autumn | severus snape

thirty one

Ophelia stormed down the stone corridor a week later, her bag slung over her shoulder, her mind scattered. Telling the Order what had transpired that night with her father was one of the most difficult things Ophelia had ever had to do. Robert Allen was dead. And Ana had been crushed when she found out that Hugo Allen had left Hogwarts.

Ophelia's thoughts were interrupted and she stopped abruptly in the corridor. She could smell him before she saw him, the cloying, cheap perfume that preceded him. Slowly, she turned, her expression cool and composed.

"Graham," she acknowledged.

"Princess," he smirked, his beady eyes glinting with smug amusement.

Ophelia resisted the urge to retch at the sight of him, her eyes flickering briefly to his poorly polished shoes. Horrible, just like the rest of him, she thought grimly.

"What do you want?" She asked with a sigh, crossing her arms over her chest in irritation.

"Always so impatient," he teased, stepping closer. His hand reached out, brushing away a stray lock of her hair.

The touch sent a wave of revulsion through her, and she slapped his hand away with force. "Don't touch me," she snapped.

"Mr. Cecil, I would strongly advise you to leave Miss Delisle alone."

Draco stepped into view, his expression steely, his stance radiating quiet authority. He crossed his arms over his chest, his sharp gaze fixed on Graham with unspoken warning.

Graham's smirk only widened, his audacity as unrelenting as ever. "Ah, your dear Slytherin is here to save you," he sneered. "Again." He leaned in closer to Ophelia, his breath hot and sickening against her cheek.

"But remember, princess," he whispered, his voice low and venomous, "no matter how many times a snake sheds its skin, it will always be a snake."

Ophelia didn't flinch. "And no matter how many generations of Cecils crawl out from under a rock," she replied icily, "they'll always end up crushed beneath someone's boot."

Graham's smirk faltered for the briefest moment, but he recovered quickly, stepping back with a mocking bow. "Until next time, then," he said, turning on his heel and sauntering down the corridor.

"Rat bastard," Ophelia muttered after him.

Draco stepped up beside Ophelia, his silver-gray eyes following Graham until he disappeared around the corner.

"Thanks for stepping in," she said, glancing up at him before turning to walk away.

"Wait."

His voice made her stop, her boots skidding slightly on the cold stone floor. She turned back to Draco, her hair whipping around her face. His expression was serious, the usual smirk replaced by a furrowed brow.

"I need to talk to you about Ana," he said as he reached her, his voice low enough to keep the conversation private but firm enough to convey its importance.

"Can it wait?" Ophelia asked, adjusting her bag with a sigh. "I need to get to the greenhouses."

Draco shook his head, his tone leaving no room for argument. "No, it can't."

Ophelia frowned, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface, but something in Draco's expression made her hesitate. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Alright," she said, her voice quieter now. "What about her?

"She's struggling," he admitted. "Charms and Transfiguration, especially. Defense isn't much better, but I think that's more nerves than anything else."