Charlie glared at the clock on the wall, flinching every single time its hands twitched. There was a cold shill that made its way down his spine, but he doubted that it was just because of the cold dampness that clung to the dungeons like death.
He slicked his hair back disdainfully, painfully aware of the blackened eyes that were watching him. Across the room, hidden behind the vapor of various potions that hung thickly in the air, sat Severus Snape in an armchair behind his desk, who appeared more painfully quiet than ever before.
After Neville had delivered news of his detention, Charlie was forced down to the dungeons to sort flobberworms, just as requested, and he could've sworn that the sight of Snape's office caused him more dread than ever before. When he arrived, Charlie said not but a single word to Professor Snape, and even went as far as to not glance in his direction, unwilling to give Snape the satisfaction he had so wishfully presumed he would get.
For the past hour, they sat in silence. Occasionally, Snape would glance sideways at Charlie, observing all the familiar signs of teenage surliness, and felt just as ill-equipped to deal with it as he always had.
He would contemplate opening a dialogue, but knew all too well that Charlie wasn't the type to suffer idle chit-chat, especially with him, and without anything else but the obvious to speak (which neither of them seemed willing to broach), Snape didn't see a way out of the excruciating awkwardness of silence.
On the other side of the room, Charlie could feel the penetrating scowl of his Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor on the side of his face. He gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to sigh, throwing worms harshly from one bucket to another, as though each of them had wronged him in some way.
There was a method to Charlie's madness, you see. His plan was to hastily sort through these toothless wannabe slugs and end this torturous detention, leaving Snape with nothing but an uncertain knowingness that would ultimately play upon his guilty conscience. Charlie was beyond past reason, as he wanted Snape to suffer, and struggled to contain the anger boiling in his veins whenever the two were found in the same room together.
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In Charlie's eyes, there was nothing redeemable about Severus Snape, despite his grandfather's constant support of the contrary. Professor Snape was a hateful and twisted man with a vendetta against anyone who had wronged him. He, in Charlie's most honest opinion, was no different from the Dark Lord himself, for both had done nothing to prove that there was any humanity left within them.
As biased as he may be, Charlie thought of nothing but excruciating pain and insufferable loneliness when he thought of Professor Snape. There was even a part of Charlie that blamed Snape for everything that had become of him. It was a fair accusation, one might believe, for Severus Snape had ultimately been Charlie's last hope of survival from the Dark Mark over the summer break.
