FIC: "Before You Know It," Severus/Regulus, Chapter 3

[stephanometra]

Title: Before You Know It, Chapter 3
Pairing: Severus/Regulus
Rating: PG this chapter! I guess I could bump it up to PG-13 for a single instance of the word "fuck," but I won't. BECAUSE IT'S NOTHING THOSE KIDS WON'T HEAR ANYWAY.
Warnings: Uh, Tom being a creepy motherfucker? Nothing, really.
Word Count: 2600-odd
Disclaimer: Since I have not put up a disclaimer in awhile, I shall take this moment to state that the Harry Potter universe and all associated characters, settings, and events do not belong to me, and this story is meant purely for the enjoyment of fans; no profit is expected or sought.
Author's Note: This story has not, in fact, dropped off the face of the earth. No idea when Chapter 4 will come up, but expect porn when it does. Oh, and absinthe_lust spoils me. A lot. Previous Chapters: ( 1 ) ( 2 )

~

A Tuesday morning a couple of weeks before Easter holidays finds Severus ensconced in the library with his Transfiguration text, having left breakfast early in the interest of cramming his brain as full as possible of the subject before McGonagall's mock O.W.L. on the last day of term.

Severus' note-taking in Transfiguration follows a definite pattern; it starts out neat and organized and steadily devolves into invective-laden, academically useless garbage. Pausing in his revision to ponder a particularly creative string of obscenities, he looks up and notices Regulus standing next to his chair, wearing a bemused expression.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Or write her with that quill, more's the point."

Severus glowers at him. "I am trying to study."

Regulus just smiles and hands over a card. "You left before the post arrived."

"Probably because I never get anything," Severus says, noting the expensive, watermarked parchment and turning it over in his hands. "Severus Snape, House Slytherin Table, Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he reads. "What's this?"

"Open it!"

He's up to something. "How'd you get my mail, anyway?" Severus asks, ripping into the outer envelope and looking closely at the seal.

Which happens to be that of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

He looks up sharply, and Regulus' grin widens. "I know the owl that delivered it."

Opening the inner envelope, Severus quickly scans the card inside. "Narcissa is getting married to Lucius Malfoy?" He remembers Lucius, of course, though he was always too preoccupied with his wealth and his badge and his bloodline to notice a nothing like Severus.

"So it would seem. Will you come to the wedding?"

Severus knits his brows for a moment. "I'm not sure I belong at her wedding, Regulus. I don't even know her, really." I wouldn't belong there even if I did.

"Rubbish. It will be the social event of the year and you are obviously expected, else my penny-pinching bitch of an aunt wouldn't have sent you an invitation in the first place. The least you could do is show up." Regulus briefly attempts to glare menacingly, and then vague distress crosses his features. "Unless you really don't want to, that is. But I'd like it if you came."

Severus appraises him for a moment with an inscrutable expression, inclines his head, and says, "Then I shall come," before turning back to his textbook. He pretends not to notice Regulus beaming stupidly at him for a minute before leaving, shyness and downcast eyes forgotten.

The bell for morning classes comes as a complete surprise, but Severus, though religiously punctual, can't quite feel bad about being late to Arithmancy after seeing Regulus smile like that.

~

Severus' dorm empties over Easter hols, which is fairly strange but not unthinkable; in any case, he has far more important things to consider.

Things like what the bloody hell he can wear to the wedding.

He owns a single dress robe, which he only wears at Christmas, and after owling home for it, he finds it four inches too short and entirely too pedestrian to wear to a Black/Malfoy function anyway, even if it fit perfectly.

After sulking and glowering at the offending garment for roughly a day, he goes to the library and signs out every single book Hogwarts owns that contains sartorial charms, even the poncy one with what looks suspiciously like an evening gown on the cover. It has a whole chapter on Transfiguring fabrics, and Severus is fairly certain that he needs all the help he can get, even if he has to consult a book bound in lavender leather for it.

He spends several days closeted in his dormitory trying to transform the utterly unsuitable robe into something serviceable; he masters the necessary Lengthening Charm fairly quickly, but he can't quite work the spell to change it from heavy wool into the lighter wool/silk blend that Tips and Tricks for Magical Tailoring declares the best for early spring evening wear. He does manage – unintentionally, though he'd never in a thousand years admit it – to turn the black fabric a rich, deep red, but even though he decides to keep the new colour, he'd much rather have pulled off the Transfiguration properly.

The day before the wedding, Severus dejectedly emerges from his room for breakfast with the stupid lilac book in tow, barely noticing when he sits down at his House table that half of Slytherin is missing.

In between bites of ham and toast, he tries casting the spell again (and again, and again) on a tie that he nicked from Avery's unlocked – well, barely locked – trunk; he'd use one of his own extras, of course, if he hadn't already turned one of them semitransparent and inexplicably set the other on fire.

Alright, maybe not so inexplicably, Severus thinks, as the stolen scrap of silk goes up in purple flames. "Fuck it all," he groans, slumping in his seat and banging his forehead on the heavy oak of the table. Consequently, he fails to notice when the headmaster approaches him.

"Mr. Snape?"

Oh, bloody perfect. He doesn't lift his head. "Yes, Professor Dumbledore?"

"Is there any particular reason you've taken to setting Mr. Avery's things on fire during breakfast?" He quenches the flames with a wave of his wand.

"It had it coming, sir," Severus says, still addressing the tabletop rather than the headmaster.

"In my admittedly limited experience, textiles don't respond well to pyrotechnics, Mr. Snape. Perhaps next time you might consider a stern look instead, or possibly a lecture?" Dumbledore pauses, perhaps waiting for a response, and clears his throat when none comes. "Professor Slughorn tells me that you will be attending young Miss Black's nuptial festivities."

"Yes, sir." Severus sits up, rubbing at the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"You know, then, that there will be a Portkey departing the main foyer at precisely four tomorrow afternoon?" He leans over, pushing his spectacles up his nose to peer at the open book.

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent," the headmaster says. "And Mr. Snape?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I think you will have much better results with that spell if you separate the components for weave and fibre." And Professor Dumbledore walks away, leaving a wholly unburned, pale gold damask cravat behind him.

Severus stares at the Transfigured fabric for a moment before snatching it up along with his book and quickly heading back to the dungeons.

~

Well, this was a terrible idea.

Severus leans against the wall in a corner of the ballroom with his posture an elegant slouch and his face a mask of perfect indifference, but inwardly he is seething. Despite their extremely short acquaintance, he has decided that he despises weddings.

The journey by Portkey had been as smooth as could possibly be expected, the ceremony flawless, and while Narcissa's parents could not possibly be expected to match Malfoy Manor – Severus' only frame of reference for fancy parties – for opulence, their home is more than sufficient to entertain the ridiculously large number of guests at the reception. Resplendent in his Transfigured robes, Severus knows without a doubt that he barely resembles the shabby, unexceptional child he had been years ago at Christmas, and everyone except Black, who was quite obviously dragged to the wedding against his will – damn that harridan mother of theirs, anyway – and refuses to let anyone forget it, has been unfailingly polite.

His problem, in essence, is one of unrealistic expectations.

He had not expected, for instance, that he would be sharing his Portkey to Suffolk with that twitchy seventh-year Muggleborn girl, a corollary of the equally unanticipated fact that every Slytherin above fourth year, a good third of the upper-form Ravenclaws, and three Hufflepuffs in sixth year (he thinks) had also been "obviously expected" by Regulus' aunt. Additionally, he had not expected to have to endure Black, although in retrospect that was probably wishful thinking on his part and more than a little stupid.

Most importantly, he had not expected to spend the entire evening alone, giving curt nods to those of his classmates who bothered to say hello and watching Regulus make nice with an endless procession of wedding guests on the other side of the room.

Largely because he so seldom bothers with expectations to begin with, that particular disappointment has infuriated Severus in a way that Regulus' occasional apologetic glances and the admittedly excellent string quartet's lovely and calming music cannot possibly assuage. Feigning ennui and staying out of everyone's way is the best way to ensure that he does not completely lose his temper.

That would hardly be proper, after all.

"Propriety is overrated, young Master Snape."

Severus jumps minutely and flicks his eyes sideways at the pale, dark-haired man who spoke. "How do you know my name?" he asks, too startled by half to wonder how the stranger had known exactly what he was thinking.

"I was at school with your mother," the man says, "and you've a bit of her way about you."

It sounds like a compliment, and likely it was meant as such, but Severus can't keep contempt from flickering across his features. "All things being considered, sir, I should rather not think her the memorable sort."

"No, perhaps you wouldn't." The man makes a careless, eloquent gesture; "She was such a bright young thing. Talented. Diligent." He shakes his head. "Such a waste."

He can't possibly be talking about Mother. "Sir?"

"Shocked us all, an intelligent girl of good family running off with a Muggle like she did. It broke your grandfather's heart."

And her own face in the bargain, Severus thinks, feeling particularly uncharitable. "I haven't any grandparents. They died before I was born."

"Is that what she's told you." The man's gaze sweeps across the room; it rests on a tall, dour-looking gentleman with lank steel-grey hair who sits alone at a table, cradling a crystal glass and staring into it as if it contained all the world's secrets, for a short moment before continuing its inspection. Then he looks at Severus again, and he's sure that he must have imagined the pause.

Severus looks at him intently, just until the parchment-white features begin to blur like melted paraffin and the dark eyes flash crimson and a thought not his own – you are not who you should be, child – flits through his mind, and then turns away, blinking. His eyes seek out the grey-haired man again, taking in the expensive cut of his robes, and anger flares briefly in his chest.

Then cool fingers lace with his surreptitiously behind a brush of robes so dark green they are nearly black, and the rage is gone as quickly as it had come.

Regulus looks up at him through thick black lashes, smiling in what Severus can only assume is contrition, and Severus does his absolute best to hold on to his annoyance. "Good evening, Severus."

"Good evening, Regulus. Congratulations to your cousin."

"Keep them; I'm sure she's enough for three lifetimes by now. I imagine you find the whole affair quite dull, anyhow."

Dull is not the word I would have chosen. "Not at all, I've been speaking with the most intriguing individual" – he turns to indicate the stranger on his other side, hoping for a proper introduction, but finds only air – "who apparently saw you coming and promptly ran the other way."

"I do hope you will forgive me for being otherwise engaged. Sirius has been a bit…derelict in his duties of late."

Severus curls his lip ever-so-slightly at the mention of Black, but he brightens all the same to have Black instead of Regulus as a focus for his irritation. "How unexpected and unfortunate."

"Yes, well. I do believe he's taken up the mantle of the Heir to House Black once again for the moment," Regulus says, pointing at his brother, who has indeed taken up Regulus' former position in Narcissa's receiving line. Black appears to be spending equal amounts of time being extravagantly, ridiculously gracious to well-wishers and making snide comments at his mother and Bellatrix, who is close at hand. He looks as if there are dozens of places he'd rather be.

Can hardly fault him for that. Severus has been able to hear snatches of Mrs. Black's conversations all evening despite being all the way across the enormous reception hall.

"You should come with me."

Severus arches an eyebrow, and Regulus rolls his eyes.

"No, you prat, I want you to properly meet Lucius and my parents." He tugs on Severus' captive hand.

You are not who you should be, Severus thinks. "You can't possibly."

"Why wouldn't I?" Regulus asks, looking slightly puzzled.

"I am not their kind of wizard, Regulus." Bella had always been nice enough to him – his talent for hexes impressed her – but Lucius and Narcissa had always been too enamoured of their own beautiful heads and impressive pedigrees to pay him any attention, and Regulus' mother is just plain frightening.

"But –"

Black's magically amplified voice suddenly rises above the gentle din of the ballroom, cutting off whatever Regulus had planned on saying. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for a brief moment, I would like to take this opportunity to say a few words in honour of my dear cousin Narcissa and to welcome Lucius, Heir to House Malfoy, to our family."

There is polite applause. Regulus' mother's lips tighten in what Severus supposes might pass for a smile, but whatever it is, it quickly becomes a grimace as Black continues: "I really must congratulate you, Lucius old thing. Never thought Cissy'd consent to marry a man who's prettier than she is. I'm sure you'll manage to have a bevy of angelically psychotic blond brats in between arguing over who gets first crack at each month's Playwitch. Hopefully we'll have another snobbish and needlessly ostentatious party at this time next year for the first of the christenings."

He pauses, and the room is absolutely still.

"And speaking of children, I'm sure you all remember my charming cousin Andromeda? Her little girl just turned three. Cute as a button, and a fledgling Metamorph! Entirely too bad that Andie couldn't make it here tonight, but I'm sure she sends her –"

Bellatrix, screaming in rage, tears Black's wand from his grasp, interrupting the Sonorus charm and prompting the rest of the room to devolve into quiet outrage. Black wrests it back from her and tries to recast the spell, obviously intent on continuing, but thankfully the rain of hexes from Bella's wand convinces him to cut his losses. He flees towards the foyer, likely intending to Floo or Portkey out.

Severus looks at Regulus, who has gone stock-still and silent and is squeezing Severus' hand almost painfully hard. "Regulus," he says softly.

"I'm going to kill him," Regulus says, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I am going to bloody kill him dead."

"I won't stop you." He gently pries his hand free, frowning.

"Help me hide the body?"

"If you wish." I hear Azkaban is lovely this time of year. "Although perhaps I should meet your family before we agree to become partners in crime."

Regulus blinks once, twice. "You're not their kind of wizard, remember?" His lips twist in what is almost and yet absolutely not a smile.

"At the moment, 'their kind of wizard' is anyone not your idiot brother."

"Point." He sighs.

"Besides, anyone he hates the way he does Malfoy can't be all bad."

Regulus laughs despite himself. "Lucius isn't a bad sort, Severus, really he's not."

"I imagine he's much more tolerable now that he's no longer Head Boy."

"Likely."

Severus allows Regulus to lead him across the still-buzzing ballroom, glad for the continued uproar because it prevents anyone from noticing that Regulus has taken hold of his hand again.

~

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