Speech Is Silver, but Silence Is Golden

It hurt. My eyes stung, tears slowly forming, trying to relieve the pain. I pressed my feet against the floor, the sensation dulling the pain slightly, the tension of muscles fooling the experience of pain. The wound was being ripped open over and over again, as I wrote the words 'I mustn't ridicule teachers.'

In an angry shade of red, the words stared at me from the parchment, the magical quill in my hand dripping with blood. Trying to ignore the pain, I set the tip of the quill back onto the parchment and forced my hand to form the words. The letters were edgy and had lost their curvy flow as the muscles in my hand and arm had tensed up. Each line, scribbled on the paper presented one step further from neat towards untidy.

Looking up after finishing the line, I was confronted with a sight of vases, full of dried flowers, each one on its own doily. Every surface had been covered with lacy cloths, the walls ornamented with plates, each showing a large kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. The sheer overdose of pink colours should have made sure that Umbridge was invisible in her pink cardigan.

'Only one more line.' I told myself, my eyes returning to watch how the words engraved itself into the back of my hand once again. I noticed that blood was covering my whole hand, slowly dripping down onto the parchment. Taking a closer look, the wound seemed very deep.

Hissing in pain, I heard how the rustling of clothes stopped shortly, before a chair was pushed back and steps resounded. I quickly continued to scribble, but was stopped by her high-pitched girly voice.

"Show me your hand, dear." Looking up at her, I tried to read her eyes. The smile on her face contradicted greatly with the cold, malicious look in her eyes. Lifting my right hand, I showed it to her. She didn't take it as she had done previous times, obviously too disgusted by the sight of blood.

Instead she chose to inspect it from a short distance, her hot breath brushing my skin and causing goose-bumps to rise on my arms.

"You may go now, Ms. Hitchens. I believe the message has gotten to you." I didn't retaliate, simply stared at her until she turned away, before grabbing my bag with my left hand and leaving the pink office behind.

Outside, in the cool hallway, I turned a few corners, before I stopped, using the light of a candle and gently touched the sore skin. Hissing loudly, I retracted my hand immediately, covered it with the sleeve-hem of my cloak so I wouldn't leave a trail of blood and descended the next flight of stairs.

Quickly walking along the hallway, cold, bleak grey stone all around me, I felt my heart-beat speeding up again, just thinking about the sound of my steps. Hurrying up even more, I turned a corner and stepped towards the massive wooden door, knocking gently with my left hand.

After a moment, in which my eyes darted around the deserted hallway, the door in front of me was ripped open, an angry, cold voice speaking up.

"Potter! Didn't I tell you that-" Professor Snape stopped dead in his tracks, his black eyes widening in surprise as he saw me looking up at him, holding my right hand. I blinked at the unusual sight, black eyes insecure, wide, unguarded, nostrils still blown, the last traces of deeply felt anger leaving his face. And I wondered what Potter had done to upset the master of potions this much.

"Uh... Professor." I stumbled over my own words for a moment, before I composed myself, my gaze lowering to my feet. "I'm sorry to bother you this late, but I-uh." I staggered again, as I let the cloak fall from my hand, showing it to him. Looking up into his eyes, I saw his usual calculating, neutral look, the eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the wound, before he met my insecure gaze.

"It... it won't stop bleeding." I explained, finally getting a hold of my train of thought again.

"Come on in." He said, stepping away from the doorway and allowing me to enter. I stood there in the middle of his dark office, feeling slightly lost, especially because the impressions of Umbridge's office were still fresh in my mind. The dimly lit room seemed darker and grim, and the calm darkness provided had vanished.

"How did this happen, Ms. Hitchens?" Professor Snape asked, the ghost of a shadow in the corner of my eye, walking along the high shelves, holding different potions and slimy parts of animals and plants suspended in coloured liquid contained by glass jars.

"Detention by Professor Umbridge." I said quietly, feeling ashamed of having to admit it in front of the Head of House Slytherin. And as if to make my shame worse, he stopped at that, his heavy gaze settling on me. I took shallower breaths, fearing to move too much, attract too much attention or making an arrogant impression.

But the master of potions remained silent and continued his gathering of ingredients after a short moment of staring at me. I was surprised he didn't ask why I had gotten detention, but at the same time glad he hadn't. Not even Draco knew what I had last written onto that paper-note.

Returning to his desk, the black haired man set a bowl onto the table and began pouring different liquids into it. I looked up at him as he spoke up again.

"Why don't you go to Madam Pomfrey?" he asked. Looking straight at him, I answered, completely assured of my answer.

"I do not want Professor Umbridge to know. If I went to Madam Pomfrey she would most definitely be notified of it."

Professor Snape nodded, his eyes shortly unfocusing, before he grabbed the bowl and handed it to me. "Soak your hand in this. It's Murtlap essence. The wound should stop bleeding and heal up quickly."

"Thank you, Professor." I said with a smile, took the bowl and then headed towards the door.

"Good evening and excuse me for bothering you."

He stepped towards the door after I had stepped out into the hallway, looking at me, I saw something shine in his eyes for a split second. "Good evening, Ms. Hitchens. And I suggest you try not to get into trouble with Professor Umbridge again."

I only nodded and then disappeared down the hall.

---

When I entered the common room, I was engulfed by the sparse light coming from the black iron flambeaus overhead. The windows were already engulfed by deep pools of blackness, the greenish-glow having left the dungeon-like room. The draft caused the light in the whole room to flicker and the green velvet fabric, bearing the emblem of Slytherin, the silver snake, fluttered.

Few students turned their heads to see who had entered, before going back to doing their work or chatting quietly, seeing just another Slytherin-student. There were barely more than a hand full and I wondered how late it already was. Spotting Draco's blonde hair, I walked over to the leather couch, carrying my bowl of Murtlap essence, my hand still bloody.

He looked up as I approached, his grey eyes trying to read my face, judging from the concentrated look. Letting my bag slide to the floor and without getting out of the bloody cloak, I sunk down on the couch next to him. The bowl rested in my lap, on the traditional black skirt and I slowly dipped my hand into the liquid. It was cold, but despite my expectation didn't burn as the wound touched it.

Draco's captivating grey eyes slid towards the bowl, tracing the pattern of blood which slowly washed off my hand and mixed with the murtlap essence, then up to my eyes again and he did something I still needed to get used to. He looked at each golden spot in my eyes.

It was strange because he wasn't making eye-contact while staring straight at my eyes and I was afraid every single time he would be able to read the few secrets I harboured and kept from him. Those secrets I couldn't tell him, not because I didn't trust him, but because firstly they weren't my secrets to give away, and secondly he would spread word. It was his nature and I couldn't even blame him for it.

When he stopped the movement of his eyes, lounging back against the couch, a pleased smirk played around his lips, his eyes shining with malicious pleasure. I wondered what he was going to tell me and listened carefully.

"Guess who's having potion tutoring." I raised my eyebrows and the only name I associated with his particular spitefulness and potion tutoring was-

"Potter." he met his own command, his eyes shining with an emotion so close to happiness anyone could easily be fooled. Looking at him, I raised my eyebrows and let out a long breath. But he didn't seem to notice, only gloated about his discovery.

"I kinda barged into Snape's office, because we found Montague and Umbridge needed help-" he stopped himself, the complacent look on his face vanishing for a second. "Well..." he continued hesitantly, his eyes flickering to my hand quite often while he tried to read my reaction. I knew he wanted to know whether I was angry, but I didn't really know myself, so I kept a carefully composed expression.

"We found Montague jammed in a toilet on the fourth floor. He's completely weird, doesn't even remember how he got there and can barely talk. I wonder who did it." He trailed off, his thoughts taking him with them, before he continued his triumph story again.

"Well I just opened the door and there was Potter, opposite of Snape. They both had their wands out, kinda strange. But Potter seemed like he was about to crap his pants. Yeah... and then Snape said Potter was taking potions tutoring." He looked at me expectantly and I tried to come up with an adequate answer. But all that left my mouth was:

"I know." The smirk on his face died instantly and he blinked confusedly at me. His eyes narrowed suspiciously and a sneer was forming on his face when he asked "You do?"

Facing his anger I nodded and came forth with the whole story. "Yes. I knew since January."

When the happy-glint in his eyes vanished, I felt like someone had punched a hole in my chest. It was my fault that he looked at me with such unfazed eyes at the moment. This realization was probably what hurt the most. Not that he turned away. Not that he was supporting Umbridge. Not that he wasn't happy. Just that he was unhappy because of me.

I averted my gaze, shifting next to him uncomfortably, looking down my silver green striped tie, resting on the grey sweater with green and silver lining around the neckline, towards the bowl. The liquid was shimmering a soft bronze now, the blood having completely washed off my hand.

Next to me I could hear Draco huffing. He was obviously ranting to himself in his thoughts. We remained in silence for a long time, neither of us knowing what to say. I scanned the room, the ebony tables with their chairs, the thick stone-walls, grey and old, the low, arched ceiling hovering above us and the students getting up, taking their books or friends with them and disappearing in the hallway leading to the dormitories, until Draco and I were the only ones left.

Potions tutoring went through my head again as I thought about what Draco had said about the wands and Potter's fright. It was strange but at the same time I remembered how Draco had sniggered in a carrying whisper after they had gotten back the first essay in Potions.

"Some people got a 'D'? Ha!"

Deciding not to worry about Potter's involvement with Professor Snape and whatever had happened between them to make Professor Snape so furious, I sighed and was about to get up, when I was stopped.

"Eileen?" Draco said softly, his voice sounding very different from his usual tone, looking at me very openly and genuinely. There was no trace from his initial annoyance in his eyes. I held his gaze, trying to figure out what he was trying to communicate through his look. Barely blinking we only stared at each other. Finally distinguishing concern in his eyes, I shifted slightly, smiled at him and rested my head against his shoulder, taking a deep, calm breath through my nose, relaxing.

"I love you." And then he kissed me.