Private Information
SUNDAY. SEPTEMBER 5, 1971.
The Slytherin Common Room is cold.
There’s an enchanted fire burning beneath an obsidian mantle. But it’s cold nevertheless.
Cold and quiet.
It isn’t always quiet. Sometimes people will sit in the carved chairs by the fireplace to study. Sometimes the sixth-year boys will play chess. Sometimes the prefects hold meetings at the long banquet table, banishing the other Slytherins to their bedrooms.
But tonight, as Severus Snape sits silhouetted by the jade flames, it is quiet.
And it is cold.
His eyes glaze over as he scans his homework once more, absorbing absolutely nothing. Is it cold where Lily is?
Is it cold in Gryffindor Tower? Or do they have a real fire to warm them?
What about Ravenclaw? Or Hufflepuff?
Do the other houses spend their nights shivering by candlelight, or is that an honor bestowed solely on the serpents?
Everyone else has abandoned the Common Room by now. They’ve all made the wise decision to spend their Sunday night safely tucked away in their rooms, probably under thick blankets made of silk or alpaca or some other style of expensive cloth.
Severus Snape has no such blanket. Neither with him in the Common Room nor packed away in some ornate trunk.
He shakes his head clear and begins reviewing the paragraph again.
Just a bit longer, then he’ll head to bed.
His roommates are sure to be asleep by then.
There are precisely four first-year Slytherin boys in total. Which leaves Severus with three roommates.
Three roommates who have made it rather clear to him that they’d prefer to be living with Sirius Black.
They haven’t been particularly cruel– not compared to the bullies back in Spinner’s End. But they’ve very efficiently iced Severus out.
Bertram Aubrey, Edmund Avery, and Bruce Mulciber.
Bertram Aubrey doesn’t seem the least bit interested in being friends with any of the boys. He spends practically no time in the bedroom. Instead, he favors the girls. Especially Loretta Fieldwake. She’s been babying the boy ever since his scrap with Potter.
Bruce and Edmund, on the other hand, pay almost no mind to anyone other than themselves.
They must know each other from childhood somehow. Somewhat like Severus and Lily.
There’s no other explanation for their fast friendship.
Any chance Severus might have had to befriend any of the boys was ruined by the incident in Flying Class.
His nose twinges at the memory.
The scraping of stone against stone alerts him that the prefects have returned from patrols.
Is it really so late? Has he truly spent so long feeling sorry for himself and reviewing his History of Magic essay?
Lucius Malfoy strides into the Common Room with Narcissa Black at his side. Neither pay any mind to Severus. There’s no way to be certain they’ve even seen him.
“I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss about this.” Lucius is frowning. He looks frustrated.
Lucius Malfoy is a man made of marble. Each feature of his white face seems chiseled into hard, unforgiving stone. The wrinkles appearing at the corners of his mouth appear placed there by the thoughtful hand of an artist. Severus finds himself struck with envy at the sight.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Narcissa mutters, pulling away from her betrothed.
Narcissa Black is almost spectral in the dark. She does not walk so much as she floats. She looks much like all the other Blacks do. High cheekbones, dark hair, slender aristocratic nose. Her relation to The Heir is evident at a mere glance. Good breeding is unmistakable. Severus hears his mother's voice ringing in his ears. Good blood will out.
“What are you implying?” The frown on Malfoy's face deepens.
“Nothing.” Narcissa pales, going from ivory to sheer white. “I don’t mean to imply anything, Lucius. It’s just difficult to explain… he’s family.”
They’re talking about Sirius. Severus furrows his brow. Sirius Black. The disgraced heir. The reason none of his roommates will cast him a second glance.
“He’s a child, Narcissa.”
“As am I! As are you.”
“I am no child.” Lucius does not growl. Growl is too animalistic of a word for such an aristocratic man. But his features control ever so slightly with a clenched sort of anger. “It would do you well to remember that.”
Narcissa frowns. “I’m sorry.”
Lucius sighs and outstretches a hand. Narcissa takes it.
“He’s simply throwing a tantrum, dearest. You did say he was prone to them.”
Sirius Black does seem the sort that would throw tantrums. Severus thinks darkly. Spoiled. Entitled. Undeserving, clearly, considering where the sorting hat placed him.
He doesn't allow himself to think about the fact that Lily was placed there as well.
“But Aunt Walburga is so cross with him,” Narcissa’s frown remains fixed stubbornly on her face, even as Lucius strokes her dark hair. “And he’s all alone. I just worry…”
“How can you be certain he hasn’t read it yet?” Lucius asks. “Perhaps his outburst was-”
“He hasn’t. He wouldn’t lie to Andy.”
Lucius pulls his hand away. Narcissa sighs.
“Don’t be like that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Malfoy doesn't even bother to lie believably.
“She’s my sister.” Narcissa beseeches.
“She’s a disgrace-”
“I think I’ll be the one to decide who disgraces my family; thank you.” Narcissa attempts to interrupt, but Lucius only speaks over her.
“Running about flaunting her filth-”
“Lucius, that’s enough.” Narcissa's voice sounds pinched now; her eyes are overbright. It's clear to Severus that she's about to cry from all the way across the room. Surely, Lucius can see it as well. Nevertheless, he carries on.
“Honestly, it’s no surprise the boy turned out like he did, considering he’s so close with her. Letting a blood traitor tutor the heir is just-”
“Stop it!” Her cry comes out sharp and staccato. She collects herself just as quickly as she fell apart. “Just stop it. I don’t know why I bothered telling you in the first place.”
Lucius finally relents, but it’s too late. Narcissa thumbs away a tear.
“Darling, I-”
“Goodnight, Lucius.” She’s turned on her heel and fled up the stairs before the pale-haired man can get another word in.
The Common Room is quiet again.
Lucius sighs heavily before falling into one of the carved chairs at the banquet table.
He drags a slender hand across his face. His expression is utterly unreadable. Suddenly, he stills.
“Are you going to sit there like a gargoyle, or are you going to scurry off to bed, boy?”
Severus, suddenly reminded of his existence, feels his bone marrow freeze. He’s been caught. Lucius turns in his seat to give Severus a withering glare.
“Well?”
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Severus stammers, collecting his parchment and quill. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just-”
“She’s being awfully unreasonable, isn’t she?” Lucius asks, gazing up the steps to the girls’ dormitories.
Severus swallows dryly. He’s not sure what the best thing to say is. Is this some sort of test? What happens if he fails?
Lucius fixes him with another look. Severus forces himself to speak.
“Yes.” He croaks. “I think so.”
Lucius’ stony face cracks open into a chiseled smile. A knowing expression dances behind his eyes.
“Smart boy.” He nods. “Sit.”
Lucius gestures to the chair opposite himself at the banquet table. Severus scrambles to obey. Lucius speaks all the while.
“Women get so sensitive around her age.” He rubs his brow. “Not that they aren’t always.”
Severus doesn’t have much experience with “women.” He’s got plenty of experience dealing with Lily. But Lily isn’t a woman. She’s just a girl. The only woman Severus has interacted with consistently thus far in life is his mother. And his mother is not exactly sensitive. But he gets the feeling he shouldn’t disagree with Lucius Malfoy. After all, being the son of Abraxas Malfoy comes with a good deal of prestige. So he nods.
Lucius laughs. It’s a bitter sound. There’s no joy behind it whatsoever.
“Go on. Ask. I can tell you want to.”
Severus’ tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth. Another test? An opportunity? It’s terribly difficult to discern the difference.
“Ask, for Merlin’s sake. You’ll give yourself the shakes at this rate.”
“What was she-” Severus starts.
“Her cousin.” Lucius does not let him finish his question. There is no need. “That family is far too close if you ask me. I’ve tried to explain to her that it’s a good thing, really, what happened to the boy, but she’s not having it.”
Severus leans in, attempting to drink the knowledge obfuscated in Lucius’ vague words. “Sirius? What happened to Sirius?”
“Obviously, the entire sorting fiasco.” Lucius waves a dismissive hand. “But apparently, the boy’s been a disappointment for years. I hear the lady of the house has had about enough of it. Narcissa’s sad… and when Narcissa’s sad, I’m meant to be sad. To be supportive and whatnot.”
Severus truly does not care a lick about the relationship drama between Lucius and Narcissa. But he does care to have private information about The Heir. This is delicious. It’s useful, is what it is. Incredibly valuable.
Severus Snape has learned, throughout his several years on Spinner’s End, that information is valuable. General information is good, yes. But it's private information– information people don’t want others knowing– that’s invaluable. His mother had been teaching him that his entire life. It’s a lesson he tried to share with Lily when he convinced her to look through Petunia’s things. It’s a lesson she wasn’t ready to learn just yet.
Severus gets the feeling, though, that Lucius Malfoy already learned this lesson a long time ago. That’s rather plain to see. What Severus can’t quite parse out yet is just what exactly this strange sharing session is meant to be.
“Why are you…” His voice dies in his throat shortly after he starts. Perhaps it isn't in his best interest to call the situation into question. It's too late, though. Lucius has already heard him.
“Why am I telling you this?” Lucius smiles wryly.
Severus bobs his head.
“I’m a prefect, Severus,” Lucius says. “I ought to be Head Boy.”
Theodore Tonks is Head Boy. Severus agrees that’s utter tosh.
“I know what goes on amongst my underlings.” Lucius continues, leaning toward Severus in a mirror of the younger boy's earlier actions.
Severus frowns, antsy under the elder boy's close inspection. Severus is not made of marble. He is nothing but flesh. Imperfect flesh is better left unexamined. He's thankful only that he does not flush.
“You broke your nose trying to ride a broom, yes?”
“Yes,” Severus admits. There's no use lying. Not to Lucius Malfoy, nor to anyone else, really. He's sure the entire house has heard about it at this point.
“I’m sure that’s put you at a disadvantage. Socially speaking.”
This time, Severus does flush. Of course it has. He entered that class as a nobody and left it a laughingstock.
“Consider the disadvantage neutralized.” Lucius flicks his wrist as if sending Severus' problem away the way one might dismiss a servant.
“But why..." Why help me? Severus wants to ask. Why deign to help me? The words do not come. It makes no difference. Lucius hears them all the same.
“You’re a Prince, aren’t you?” The aristocratic boy poses, the barest hint of a smile playing on his thin lips.
Severus swells. Yes. he thinks hungrily. Yes. Severus is a Prince. He’s half Prince. He’s far more Prince than Snape. If he could abandon the latter, he would. Yes. Yes, yes, yes. He nods.
“There you have it,” Lucius says matter-of-factly. He leans back in his oversized chair. This conversation is over.
“Thank you.” The words spill out of Severus without his approval. He manages to hold back any more. His heart hammers in his chest.
“Go to bed,” Lucius commands.
Severus jumps to obey, quickly gathering his things and heading up the stairs.
“And Severus?” Lucius calls.
Severus turns back to the prefect, who taps a finger to his lips. “This conversation never happened.”
Severus nods. Lucius waves him off again.
Severus Snape falls asleep freezing, but he can’t bring himself to mind.