In which Snape thieves from people.

It was pouring. Of course it was. How could he have expected any different?

He wanted a smoke, though, and he was bloody well going to have one.

Just as he lit the cigarette, he heard the footsteps.

Light, almost silent, but decidedly behind him and walking directly towards him.

Harry sighed and took a drag, forcing himself to relax into it.

“Potter,” said the voice belonging to the footsteps: his boss.

“Professor Snape,” he responded.

“Those things will kill you, you know,” Snape informed him.

“So will alcohol and fast cars. Think anyone stops doing things with those?” Harry returned.

Snape hesitated for just a moment. “Could I bum one from you?” he inquired.

Harry silently held out the pack, then flicked his lighter under the other man’s cigarette.

“Hypocrite,” he accused.

“You saw the freshmen, Potter. And we all have our vices for dealing with the terror of people.” Snape rejoined.

“I’ve been your TA for six months, Snape. They are far more likely to come out of this scarred than you.” Harry said.

“Vices, Potter, are what keep good teachers sane, and good students in fear.” his boss replied.

“And yours is, Professor?”Harry asked.

“Stealing cigarettes off my Teaching Assistant. Now come on, we can’t catch them being late if we aren’t there ourselves.” Snape snapped back.

 In which Draco is over-dramatically frustrated.

“Library books.” he murmured, looking at the stacks.

Pansy nodded.

“Library books?” he stared at her. “Really?”

Pansy fidgeted a little under his gaze. “I have them from every city I’ve ever lived in. I’ve been doing it since I was ten.”

Draco glanced at the books again, then back to her. “You never get to call me insane again.”

Pansy fidgeted some more. “Done.”

Draco walked out of the room mumbling “She steals library books?” under his breath.

Pansy watched him for a moment, then picked up The Rivers of Zadaa and set up camp in an overstuffed chair.

“Oh, not this again!” Said a voice from the door.

“Do shush, Draco.” said Theo from the couch.

“Must you insist upon watching this rubbish at least once a week? Really?” demanded Draco.

“Must you consistantly complain about it? It’s not as if I tie you to the couch and force you to watch it with me.” Theo shot back.

“Yes. The Constant Gardener does not qualify as quality entertainment, Theo. Tessa and Justin be damned, you don’t need to cry like a little schoolgirl every single weekend,” proclaimed Draco loudly.

“If you had ever bothered to watch this movie, Malfoy, you would know that The Constant Gardener is not about just the romance. It’s controversial, and for good reason,” Theo explained absently.

“Wouldn’t you rather read something? Wander through the seas in Moby Dick? Become unstuck in time with Billy Pilgrim? SOMETHING intellectual?” Draco cried in desperation.

Theo finally looked up, pushed Draco down into sitting on the couch, turned back to the movie and said, very quietly, “Sit still. Hush. Watch.”



September 2011

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