he is of bitter tongue and sullen eyes ; drunken on feverish rancor and scornful derision. a scoff imparts past his lips, unimpressed by the other’s remark, ❛ hilarious. ’ he runs deft fingers across ashen tresses, regarding the gryffindor with naught but simmering disdain and striking confusion. when he looks at the oh-beloved chosen one, he’s ensnared between learned hatred and a fleeting need to understand. caught betwixt the urgency of punching the dreaded smirk off his face and speaking. actually, speaking. the former, in this instance, is preferred. instead, he clenches his fists close to his robes. they never spoke, and it wouldn’t ever occur. not when they’re meant to exchange blow for blow; verbal or otherwise physical. yet, he’d like to think he’s past that. they’re past that. ❛ what do you know of compromise, potter ? ’ the slytherin tilts his head, seeking answers in the other’s gaze. yeah, what did he know ? nothing. surely ? having reigned victorious the high esteem from the wizarding world without having done naught but simply exist…what had he compromised for such regard, if anything ?
❛ what do you know of anything ? ’ a brow raises, lips now curled in contempt, ❛ your own morality isn’t transparent. when have you ever had to make decisions despite knowing they were wrong ? ’ it’s those like potter who should ensure their own palms are clear before shifting judgment and mockery on others.
