The time to do the proper thing in
this situation had long since expired. He was stuck here now. Idiotic
boys. Who would wander into the potions dungeons, for this
purpose, and not check that the room was completely empty? Perhaps they
had assumed that if Professor Snape had indeed been in the supply
closet, he would have stormed out and chastised them as soon as he
heard them. Yes, that would have been the proper thing to do.
They
certainly made enough noise, glued together at the face, crashing into
chairs as they made their clumsy way toward his desk. His desk!
His desk was now covered by Malfoy’s bare back. His
quill was being crushed by Potter’s knee. But there was nothing for it
now. Nothing without admitting he’d been in here for a good seven
minutes, silent and watching.
There were limits, however. There were things he most certainly would not
do. His cheeks would remain pale. No blood could color skin this shade
of white. His hands would remain outside his robes. And the door would
remain as it had been – only open the smallest crack.
It was
enough to see Potter holding Malfoy down. He wouldn’t have guessed
Malfoy would be so acquiescent. Or Potter so domineering. But that
shouldn’t surprise him. It doesn’t surprise him. Nor does the smug grin
on Potter’s face when Malfoy shouts. The grin is disturbingly familiar.
Snape breathes a barely audible sigh of relief when Malfoy reaches for
Potter’s face and pulls off his glasses. He looks so much less like his
father without them. Slowly, silently, Snape closes the door.