Chapter 3
“So I talked to some of the Slytherins in my last class and they said Snape can be a total hard-ass if you’re not in his house,” Adrienne grimaces as they make their way down to the dungeons.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Drina grins, trying to push down the growing pit of nerves in her stomach. She was pleasantly reassured by his reception of her last night, but she knows he will have questions about her relation to the Malfoys. It’s obviously not a secret that they are related— it is how they are related that she’s kept close to her chest her entire life.
She isn’t ashamed of her mother, Bellatrix. Although Drina has only ever known her through their exchange of letters, she cares deeply for her. Like an older sister, really. And while she doesn’t espouse the same prejudiced views as those she’s grown up with— people, like her mother, who did terrible, unspeakable things in the war— she has learned throughout the years that there is more to many of the death eaters than meets the eye. Contrary to popular belief, there are many ways one can be swept into the vanguard of a despot.
Drina wonders what Severus’s reasons were. Would he look at her with suspicion if he knew who she was? Or fear, perhaps— Bellatrix was quite infamous for her brutality. Would he reject her, determined to protect the quiet life he has made for himself as an unassuming professor after the war, or relish in the fact that he had fucked death eater royalty?
That last one seems unlikely to her, but she’d much rather just keep her secrets to herself and not know, regardless of the answer— for now, at least.
“So I was wondering…” Adrienne says tentatively, breaking Drina out of her reverie, “What would you think if I entered my name into the cup?”
Drina turns her gaze to her friend, grinning at her nervous expression as she chews her cheek. “You should,” she says with genuine confidence. “You’d kick ass, Adrienne.”
She smiles broadly, her gaze flitting down as if she’s contemplating Drina’s words. “I would, wouldn’t I?” She says after a moment.
“Plus, I’ll get a VIP pass to all the action behind the scenes,” Drina says playfully just as they reach the door to the Potions classroom. The classroom is nearly full so they take an empty table in the back.
“Nosy bitch,” Adrienne laughs, giving her a weak shove as they sit down.
The door behind them slams shut before she can respond, all of her previous anxiety rushing back as she jumps in her seat and watches Severus sweep down the center of the room in a powerful stride. She quickly drops her gaze as he spins around to face the class and busies herself with setting out her notebook and quill.
“The Draught of Living Death,” his deep voice drawls. She looks up just as he flicks his wand at the blackboard and the day’s lesson appears. “As seventh years, you all should have no issue brewing this advanced potion. Key word being… should. If you find yourself incapable of such a task, I would highly advise you to consider sparing me from your continued and no doubt insufferable presence in this class.” His cold gaze sweeps over each student, his commanding presence instilling a tense silence throughout the room. Drina swallows the lump in her throat as his eyes meet hers. “You are to work in pairs. One of you will find the appropriate ingredients in the store room to your left. Begin.”
After a frenzied shuffle to collect supplies, a focused hush soon fills the room as everyone begins, interrupted only by faint murmurs and the occasional clink of glass stirrers against cauldrons. Drina fixes her attention on her work, ignoring the black shadow lurking in her periphery as her professor travels from table to table. She suppresses a smirk at his occasional scathing remark as he gauges each student’s progress.
“Damn, I forgot the shrivel figs,” Adrienne huffs, promptly disappearing to the store room.
Drina jumps suddenly as she feels Severus’s presence at her back. “Professor,” she murmurs after recovering, keeping her eyes glued to her work.
“Miss Vandeleur.”
Silence stretches between them as she continues to chop her ingredients under his scrutiny. She freezes, however, at the sensation of him drawing close to her ear.
“I know who you are, little witch,” he purrs in a deadly whisper, sending goosebumps chasing across her skin.
Drina blinks, her blood running cold in an instant before she draws a shaky breath and resumes her work. “I’m not sure what you mean, Professor.” She replies casually despite her pulse pounding in her ears.
“Adequate work, Miss Vandeleur,” he then says in a clipped tone, straightening as Adrienne returns and moving back to the front of the room.
Drina risks a glance at him after a few moments, feeling faintly lightheaded and more than a bit puzzled as she notes the slightest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Fuck, what does that mean?? Fuck, fuck, fuck!
***
Severus found her in the Great Hall well past curfew that night, her face lit only by the blue flames of the goblet as she stares intently into the fire. She shifts slightly as he steps from the shadows, drawing her dressing gown tighter around her, but doesn’t look up until he stops just next to the goblet. He wants to smirk when she levels him with a willful gaze but refrains, determined to tread lightly lest he spook her more than he already has.
“Would you ever have told me?” He finally asks in a gentle voice.
“Tell you what, Severus?” She responds, arching a brow.
He takes a slow step forward. “You’re really going to make me say it?”
“How can I answer if you don’t tell me what it is we’re even talking about?”
She tenses as he stalks closer, his eyes narrowing. “Feigned ignorance doesn’t suit you, Drina,” his warning tone skitters down her spine in a shiver. A voice in the back of her head screams at her to run when he stops just before her, but she freezes instead, releasing the breath she had been holding as he reaches out and tips her chin up to meet his dark gaze. “Bellatrix…” he whispers softly. “She’s your mother.”
A burst of emotion suddenly swells in her chest at the gentleness with which he looks at her then and her eyes flutter closed as she seeks to regain her composure.
“Lucius must trust you a great deal,” she murmurs after a moment before meeting his gaze again.
Severus grins, moving his hand from her chin to cup her face. “And do you not, little witch? Haven’t I kept your secret well since we first met in Paris?”
“This is different.” She says firmly.
“I know. You’re right,” he soothes as his thumb caresses her cheek. “You might be surprised, however, to learn that I am more familiar with your kind than you might think, Drina.”
“Not all that surprising, actually,” she says with an arched brow, a smile tugging at her lips as she grasps his forearm of the hand on her face and smoothes her thumb over where his dark mark lies hidden.
His eyes narrow. “Did Lucius—“
“Drina, is that you?” Father Kiernan’s voice suddenly calls out.
Drina gasps as their heads jerk to the side to see Father Kiernan approaching through the darkness. Pushing down the flash of annoyance that grips her, she quickly gathers herself mentally as Severus steps away.
“Father Kiernan!” She smiles, clutching a hand to her chest with an airy laugh. “You startled me.”
“Is everything alright?” He asks, his gaze flitting between her and Severus.
“Quite,” she nods. “I was just fretting over whether I should have entered my name into the tournament when Professor Snape found me.”
Severus nearly laughs at the absurd look of innocence glittering in her gaze as she peers up at the priest.
Father Kiernan steps closer to Drina, grasping her shoulders and lowering his voice as he says, “Why didn’t you come to me if you were so worried?”
“Perhaps she was in need of someone more… experienced.” Severus drawls, lifting a brow when Father Kiernan casts a steely glance in his direction. “With danger, you see.”
Severus misses the pointed glare Drina throws him as Father Kiernan drops his hands from her shoulders and steps closer to Severus.
“Your kindness is much appreciated. However, it is my responsibility to lead my flock, Severus.”
Drina rolls her eyes, promptly clearing her throat to draw their attention. “I’m going to bed before I freeze to death,” she says with a touch more exasperation than she intended before turning to leave. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”
***