McKail's swollen face scrunches into an all-confident, if immodest, smile, "Sir, that would never happen." Deimos' ashen skin falls sheet white, he inches further away from his companion. McKail explains, "My mother has a sterling reputation at the Ministry and my bloodline is pristine." He continues after a moment of puffing up, "Why should I get upset when they're clearly jealous?"
Loki's stern visage only hardens further as McKail speaks, lips pursed above his arched fingers in a most disapproving frown, and eyes glinting coldly from under lowered brows. He knows a lost cause when he sees one -- and the Slytherin before him is as hopeless as they come.
Or... perhaps not quite? He doesn't seem capable of premeditative malice -- because in all honesty, that would require him to be far more intelligent than he is. So perhaps his misguided notions need only be corrected. But that is a project to be undertaken at another, more appropriate time -- in detention, perhaps, seeing as the boy will be spending quite some time there as a result of this incident alone.
"No reason why you should -- the exercise was hypothetical, and meant to help me determine whether you are, in fact, capable of empathizing with someone less... fortunate than yourself."
"It seems I have my answer."
The bare threat in the professor's voice is absolutely overt, and lacks all pretense of unbiased judgment. Even when his attention returns to Deimos, whose physical and obvious mental distancing from his companion has not gone unnoticed, a degree of irritation lingers.
"And since it seems that Mr. McKail has decided to be obstinate, why don't you describe to me what happened after Miss Peregrine... lost her temper?"
