The Girl Who Lived (Draco Malfoy x OC)

The Death Eater

September 6th 1995

Detention wasn't so bad for Harper when she spent it with her favourite Professor, Snape. They were holed up in his office, cleaning and organizing vast strange ingredients and potions. It wasn't just fascinating, but educational for the girl who lived. She smirked, wiping down a green filled vial, take that Parkinson. After all, it was her fault Harper had detention. The girl sparked a duel in the middle of the classroom on her own. All because she was so intent on snooping on Harper to find some information to give to Umbridge. She was just glad Umbridge sent her to Snape this time. Harper's hand was almost scratched raw from Umbridge's frigging blood quill.

"Yuck," Harper winced as she held a warm bottle of something gluggy and pale blue, "this looks disgusting, what is it?"

"Aren't you supposed to be a bright witch, Potter? You should know," Snape said as he arranged elixir's. When Harper just gagged, peering into the bottle, he rolled his eyes. "Armadillo bile. I'm disappointed I had to tell you."

Now she rolled her eyes, shining the bottle quickly and putting it in its correct place on the shelf. "Well, it's not like I'm brewing wit-sharpening potion all the time."

He paused and Harper saw it, the tiniest sparkle in his onyx orbs. No one would have picked it if they didn't know the Potion's Master better. She'd done it, she smirked; she had dazzled him again with her knowledge of Armadillo bile being a key ingredient in wit-sharpening brews. Oh, the success Harper relished in when she one-upped Snape. "Very well, Potter," he quipped, "you have regained your honour."

"Thank you," she smiled, he shot her a glare, "Sir."

They continued to work in comfortable silence, Harper not once glancing at the clock. It didn't feel like detention, it felt like spending time with an uncle. In the meantime, Snape taught her about dragon tonic and how to heal sick dragons. It felt like a lifetime since she faced the Hungarian Horntail, but the experience hadn't left Harper feeling bitter towards dragons. When she first saw the beast, she was amazed at its gargantuan size. It led her to asking Snape if she should pursue a career of dragon taming in the future, to which he barked a nasally laugh at.

"Dragon's aren't to be tamed, Potter," he scoffed. "They cannot be domesticated."

She frowned, putting down the glass of honeywater. "But Ron's brother Charlie-"

"Studies them in a sanctuary. There is a blinding difference."

She sucked in her cheek. "I'd love to see a dragon sanctuary, just once."

"The Swedish Annual Broom race runs right through their dragon reserve," he said, "perhaps you can revisit the Swedish Short-Snout," the sarcasm practically dripped off his words.

Her eyes widened, "A-annual broom race? You bet I'll be participating! Is it safe?"

"I knew you would be interested," he scoffed, "so like your father, Potter, it's despicable."

Sighing, she commenced the Potion categorising. "Funny that, isn't it? Considering he is, oh, I don't know... my father."

"Unfortunately," he quipped. "If it weren't for your appearance and somewhat smidgen of common sense, I'd forget you were Lily Evan's progeny."

Harper counted the vials before adding them to the shelf of wines. Snape was aggravating at the best of times, but the smallest glimmers of something beneath that hard mask were always worth putting up with his condescending attitude. She rubbed the label on a jar of Starthistle clean, thinking about how Snape seemed to hold great distaste towards her father, but he'd never spoken ill about Lily. She observed him jotting down numbers on the parchment, the typical indenture between his brows as he wore his signature sulk.