Lord Snape's Dilemma – A WIKTT Regency challenge, which means it's AU (unless I use a plot device) and there's no magic.
Everything belongs to Rowling, except what you don't recognize.
"Lud," sneered Lord Severus Snape, "you are pathetic, Potter. That elbow-crooker we have for a coachman could do a better job at tying this cravat."
"Well, if you would have to compete with Beau Brummel himself for the most complicated style. And this is so starched you risk garroting yourself, if you don't mind my saying, Sir!"
"But, I do mind, you insolent beefwit. It may interest you to know that I am not accustomed to being spoken to in this fashion by my servants."
"However, I've always been so much more than a servant to you." Said his valet smarmily, "Much more like a son."
Lord Snape made his most repulsive, intimidating face, one that usually sent both debutants and dowagers into spells of the vapors. "And how do you arrive at that conclusion, my dear mushroom?"
"Our hair, Lord Snape, both black as pitch, and both totally unruly. You have spent literally 'undreds of hours attempting to force it to not hang down all limp and oily. And mine, well, it sticks up all over the place. I figured when you took me out of that orphanage that I had to be at least a by-blow of yours, or perhaps just reminded you of one of your conquests."
Snape turned pale with anger and almost stuttered. "You do get above yourself, Potter. I should sack you for that impertinence. How dare you claim to be a product of some calf-love of mine? Such fustian nonsense!" Snape sat down in high dungeon.
"There, there. I know you won't sack me. I'm your most loyal, trusted servant. I'm the one 'oo watches your back when you're on those double spying trips for the crown."
"Do be quiet!" hissed Snape. "Now that I'm leg-shackled to that bluestocking, you must watch yourself and that tongue of yours. I've told you before that she cannot be trusted."
Harry Potter shook his head and fingered his lightening shaped scar, as he was wont to do when confused. "I don't know why you married her, la. It wasn't for her looks, or her money—"
"Do mind your own business, Potter!" Snape walked over to the full-length mirror and observed himself. Potter was quite right about the hair. Try as he might, it was a total disgrace. His clothes might show him to be the Pinkest of the Pinks, but there was no disguising that hideous nose of his, nor the crooked, yellowed teeth. Since childhood he'd known he was homely and if it were not for his money and position he would probably never be married. Yet, he thought he had found someone who loved him, loved him for himself. How great was his disappointment and anger to discover that she was a light skirt! Against his will, his upper lip twisted at the thought. The great Lord Snape gammoned by a mere slip of a girl. And now he must live with it.
"Come Potter, time for my breakfast." Said Lord Snape as he swept out of the room.
&&&
Lady Hermione Snape was enjoying her breakfast. She'd just received a letter from Miss Joanna Baillie and was quite excited to learn that yet another play of Baillie's was to be produced there in London. She heard steps outside the door and quickly put the letter away in her reticule and pulled out a small leather bound romance novel, The Italian. Living down to her husband's expectations was not easy, but it was nicer than listening to him sneer on about things she really cared about, such as her friend's writing abilities and the endeavors of other talented women.
It pained Hermione no end that the man who so gently had courted and won her had also completely deceived her regarding his tolerance for intelligent and/or educated women. Hermione had no idea of what had gone wrong in their marriage, but she had almost reached the breaking point and no longer wished to interact at all with the devil her husband had become. His scathing wit had been so enjoyable once, but now he used it to cut her over and over.
"Hermione!" said Snape sitting down at the breakfast table and unfolding a morning paper.
"Lord Snape." Hermione nodded her head. She no longer called him Severus.
He threw her a look. "And what are you reading this morning. Science? Poetry? Perhaps something by the Wizard of the North?" Each word he tossed off with more venom than the last.
She shook her head. "Just a romance, my husband. And if you will excuse me, I feel a headache coming on and need to lay down."
Severus gave a grim half-smile. "That is the fourth headache you have had in as many days."
"Thank you for caring." Hermione rose from her chair and made to leave.
"I did not say that I cared. It was merely an observation." His smile broadened at her obvious discomfort.
"I see. Good day to you, sir!" She was halfway out the door when he shouted, "Stay."
She turned and looked at him with expectation. "I cannot have you gad about London dressed like a country hayseed. Go and get yourself a new set of whatever is in fashion. Be sure you contact Lady Bulstrode, she always has the best couture."
Snape knew that Bulstrode and Hermione had loathed each other since girlhood. He turned the page of the paper to cover his smirk.
Hermione bit her tongue to stop herself from giving the opinion that it was a good thing that Bulstrode did know a good couture, since her face had been known to scare horses. Almost a fortnight of marriage, and Hermione had still managed to not lose her usually volatile temper. However, at this rate she was either going to completely bite through her tongue or give in to temptation and kill the man. She could see little middle ground for it. The sad part was that she still loved him and hoped that whatever this grim humor that had enveloped him was, it would depart before her sanity did.
She headed quickly up to her room before he could come up with additional malicious ideas. Once there, she cast herself upon her bed and cried her heart out. Eventually, the sobbing was spent and she decided to pull herself together and go for a ride in the park. The fresh air would clear her head and she could come up with a plan to deliver herself from this marital hell.
&&&
Sir Lucius Malfoy gave a final thrust into the trembling heap beneath him. He rolled off of her and looked into the red-rimmed eyes.
"Perhaps that will teach you not to backtalk your elders and betters."
Ginny Weasley sniffed, "I'm very sorry, Lucius. I didn't mean to. Please forgive me. Please don't leave me…"
Malfoy got up and started putting on his clothes. "Whether I stay or go, mon enfant, is not up to you. You are fortunate that I have need of you, or you would be in the gutter where you belong.
"Now, I plan to have you start up a friendship with Lady Snape. The blackmail has gone better than expected. I thought I'd be called out when my note to the blushing bride on her wedding day was intercepted by that dastard Snape. Instead, I managed to convince him that I'd been having an affair with the chit and she'd only married him because she feared she'd be found out."
Malfoy did a little dance of sheer joy. "Can you imagine? The moron didn't even bother to bed her on his own wedding night; instead he got drunk with me and then headed off to his country estate the very next day sans girl. Ha! Unfortunately, in spite of his being as drunk as a wheelbarrow, he did not reveal to me his secrets. I am sure that his loyalty to Lord Voldemort is a damned hum and that he is actually a spy for the Regent. I just need to prove it.
"And this is where you come in." He rounded on the young girl. "I plan to introduce you as my ward. You are to become intimate with Lady Snape. She will give you the reports on her husband's doings, and this will free me from any suspicions that Snape might have that I am continuing the supposed affair, thereby avoiding anything so dull as a duel for her honor while I continue to tighten the noose around his vile neck."
He lifted up his hand and pretended he was about to strike her. Ginny's eyes grew round and she shivered. He reached down and stroked her jaw. "By Jove, I never saw a more finely sculpted profile. Do not disappoint me, mon enfant, and you shall be allowed to keep it."
A/N: Okay, it's been about 20 years since I've read Heyer or any other Regency romances. If this story floats your boat and you want to see more, please do review. If there is a lack of interest, I'll take this down from AFF.net and move on to other things. I do admit that I am dying to hear Lady McGonagall say, "But my dear, that is bad ton."
BTW, The Wizard of the North was one of the names used for Sir Walter Scott when he was still writing anonymously. I tried not to go too crazy with the cant, just wanted to set the tone.
Many thanks for reading this far.
Glossary of Cant-
Lud: Polite exclamation
Elbow-crooker: Drinker
Beefwit: Idiot
Vapors: Fainting, or nervous disorder such as hysteria or depression
Mushroom: Someone who tries to rise above his or her station
Dungeon: Bad mood
Calf-love: Immature love of a young man
By-blows: Illegitimate children
Fustian Nonsense: Rubbish
Legshackled: Married
Bluestocking: Academic Female
La: See or exclamation of surprise
Pinkest of the Pinks: A very fashionable man
Light skirts: Woman of easy virtue
Gammoned: Tricked
Reticule: Drawstring Handbag or Purse
Couture: Dressmaker
Dastard: Sneaking, malicious coward
Drunk as a Wheelbarrow: very drunk
Damned Hum: False rumor, lie, trick, etc.