A/N: Thank you so much for your wonderful response to this story! Your reviews make my day. :)
Chapter Two: Unexpected Constellations
Since Snape's return to the Slytherin table, Kuhn has not spoken once. True, he seems content, playing around with his pudding like an overgrown infant, but Snape knows better. Kuhn wants to speak with him. Snape is as certain of this as he is certain that the illusion of night sky projected onto the ceiling of the Great Hall isn't real. No, there is doubt in Snape's mind that Kuhn is desperate to speak with him, the one member of Slytherin with (a brain) an actual Muggle for a parent. Yet like a petulant child, Kuhn feels that he has already made his friendly intentions towards Snape clear, and that it now behoves Snape to take up the mantle. Kuhn's entire display of silence and misery, Snape is sure, is but a pretence to manipulate Snape into feeling sorry for him, and thus into voluntarily beginning a conversation. Snape, however, has no intention of feeling sorry for the boy who will soon be breathing up his room. He therefore steadfastly maintains his silence, hoping that Kuhn will crack in the meantime.
This soon devolves into an extremely frustrating charade, for Snape is actually impatient to tell Kuhn about their new rooming arrangement, if only to make Kuhn as unhappy as he, Snape, already is. As the time stretches between them, only one good thing comes of their mutual reserve: Avery and Mulciber are bored into moving elsewhere. They now make rounds of the Slytherin table with Rosier, greeting fellow members of the Quidditch team and most important, giving Snape and Kuhn a semblance of privacy.
Eventually the desire to aggrieve Kuhn wins over Snape's sense of pride. "Aren't you in the least interested in hearing what Lestrange had to say?" he spits.
"It's not my job to pry into other people's business. Besides, if the matter concerns me, I'm sure you'd let me know." Kuhn's voice is suspiciously dispassionate as he spears his serving of spotted dick.
Snape narrows his eyes and hisses, "And if I were not so inclined?"
Kuhn shrugs with what Snape decides is purely spiteful indifference. "Then I would just have to live without that information, wouldn't I."
Snape sneers. "Don't think I haven't seen through your little game. However, it so happens that I do have news concerning you personally." Snape pauses, waiting until Kuhn's eyes have met his before delivering the devastating blow. "Lestrange has decided that we are to share a room."
"Really?" That got him, Snape thinks gleefully. The green eyes are wide, the fork and spotted dick forgotten. Snape himself has almost forgotten that he will also have to live with Kuhn. "But . . . I thought everyone would be in the same room. You know, all together."
"Communal sleeping arrangements are for Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors," Snape says, waving a hand dismissively. "Ravenclaws and Slytherins have the option of rooming alone or in pairs beginning in their fifth year." Not that Snape has ever benefitted from this arrangement. Every year he has applied for a room of his own, and every year he has always been stuck with someone else: First Avery, then Mulciber, now Kuhn . . .
"Well . . . OK," Kuhn says, clearly at a loss for words. He carefully rubs the bridge of his nose, almost as if expecting a pair of glasses to be resting there. "I hope you weren't expecting me to jump up and down with joy. Not that I mind rooming with you," Kuhn quickly amends, presumably at the sour look on Snape's face, "but it's just one more thing about this school I didn't expect."
"I assure you, Kuhn, that the prospect of our sharing a room together leaves me even less enthusiastic than you."
Something like anger flashes across Kuhn's pale face. Snape feels an answering anger awaken in himself, and is therefore somewhat disappointed when Kuhn's eyes suddenly shift colour and temperament, when the black of a roiling sea suddenly lightens into the green of calm and sunny shallows. Kuhn's eyes radiate understanding, and it irks Snape, who finds himself understanding Kuhn less and less with every passing second.
"You were supposed to have a room of your own."
"My, your deductive capacities are certainly impressive," Snape sneers.
Kuhn's mouth twitches. For a moment Snape hopes that he has succumbed to anger again, because this at least Snape could respect - but no, now that he looks closer it is clear that Kuhn is simply trying to suppress a smile. "I'm going to take that as a compliment," he says with an infuriating lightness.
"Never heard of irony, have you?"
"I have," Kuhn says, even more amused, "and it definitely applies to this conversation."
Snape keeps his sneer in place, but can't help feeling he has lost his footing and that, if this round were to be judged, he would not be its winner. Fortunately, no such judgment takes place. Before Kuhn can smile or gloat further, the stentorian voice of the Headmaster interrupts, announcing the close of the feast.
Collectively, the prefects begin preparing to lead the students to their respective Houses. Lestrange stands foremost amongst them, pale eyes glittering ominously in the faint starlight of the enchanted ceiling as he gestures for the other Seventh Year boys to follow him out of the Great Hall. Snape gets reluctantly to his feet, book cradled in his arms, and hopes that Kuhn does not decide to engage him further on their way to the dungeons. His wish is fulfilled: Wilkes, no longer obliged to entertain Claudia Bramblethorn, shows sudden interest in Kuhn. They immediately launch into a conversation about Germany. Although they hang back more than the others, Snape manages to regulate his pace so that he seems out of earshot while remaining very much within it.
" - I have some family in Germany. They live near the Blocksberg," Wilkes is saying.
"The Blocksberg . . . that's amazing." Kuhn sounds genuinely excited. "I've only been there once myself for Walpurgisnacht -"
"Walpurgis, really? Is it true that the witches . . ." and Wilkes whispers something, probably lewd, into Kuhn's ear, for Snape can hear Kuhn blushing as he softly stammers an answer. Wilkes doesn't appear to notice Kuhn's discomfort. "Wicked," he says with relish. "I'll definitely be going next year, no matter what my mum says."
"You'll enjoy it, I'm sure," Kuhn says, his excitement already extinguished, replaced by a flat, cautious tone.
He's learning, Snape thinks.
Wilkes proceeds to ask Kuhn a barrage of questions about the Walpurgis festivities, mostly with regard to its apparently naked female celebrants. It is an unrevealing and rather pointless conversation, in Snape's opinion, although Kuhn's increasing discomfort with the topic does do a little in the way of compensating for Snape's earlier unspoken defeat. Nonetheless, Snape is relieved when Lestrange stops before the wall leading to the Slytherin dungeon and the salacious conversation is given license to end.
"Magic is Might," Lestrange tells the wall, which immediately transforms into a passageway. Lestrange enters first, followed by Rosier, Mulciber and Avery. Snape follows at a greater distance. Kuhn immediately strides up to his side. Silently, they make their way into the Common Room. It's just as dank and ghoulish as Snape remembers: Green light pours out from elegant glass lamps placed beside skulls, making the dark leather of the sofas and armchairs glisten eerily, and the low-hung ceiling is moist with condensation from the lake above. Snape had been somewhat bewildered by the decor as a First Year, although it now appeals to his sense of humour. For Kuhn, however, the room seems to hold no surprises: As far as Snape can tell, he doesn't spare a single glance for his new surroundings. Snape is beginning to think Kuhn is either unobservant by nature or extremely depressed.
Lestrange holds up a hand, bidding them all to gather around him. They do so in silence. "Your rooms are located in the leftmost entryway. Severus, I've put you and Adrian down at the farthest end of the hall. Cassius, Daniel, the two of you are next to them. That leaves the remaining room, Terence, to you and Evan."
"As far away from the Muggles as possible," Rosier says cheerily.
Lestrange's eyes narrow. "There are no Muggles here, Evan."
Rosier grins nastily at Snape. "Might as well be."
"I hope I need not remind you all of your first duty to each other as members of this house," Lestrange says coldly. "Loyalty. Step out of line again, Rosier, and Slughorn will hear of it."
Despite the palpable threat, Rosier looks unrepentant. He knows, just as Snape does, that Lestrange has only stepped in because Snape's - and possibly Kuhn's - loyalty is currently useful to his family's cause. The moment that usefulness is outlived, however . . .
"Come on," Snape mutters to Kuhn, pushing past Rosier towards the leftmost entryway. Kuhn follows wordlessly.
Snape steps into their new room first. It's much larger than any of his previous rooms. Two four-poster beds hung with silver and green hangings stand to the left, and two long mahogany desks with matching chairs and lamps stand across them to the right. Snape notes that there are shelves built into the stone walls (though not enough for all of his books) and two small mahogany wardrobes for hanging clothes. Naturally, the room has no windows, although someone thought to enchant a crevice to give a view of the lake.
"This is . . . nice," Kuhn says, looking for once pleasantly surprised by his surroundings. He makes his way to his trunk, which stands at the foot of the bed nearest to the door. Snape heads for his wallshelf instead, where he rests his Paracelsus securely against a stone bookend. Once satisfied that it will not fall, he turns to his own trunk.
It opens with a flick of his wand - and a blast of heat knocks into him, smelling of summer at Spinner's End. Snape closes his eyes and lets the heat wave run over him, not caring how bitter, how piss-sour it smells. The room is silent, yet filled with memory and thought. Snape has nearly forgotten Kuhn's presence. That smell - he can almost hear his mother singing nonsense to herself, almost feel his hands tightening around her thickening waist. It's been years since he hugged her last, he thinks, and his eyes open of their own accord, snapping him out of the memories.
Snape waits until the scents have nearly faded before bending down to pick up one of his books. He had wrapped them carefully in his uniform robes, knowing that he would never get the wrinkles out (Snape is terrible at household charms) but that his books, at least, would arrive at Hogwarts undamaged. The first book is his Potions text, the one full of basic errors that he inherited from his mother and has been secretly improving upon during class. He flips it open to a random page - dust motes scatter into his eyes - and, blinking, scans through Libatius Borage's instructions for making the Draught of Living Death. Snape's own notes blacken the page, rendering it nearly illegible. Someday, Snape thinks, he should copy his notes down and send them in to a publisher. The worth of the royalties alone . . .
A cough is uttered on the other side of the room. Snape pretends not to hear Kuhn, despite just having lost his train of thought, and flips forward through the book towards the potions he has yet to test. His gaze settles on a particularly complex potion - Veritaserum - noting ingredients, brewing times, cutting techniques, temperatures and wand practices. As usual, Snape finds the printed text misleadingly vague; it claims, for example, that one should add the aqua fortis and spirit of salt to the monkshood, yet fails to specify in what order. Borage can't possibly intend that the aqua fortis and spirit of salt be added to the monkshood at the same time! The spirit of salt, Snape muses, should probably be added after the aqua fortis, although he would have to set up an experiment to determine just how long the interval between additions would take. Without looking up from the book - if he had to guess, the aqua fortis would need three clockwise stirs to bond properly with the monkshood before the spirit could be added and absorbed - Snape conjures a quill and notes down his ongoing thoughts in a margin.
Yet this is child's play, he thinks with a pang. Annotating the school curriculum is amusing, certainly, but hardly a real challenge, hardly what Snape would call cutting-edge science. Frowning, he snaps the book shut and places it next to the Paracelsus on the stone shelf in the wall.
His other textbooks are less interesting; these he simply levitates up to the shelf without opening. Eventually, he uncovers The Power of Dark Magic, a translation of Grindelwald's Die Macht der schwarzen Magie that Lucius Malfoy gave him as a birthday present earlier in the year. Snape has perused most of it already; it contains a few highly interesting Dark spells and some curious anecdotes, but is for the most part a boring political treatise. Should Lucius ever visit him, however, it had better be on display.
There are a few last titles: The Chymistry of Isaac Newton, a book containing some of Newton's most brilliant potions; Machiavelli's Prince and Plato's Republic; then the quintessential reference books, De occulta Philosophia, Moste Potente Potions, Curses and Counter-curses, Advanced Rune Translation, Magick Most Evile, Secrets of the Darkest Art and Beyond Self-Defensive Spellwork. At this point, Snape has to cast an Expanding charm on the shelf to fit everything, and yet he is almost disappointed that he doesn't have any other books with him. Books are expensive, of course, but they make up, in an essential way, his very identity. Naturally, the moment the library opens he will check out the titles he misses, bring them here and arrange them comfortably around himself like friends come for a long stay. At present, however, he feels almost . . . bereft.
Kuhn coughs again from behind. Snape continues to ignore him, peering deep into his trunk to see what's left. His Potions utensils - cauldrons, knife sets, ingredients, storage and measuring flasks - glint up at him reproachfully. Had he a room of his own, he would have set up his own private lab in the space Kuhn's bed now occupies. Theoretically, there is also enough space between Snape's desk and the wall to set up a second table for experimentation, but what if Kuhn disapproves? Given that experimentation is strictly forbidden in dorm rooms, the risk that Kuhn might tattle is great . . . and Snape remembers how poorly Avery and Mulciber reacted when he had asked for their permission in the past . . .
"Kuhn," Snape says, still gazing at his equipment. "I would like to set up a little laboratory next to my desk for some private brewing. I would naturally surround it with odour and sound protections. You would never need notice it. All the same, I must know whether you have anything against the idea."
"You're going to brew in here?" Kuhn asks, just as Snape had feared. Deeply disappointed, Snape looks up from his trunk and sends Kuhn one of his more potent glares.
But Kuhn, wonder of wonders, actually seems excited, not suspicious or upset at all. "Do you mind if I set up a few wards myself? You know, against explosions and so on . . ."
Snape blinks. "You mean you don't mind?"
"Not at all." Kuhn is actually grinning, which leads Snape to wonder whether some ulterior motive is at work here. "I think it's a brilliant idea."
Something lightens within Snape, and he feels his mouth twitch. Suddenly much more inclined to accept Kuhn as a roommate, even if he has an ulterior motive concerning Snape's lab, he lets their eyes meet briefly - an almost electric sensation, given those eyes - before turning back to his trunk.
Right. Snape is finding it hard-pressed not to smile, the thought of his own laboratory is so powerful and wondrous. He shakes his head in final disbelief, then squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates. A moment later, he has conjured a second wooden table with drawers and a bottom shelf next to his own desk. It's a bit rickety, not quite as solid as he'd imagined in his head, but with a few adjustments it should do the job.
Slowly, carefully, Snape unpacks each individual instrument onto the table. He puts cleaning supplies in one of the drawers and several new rolls of parchment for note-taking in another; gloves, protective goggles, his knife kits, cutting boards and cauldron are set in particular place on the tabletop. With another wandwave, Snape installs a cabinet for ingredients above the table. He sorts the jars and packets of precious ingredients methodically before placing them, one by one, into the cabinet.
Behind him, Kuhn mutters long strings of words in German. His laboratory set-up complete, Snape turns to watch as Kuhn points his wand in a complicated series of movements. Kuhn is not simply warding against explosions, Snape realises, but creating a highly advanced system of wards.
Eventually Kuhn drops his arms and ceases muttering. There is a small pop as the wards settle into place. Snape can't help but raise his eyebrows at the unexpectedness of it all. "Not that I have any objection to extra wards against intruders and detractors, but don't you think this is a bit of an overkill?"
"No," Kuhn says shortly.
"But why?"
"Since we're in Slytherin, I think you'll agree that wards against eavesdropping are pretty much a must. I put in three. As for the rest," Kuhn gives Snape a strange look, almost as if, for a moment, he expects to see someone else, "I guess I thought it might be good to set up a few defences against thieves, given your laboratory."
Snape cannot quite prevent a look of disbelief from forming on his face. "That was . . . considerate of you."
Kuhn shrugs, but there is a smile in his eyes. "In any case, no-one will be able to enter the room without your express permission or mine."
Snape thinks back to the long, German strings of words and the pointed wand-movements. "Might I inquire after the spells you used? I thought I heard you speaking in German . . ."
Kuhn colours slightly. "Those are spells I learned in Berlin," he says. Snape wonders if Kuhn actually intended to let slip that he has lived in Berlin; if Kuhn were any other Slytherin, Snape would say yes. But Kuhn is very different from the boys Snape has lived with over the past six years. "I don't mind showing them to you," Kuhn continues. He looks at Snape appraisingly. "You don't happen to speak German, do you?"
"Of course not," snaps Snape. Anyone with eyes should be able to see that he doesn't come from a family with enough money to afford a private language tutor. Even the Muggle school Snape attended until he was eleven was too poor to support a language program. Most of Snape's linguistic energies have since been concentrated on eradicating the horrible Manchester dialect he learned from the other children at that school.
"That's alright," Kuhn says thoughtfully. Snape wonders if he in the midst of figuring out that his dishevelled, greasy roommate comes from a poverty-stricken household. If he is, he at least has the courtesy to keep his face free of contempt or pity. "I can show you the wand-movements at least. Here," Kuhn brandishes his wand, points it aggressively at one corner of the room, then makes a grand sweeping motion. "It's important to fortify each weakness - corners, seams, crevices, doors, windows. I mostly focused on the door."
Snape examines each movement as Kuhn makes it, then copies it himself. Admittedly, Kuhn's technique isn't very elegant, but what it lacks in grace it makes up for with power. Kuhn exerts an admirable control over his wand, a kind of control Snape has rarely seen in wizards his own age. Snape has always thought himself skilled and quick with a wand, but watching Kuhn makes him aware that his own wand (ebony and unicorn hair, 13 inches) has never responded to him so instantly and without compromise as Kuhn's.
It's demotivating, if somewhat fascinating to watch oneself be so completely outpaced by a boy who does not even seem to realise this could become a contest, who does not even seem to think in such terms. Snape's face heats with embarrassment at himself, not only for his (in his mind) inferior wand technique, but also because a part of him can't help but resent Kuhn, although Kuhn by no means deserves it.
He takes a good look at Kuhn's robes, but they are neither hand-me-downs, as Snape's are, nor as obviously expensive as Rosier's or Lestrange's. They seem to merely be the standard robes Madame Malkin sells.
They have pretended to ward all the corners when Snape decides he's had plenty and lowers his wand. "I think I understand the movements sufficiently now."
Kuhn nods. "Would you like me to teach you the incantations?"
"Perhaps some other time."
Kuhn nods again, a guarded look on his face, but does not comment upon Snape's sudden loss of interest in his spells.
Grateful to be let go without hassle, Snape ejects resentful thoughts about Kuhn from his mind and prowls back to his own trunk. Various items of clothing - his robes, nightshirt, pants and Slytherin scarf - lie discarded inside from where he tossed them after unpacking his books. Feeling a bit ill at the sight of the crinkles in the fabric (he can already imagine what Potter might say), Snape attempts a Smoothening Charm (it barely works), then presses the remaining rumples down with his hands just in case Kuhn is watching (Snape doesn't think he is). When the tedious work of hanging it all up is completed, he slams the wardrobe door shut and decides that he has unpacked enough for the day.
Kuhn, he notices, also seems to have finished. This strikes Snape as strange; all of his previous roommates had taken much longer to unpack than Snape, despite his extra books and potions equipage. Avery had brought a record player and an appalling poster collection of scantily clad, famous Dark witches; Mulciber, a tangled heap of pornography, Quidditch magazines and photographs of his family and friends. Both of them had also owned more clothes and hygiene products than Snape - robes in more than one colour, including dressier ones for the girls, Quidditch gear, sport deodorants, perfumes and shampoos . . .
Who is this Kuhn? Snape wonders. why is he at Hogwarts and not in Germany? Why did he ask the Hat for Slytherin? What happened to his parents? Is he rich or poor? Why does his English lack an accent? What happened between him and Potter? Why was he so thrilled at the idea of Snape's miniature laboratory? . . .
Merlin be damned, Snape is going to find out.
An hour passes by, in which Snape paces and reads through his summer Transfiguration essay for errors, one finger tracing past the contour of his lips, when -
"OW!"
Snape whirls to face the door and is astonished to see Mulciber, in dress robes, standing before it, hopping on one foot and clutching his nose. He glances at Kuhn, who sets down his own Transfiguration essay on his desk and makes a vague, yet recognizably pointed wand gesture.
The wards. Interesting.
"Come in, Mulciber," Snape calls, smirking at the sight of someone as hulking and formidable-seeming as the Head Beater limping into his room.
"Merlin's balls, Snape, I knew you were a paranoid bastard, but this reaches new heights even for you," Mulciber mutters, still rubbing gingerly at his nose.
"It's Kuhn's work, not mine." Snape hesitates for a moment, then allows his smirk to widen. "Now, what was so urgent that you had to race in here without knocking first? Would have saved you some trouble, you know."
"Now you tell me," Mulciber says, but he's grinning now; like any Slytherin, he knows to respect good wandwork. "German efficiency, eh?" he says, turning to Kuhn, who remains seated at his desk with a cool expression on his face. "Could have used you last year, when that little twit Regulus Black started pilfering the alcohol stores. Speaking of which," Mulciber brightens, "there's a party on. Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Years only. They're all dying to meet Kuhn here, and I'm sure a few of them wouldn't mind a glimpse of your pretty face, Severus."
Snape scowls. Mulciber rarely uses his first name except as a taunt. His irritation, however, clearly pales in comparison to whatever Kuhn is feeling. Snape's new roommate has sprung to his feet, his expression almost agitated. "Regulus Black?" he asks, his eyes darting between Snape and Mulciber. "Who's that?"
"A swot of a Fifth Year on the Quidditch team. He's our Seeker," Mulciber explains genially, then narrows his eyes. "You sure look like you could use a drink, Kuhn. You're almost as pale as Snape here, and that's practically an impossible feat, if you know what I mean."
As Mulciber proceeds to laugh at his own wit (-lessness, Snape thinks sourly), Snape files Kuhn's reaction away for further examination. Black is no prefect, so he could not have crossed paths with Kuhn here at Hogwarts already; and yet Kuhn's reaction indicates that he knows exactly who Black is. Could the Blacks have something to do with Kuhn's family, even with his parents' apparent demise? Snape thinks back to the excessive deference Kuhn showed Narcissa when they were introduced. Could this somehow be related?
"I'd love a drink," Kuhn says suddenly, green eyes hard and determined.
"Good." Mulciber glances over at Snape. "You too?"
Snape would prefer to prepare himself for his enormous load of classes tomorrow, but something tells him that he should stay close to Kuhn, if only to try and understand more of his relationship to Regulus Black. "I will come, but only for a short time." He pauses, savouring the brief look of surprise that flits across Mulciber's coarse features. "Some of us still have Transfiguration in the morning."
"You poor sod," Mulciber says unconcernedly. An idea seems to occur to him. "Er - you are planning on changing into dress robes beforehand, right?"
"No," says Snape. Kuhn glances at Snape, then back at Mulciber, and seems to come to a decision.
"No."
"Aren't you at least going to comb your hair? Snape?"
"No," Snape snarls.
(He hasn't combed or washed his hair in a day, and it's much too long and tangled in little knots at the back, but there is no way he is going to condescend to do so for the sake of a few pretentious purebloods that could care less about his appearance anyway. What Kuhn's excuse is, Snape doesn't know, but he suspects they think along similar lines.)
"Suit yourself," says Mulciber coolly, turning to exit the door. Snape and Kuhn follow in silence. "So what about you, Kuhn?" Mulciber asks once they are moving down the corridor, voice friendly again. "Loads and loads of courses tomorrow?"
"I haven't received my schedule yet, but as I'm taking Potions, Defence, Charms, Herbology and Transfiguration, I guess so, yeah."
"That's nothing," Snape sniffs, and is about to recite his even longer list of classes when Mulciber cuts him off.
"Yeah, yeah, we all know about your inner Ravenclaw." Mulciber grins - Snape catches glimpse of an unattractive golden molar at the back of his mouth - at Kuhn, who smiles back this time, if tentatively. "I roomed with this one last year, and swear to you, never once caught a sight of him without a book. He even sleeps with them." At Snape's noise of protest, Mulciber adds, "Don't even try denying it, my friend." To Kuhn, he says ominously, "You'll see what I mean."
Snape rolls his eyes, and Kuhn laughs - a pure, clear sound, almost achingly familiar . . .
"There you are," injects a cold, bored voice - Avery, standing at the threshold to the Common Room in blue dress robes with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks at Snape with interest. "I didn't think you would show."
Snape bares his (yellowed, uneven) teeth, and Avery smirks. "Good to see you, all the same." With a grand gesture of his arm, Avery points towards the Common Room. "Shall we?"
They follow Avery through the stone entranceway into the Common Room, cast this evening in a somewhat less green shade than usual thanks to a swirling white globe of light floating at its center. Tendrils of the unearthly light pry themselves from the globe, which heaves like a star; they stream aesthetically through the room before extinguishing into smoke on the stone walls. Snape suspects that Narcissa, with her deft hand for Charms, is responsible for the spectacular effect.
Beneath the pulsating globe, the leather armchairs and couches have been replaced with a glowing, highly modern stainless steel bar. Snape thinks that the bar looks ridiculous, especially with an already tipsy, garishly dressed Rosier standing behind it as barkeep. The bar, of course, is surrounded by girls.
"Rosier looks even more asinine than usual," Snape murmurs to Avery.
"He's been drinking his own concoctions," Avery says in a low voice. "Personally, I would stay away from those. But there's an incredible Bordeaux - gift of Bellatrix Black herself - and Firewhisky of course, and . . . right, you don't drink. Well, there's even Butterbeer for teetotallers like you."
Snape has never explained why he keeps away from drink; that would involve explaining his home life to Avery, which he would never do. Avery is clever enough to have figured out most of it anyway. "Thank you," Snape says coldly.
"Anytime," Avery says, then gestures towards the bar. "I'm going to get something to drink. Coming?"
"Not yet."
"I'll catch up with you later, then."
Snape nods absently, letting his eyes roam across the rest of the scene. A billiards table occupies the right side of the room. Lestrange stands there playing with his younger brother Rabastan and other Sixth Years. Couches line the remaining walls. Narcissa reclines on one of them with a glass of red wine, silver robes gathered about her like shimmering mercury, while a group of insignificant Sixth and Seventh Year girls makes fruitless attempts to engage her. The Quidditch jocks take up a couch beside them, each of them carrying at least one drink in hand. They keep glancing over at the girls, and it is clear they intend to make a move as soon as the girls give up on Narcissa. Snape takes a closer look at their faces and notes that Regulus Black is not amongst them.
"Mind telling me who some of these people are?" says a quiet voice beside Snape.
Snape does not glance down at Kuhn, but continues scanning the room for Black. "Anyone interest you in particular?"
"Who's that with Lestrange?"
"Rabastan, his younger brother, and if I'm correct - Yaxley and Travers. Don't ask me for their first names, I've forgotten. However," Snape drops his voice to a near-inaudible whisper, "from what I've heard, they've already been . . . initiated."
Snape can hear Kuhn's sharp intake of breath. So, he knows enough about British politics to understand what that means.
Kuhn's voice is shaky when he speaks again. "And those girls next to Narcissa?"
"Claudia Bramblethorn, that's the girl with a black bob and all the make-up, she's Wilkes' girlfriend. Mirelda Gibbon is in pink; her brother graduated two years ago and is probably also an initiate by now. As for the others - they don't matter."
Kuhn huffs. "How can they not matter?"
"How can a simpering featherbrain with no purpose in life but to marry and breed matter? By the time they've finished Hogwarts, those girls will all be married to a rich, pure-blooded wizard, possibly even already pregnant with an heir. They will be used up at thirty, hideous at forty . . ."
"They will teach their children what and what not to believe," Kuhn says stubbornly. "That matters."
Snape scoffs. "They will never teach their children anything but how to marry and breed. You may call that teaching; I prefer to call it brainwashing, myself."
"That's not quite -"
"Severus!"
Snape whips around at the sound of his name - his first name - and feels his eyes widen as Regulus Black of all people steps out of the Fifth Year entryway and begins striding towards him.
"Who's that?" Kuhn hisses, but Snape is too taken aback to reply. Black's face is a careful blank, but for his eyes, which shine brightly in the white light of the starlike orb. Although his pace is measured, Black walks quickly, almost hurriedly. If Snape didn't know better, he'd think that Black had been waiting just for him.
"Hello, Regulus," Snape says. At his side, Kuhn gives a little start.
Black comes to a halt inches before them. His dark eyes glisten with an unreadable expression. "Severus," he says, without sparing a glance for Kuhn.
Snape stiffens. The way Black says his name - softly, almost warmly - is unsettling. Snape does not remember Black ever calling him by his first name before, nor ever giving him permission to use it, for that matter . . . What has changed?
Preferring not to think about it now, Snape gestures at Kuhn. "As I'm sure you already know, this is Adrian Kuhn." Snape pauses, letting a smirk play across his lips. "He has expressed particular interest in meeting you."
Black's eyes had not left Snape's once while he was speaking. They slide indifferently to Kuhn now. "I'm surprised you ended up in Slytherin," he says coldly. "You don't look the type."
"I was surprised myself," Kuhn replies. His green eyes search Black's face with a kind of hunger, as though Black were a long-lost relative he had never hoped of seeing alive again. "Though I have to say, looking the type doesn't play as much a role as you'd think." Kuhn pauses, suddenly calculating. "Isn't your brother a Gryffindor?"
Both Snape and Black instantly scowl. "My brother is a blood-traitor and no longer a member of my family," Black says softly, icily. He steps closer to Kuhn, threat apparent in his stance, and Snape can see a red tinge to his high-boned cheeks. "Never mention him to me again."
Kuhn does not seem intimidated. "As you wish."
"Although," Black turns back to Snape, expression clearing, "I heard my errant brother tried to attack you this morning on the train. He didn't cause you any trouble, I hope?"
"None at all," Snape says smoothly. "Without Potter and with only that simpleton Pettigrew to back him, his effort failed at the get-go."
Black smiles, looking for a moment almost like the handsome, dashing brother he so despises. "I'm glad to hear it, Severus."
Snape is unsure how to reply, so he doesn't. Fortunately, another thought occurs to him. His eyes narrow in on Kuhn with growing suspicion. "How did you know that Regulus has a brother?" he demands.
"Potter told me," Kuhn says, sounding - to Snape's mind - almost queasy.
"Potter?" Black spits.
Kuhn sighs. "Potter was here early because of his Head Boy duties. He sought me out, knowing I was here for some extra lessons, and told me I should definitely ask the Hat for Gryffindor, because he and his best pal Sirius Black would be able to show me the time of my life." Kuhn shrugs. "I simply guessed that you and he were related, that's all." At Snape's disbelieving look, he adds belligerently, "You know, what with all the constellations for first names . . ."
"I see," says Black in a bored tone, turning his gaze immediately back to Snape. There is a kind of imploring glint to his eyes now, and he edges away from Kuhn, a clear signal that he wants to speak with Snape alone. "Severus, I've been meaning to ask you . . ."
"Meaning to ask him what?" interrupts a cool, feminine voice from behind. Snape rejoices inwardly at Narcissa's timing, which allows him to step away from Black under the guise of giving Narcissa room. Narcissa acknowledges him with a nod before turning towards her cousin. Her eyes narrow immediately into slits. "Don't look at me that way, Regulus, there's nothing you could possibly have to say to Severus that you couldn't say in front of me."
Black looks as though he has just swallowed poison. "Certainly not, cousin."
"Well, then?"
"I . . . was merely going to ask Severus for suggestions on how to improve the standard recipe for the Draught of Peace."
It is a lie, and Narcissa recognises it for one immediately. "That hardly sounds like something one would discuss at a party."
"I'm not in a celebratory mood, cousin."
"Yes, I can see that," Narcissa says coldly. "Perhaps you are too young for these things. You should consider heading to bed."
Black blanches, but has no retort.
"Brush your hair, while you're at it," Narcissa adds. "Severus, dear as he may be to us, is not a proper role model for you in that regard."
Snape is astonished to realise that Black's hair is nearly as long and dishevelled (if not as greasy) as his own. How could he have failed to notice?
"I would appreciate it if you would mind your own business, cousin," Black snarls, his face brick-red and contorted with a combination of embarrassment and rage.
"And I would appreciate it if you would mind your tone," Narcissa snaps. She places a hand on Snape's arm and begins leading him away. "Come, Severus, Adrian, my cousin is clearly too tired to converse with us any further. Goodnight," she tells Black in falsely sweet tones.
Severus can't but help glance back. Black's hands are balled into fists; he looks as though ready to tear the entire party apart. After a moment of internal battling, he turns on his heel and stomps back into the Fifth Year entryway.
"You must excuse Regulus," Narcissa says, once they are all seated on an empty couch. "He has been acting oddly all summer. Most oddly, I must say. My mother believes it is due to stress." She lowers her eyes and voice. "My aunt, as you know, has been encouraging him to be Marked early. It is perhaps too much pressure for such a young boy."
"Perhaps," Snape murmurs, although he somehow doesn't think that fear of becoming a Death Eater is the reason for Black's strange behaviour.
Kuhn makes a disbelieving noise.
"And what do you think, Adrian?" Narcissa asks sharply.
"I think he's in love," he says quietly, without looking at either Narcissa or Snape. Snape is surprised, despite himself, and also dismayed - for if Regulus seemed in love with anyone, then it was with him.
This is certainly an unpleasant thought. Suddenly, Snape is no longer interested in Kuhn's relationship to Black - the much more pressing question is the nature of Black's own relationship to Snape himself.
(Oh, but his heart is taken. Taken by one who will never return his feelings, but taken forever nonetheless.)
"Do you?" Narcissa looks long at Kuhn, considering. "It is certainly a possibility."
"It's a ridiculous notion," Snape hisses. At Narcissa's questioning glance, Snape continues in a low voice, "Your cousin would never 'fall in love'. A crush, I grant you, but nothing more. I am sure Regulus' current malady, should that be the source, will pass by most swiftly."
Kuhn raises his eyebrows at Snape, as if to say that he thinks Snape is in denial. Narcissa, however, seems satisfied with the argument. "Yes, that sounds plausible, Severus." She sighs then, and gazes unhappily at the other party-goers. While Snape and Kuhn had been speaking with Black, music was set up in the background; many couples are now dancing, or making drunken attempts to do so. "These parties can be very tiresome, don't you think?"
"I couldn't agree more," says Snape. She smiles at him, if distantly.
"If Lucius were here . . . but even then . . ." Narcissa rambles, and she seems to know it. Her eyes - blue as icecaps in a dark sea - close. When they open again, Snape sees apathy there. What could make a girl of her age so world-weary? "Perhaps my advice to my cousin had merit. What do you think?"
"Bed sounds appealing," says Kuhn with feeling.
Narcissa raises her eyebrows, but there is a teasing smile on her normally glacial features. "Someone is tired, I see." The smile quickly dissolves. Narcissa sits up like a jaded queen, silver robes gathering at her sides, and extends both her arms to Kuhn and Snape. "Do me a service and accompany me to my entryway. I would rather not be intercepted by the other girls . . . their conversation sickens me . . ."
Together, they rise, leaving the party even less enlightened than when they arrived.
Once returned to their room, of course, Snape has no intention of sleeping, but of continuing where he left off in his reading. Kuhn seems to be of the same mind. Much to his own dismay, however, Snape finds it difficult to concentrate. He paces, essay in hand, finding it oddly trying to decipher his own handwriting, envying the ease with which Kuhn simply returned to his desk and his books, and growing increasingly frustrated with each passing second.
Finally, the question can no longer be held back.
"Did you mean what you said to Narcissa?"
Kuhn sets down his essay with an irritating slowness. He equally takes his time turning in his chair to face Snape, and when he does, there is a knowing smirk on his face. "You mean . . . the bit about Regulus being in love with you?"
Snape stops pacing. Hearing it like that . . . well, it's horrible. "You really think so?"
"It was kind of glaringly obvious."
Snape makes a growling noise and resumes pacing. "This is most inconvenient," he tells the air.
"Why?"
"I have no reason to share my line of reasoning with you," Snape snaps.
Kuhn blithely ignores him. "Is it . . . because you don't like blokes, or because you don't like Regulus?"
Snape pauses, assessing Kuhn. His new roommate seems trustworthy, but just how far can he be trusted? The Hat would not have Sorted him into Slytherin if Kuhn were not, somewhere deep within himself, the backstabbing type.
"I have your word that this conversation will remain strictly between us?"
"Of course."
"That's not good enough!" Snape says, nearly shouting. He can feel his legs twitching as he walks, his hands shaking as they do when he grows extremely nervous. "Either swear it or I won't say another word!"
"I swear not to tell anyone," Kuhn says calmly, taking out his wand and pointing it at himself. A white ribbon appears in the air; it falls noiselessly onto Kuhn's thin, small hand and dissipates on the skin.
Snape waits until the ribbon has completely vanished, until he is sure that Kuhn cannot break his promise, before trusting himself to speak. "I am not interested in Black," he says quietly. "This has nothing to do with him per se; my reasons are highly personal and do not concern you. However, the real dilemma is a different one. Black has money and power. Should he advance and I reject him, he could quite literally spell my ruin."
"You think he'd go after you like that? Narcissa wouldn't approve."
"No, such relationships are scorned, even considered depraved in pure-blooded society. That is true. And yet - and yet I know what the Blacks are capable of." Snape settles down heavily in his desk chair and covers his face with his hands as if he could thereby shield himself from the memories.
(The werewolf, jaws covered in froth, snapping its large, yellow fangs at his legs . . . Potter holding him upside-down with Snape's own spell while Black insulted him viciously to his face . . . The red of his rage and her hair . . .)
Kuhn is quiet for a long time. Snape doesn't particularly want to know what he must think of his new roommate, or of this situation. In fact, Snape doesn't particularly want to think about anything at the moment, especially not if it triggers those memories.
"I don't think you have anything to worry about," Kuhn says finally, in the kind of reassuring tone that brooks no argument.
Snape does not reply, knowing a platitude when he hears one. A part of him, however - the part that desperately needs reassurance - appreciates the words. He carefully removes his hands from his face and dares to glance at Kuhn.
The green eyes are smiling.
"What was your response to the second question for the Transfiguration essay?" Snape asks, the weight almost seeming to drop from his shoulders.