidence, he blurted out, "I'm not sure I could've done it. Fulfil my task. I like to think that I could've managed it, but I'm not sure."

"Draco." Slowly and somewhat reluctantly, Snape raised his head and tried to catch the boy's eye, but Draco had turned away to stare into the fire. The flickering flames cast red lights and dark shadows onto his angular face, accentuating his high cheekbones and pointy chin. A muscle was twitching in the boy's face, and Snape found Draco looking more fragile, more vulnerable than ever before.

"Draco," he repeated, putting as much authority into his voice as he could muster. "You can be proud of yourself, for what you did."

The boy's head jerked up. "Can I?" he squeaked, his voice close to breaking. He pressed his lips together and lowered his head again. "I almost did it. Almost. Yes," he whispered. "Yes, I guess I can be proud of myself."

Snape merely nodded in reply and buried his nose in the tumbler, breathing in the flavour of the whisky. He closed his eyes again and allowed himself to float in the cosiness of near oblivion.

"It must be over soon. What a victory." Draco's voice was a mere whisper now. "I'm so happy that everything's turned out for the best eventually."

"You- however. Do you want some m-" Snape's gaze fell on Draco's glass. The boy was clutching the tumbler with both hands, his long, slim fingers curled around it so tightly that the nails were digging into the back of his hands and the knuckles almost white. Obviously, he hadn't sipped from his glass even once. Snape closed his eyes and drew a few deep, steadying breaths. Then he reached forward and placed his hand on Draco's arm.

"You should drink it. It helps."