@drarrymicrofic - incline - 168 words
Unlike Muggle children, all the proper Wizarding families - not like the Weasleys - that grow up in Manors make sure their heirs are fluent in Latin by three.
Draco knows the declination - clinare: clīnicus, clīnicī, clīnicō, clīnicum, clīnicō, clīnice. He has always known how to lean towards power - his own, his parents’, or the Dark Lord’s - and has been praised for it.
Potter has never inclined in any way. He always stands defiant - green eyes blazing - every time authority tries to put him in his rightful place.
Contumaciater.
Recta.
As rigid and unbending as his wand-wood.
So it is in that moment, when he’s asked if it’s Potter that Draco stutters out a denial. This ruffian they’ve dragged in - the one shedding clumps of dirt on the expensive carpet - can’t be Potter.
The stranger’s head inclines upwards and Draco realizes he’s wrong - then finds that he’s not inclined to change his answer.
He’s found a new power to bend towards.
Like going down an incline.
“It’s not Potter.”
