CH 28(d): Tom takes the logical next step, Severus recovers from Lily-induced trauma by freaking Reg out, and Gilderoy embarks on a Lucrative and Erudite (or at least quasi-literate) Career!
Warnings: possibly waff? Otherwise I think the summary about covers it.
#18 Dye-Urn Alley (off Diagon)
"'Working' again?"
"Fuming," Evan answered. "See, you can tell because the table's smoking."
"Oh, so it is," Reg said, squinting. "That can't be good for the finish." Then he yelped, and started blowing on his suddenly frostbitten fingers. Aggrieved, he demanded, "What?"
Severus's eyes on him did an odd sort of refocusing. Reg had seen it before, but it never got less disconcerting, the way he seemed to drag his eyes to your skin from your bones. "Oh, it's you," he said, without emotion.
"And very welcome I feel."
"Don't mind Sturm Und Drang," Evan sympathized with everyone. "He ran into the marmalade sow—"
"Don't call her that."
"—at the hospital and apparently," Evan Hogwarts-Expressed over Severus, looking as disgusted as his congenitally genial face could manage, "she gave him one of those Oh Sorrow The Loss If Only You'd Reasonably Agreed To Be A Completely Different Person Like A Good Friend Would Have, You Waste Of Skin looks. He's been like this all evening."
"Looks like chupacabra bait," Spike muttered viciously. "Dango skewer."
"You didn't say that when Narcissa was farther along than she is," Evan pointed out, his own version of viciousness giving way to amusement. "And, very, very quietly between the three of us, between the threads, Cissy looked like an ivory quaffle on a stick."
"You were painting her, so you both would have killed me," Severus explained. He didn't sound particularly interested, but not even the lack of emphasis would make them believe he thought either witch anything but beautiful.
Reg had never really felt he had a handle on the Spike/Evans-bitch situation. He'd had enough trouble in his life at school, between Sirius and handling his roommates, without nosing into subjects that made Spike deflate, Narcissa's lip curl, and Evan's eyes ice over. Tentatively, he asked, "But, er, you didn't want to—" He broke off when Spike gave him an appalled look. There was rather a lot of nose to wrinkle.
"Guinevere," Ev said with dark humor, "she of the white hands, is not supposed to get up the duff."
"Guinevere," Spike countered, annoyed, "was supposed to give birth, and half the trouble was that she never could. Possibly all of the trouble. You never know; maybe Lancelot could have kept his tongue in his mouth if she'd had a normal dowager's figure. And it was Isolde with the white hands. Ysuelt. Some such spelling. But if we follow your truly dismal and ill-fitting metaphor—"
"Really absolutely all evening," Evan told Reg, long-suffering. Reg sympathized. Five minutes was, in proximity to a Sodding Snape Mood™, a long time to suffer.
"—then we would say that Guinevere was not supposed to have her fields sown by Melwas, Morgana, Lamorak, or, god forbid, Mordred."
"…How would Morgana have…?"
"Magic. Obviously."
"Ah. Magic that exists?"
"Sex-change, maybe? As one does?"
"Could they make that potion back then?
"The hell should I know?"
"Well, let's face it, O Obstetrician-Amateur—"
"Amateurs dabble because they like to. Not because their friends are badgering crocodiles. Amator, amatorem—"
"Let's face, it, I said: if anyone here is going to know about that sort of—"
"Then allow me to rephrase. The hell do I care?" He paused. And then said, unwillingly, "No, they couldn't, because you need Amberella carpels and stamens, and they didn't even know about Melanesia and Grand Terre, let alone have access oh shut up."
"I expect Bella would tie Evans to a burning stake if you wanted," Reg horned in with (ha) black humor over Evan's laughter. "She'd find it very encouraging of you."
"Your cousin's understanding of the fine and subtle art of retributive justice is both limited and crude," Severus said, moody but without rancor. "She mistakes strength for effect. What earthly use is killing someone?"
Reg and Evan looked at each other. Evan suggested, amused, "They're dead?"
"Yes, well," Spike said, still moodily, "all right for getting someone out of your way, granted. But if they're dead, unless you can see beyond the veil, how can you know they're suffering, or have understood enough to learn regret?"
"Is she suffering?" Reg asked, curious.
"She will be," Spike said darkly. "She's got to live with the lying bastard, and sooner or later she'll realize what she's got. And then," with a charcoaled chuckle that seemed to come not so much from his throat as the pit of hell, "he'll find out one or two things about who she is, when she thinks you've Let Her Down.
"Also," he added, less darkly but with a dreamy note of deeply disturbing contemplation, "Narcissa screamed a lot and broke Luke's hand. And Narcissa's a quite restrained person with no manebrained nonsense about natural births or being strong equating to inviting pain. So there's that."
"Are you, er, contributing to her suffering in any way?" Reg asked cautiously.
"I have a pensieve," he was told, with an even more disturbing little smile. "He will keep on stalking me. Playing his little tricks. And she thinks she has him," his lips curled, "thoroughly reformed. If she takes too long to suss him on her own…" he made an fluting little what-can-one-do gesture with one hand.
"My pensieve is much nicer," Evan reflected, all innocence and red-gold halos, studying his nails with a look of mild blackmail. "You should see it, Reggie, it's really something."
"I will slaughter you with seashells and lay out your bones for the birds," Severus informed his yearmate without the least change in tone or expression. But the air suddenly felt about three hundred percent cleaner.
"I'm fine!" Regulus said hastily. "I do not need to see anything!" He even threw up his hands, because being properly intimidating always left Severus looking a great deal less likely to set things on fire with his eyes. Reg could take one for the team.
Spike shot Reg an amused you're not fooling anyone look. He kicked an unbutchered Evan in the ankle, not particularly viciously, and settled more comfortably on the couch. "Did you come by," he asked, with more usual curiosity, "or come for a purpose?"
"I came by," Reg said. Since there hadn't been any impatience to the question, he dropped into his usual chair and banished his boots to the doorway. "I do have a message from Kreacher about your gingerbread scones, if I need an excuse, but it's a bit profane."
"Does it include any suggestions for improvement that sound worthwhile?"
"Nothing like." He thought about it. "Nothing remotely like."
"Pass, then. Not your usual hour," Severus noted. "Aren't you usually with your cousins around now?"
"I'm not complaining," Reg said, tucking his toes under his shins. "Bast said Bella was given some big honor and she and Rus were going off to celebrate somewhere."
"How insufferable is she going to be?" Spike asked, curiosity going morbid.
"Bella is never insufferable," Reg said dutifully, but answered, "but he said she was being trusted with something, so I expect she's very pleased and happy."
"He means 'deeply to the umpteenth power'" Evan told Spike helpfully, and was thanked with a gravity spoiled only by the eye-roll. Then, with a judicious air, Severus bit him contemplatively behind the ear. "I seem to have acquired a vampire," Evan observed in a thoughtful voice. As though to oblige him, Spike's cheeks hollowed. They were already on the hollow side ordinarily, so it was dramatic.
Reg looked at him for a while, and then hypothesized to Evan, "So he's just off his rocker tonight and I shouldn't hope for any sort of sense whatsoever."
Removing his teeth and leaning back, Severus asked curiously, "Did you want some? A little nonsense now and then, as it's said, is relished by the wisest men." Then he sat bolt upright with an expression of horror and exclaimed, "Oh, no, I just described sodding Dumbledore, didn't I."
"Please don't describe sodding Dumbledore," Evan managed in a trembling voice before completely dissolving into laughter at the exponential intensification of Spike's horror, and his yowled, I didn't mean it as a VERB, you foul-minded git!
"I don't think I've seen you two this punch-drunk since you took your last NEWTs," Reg observed, eyeing them with alarm while Spike vehemently disarranged Evan's hair with a pillow. When they eventually remembered he was there, he repeated himself.
"Oh, I see," Spike said cheerfully, giving Evan's head (now in his lap, as if this were a good hiding place) one final wham with the pillow before setting it aside, "you came to spy for Bellatrix."
"No, I didn't," he said, startled. Thinking about it, though, he conceded, "But I daresay she'd be pleased if I came back as though I had done."
"Severus," Evan said dolefully, covering his much-abused face with long, paint-stained hands. "Regulus. Children. Darlings. It doesn't work if you do it out loud."
Evan was a few months younger than Severus, Reg thought resentfully, and less than six months older than Regulus.
Reg's mother had not enjoyed pregnancy, and had wanted to be done with her heir-bearing duties as quickly as possible. If Sirius had been born a little earlier, they might all have been in the same year together at school—which wasn't a coincidence. Grandmother had known her health was failing, and that Grandfather wasn't the nagging-people type. She'd gone on something of a Give Me Grandchildren Before I Die rampage.
Narcissa's mum had confided to Reggie that she'd been more than happy to try for a male heir again, and his own mother had gone haughtily dutiful about it. Evan's parents had sort of drifted around the Continent avoiding Grandmother for a few months. They hadn't seemed to process the notion that short people and life disruptions might really happen to them until she'd cornered them in Prague and hit them over the head with a nanny-elf (and possibly an imperius). They must have adjusted once he was born, though. He'd never been close to them, but they always seemed to be pleased to see each other. Reg couldn't imagine either part of that.
"Regulus and I understand one another," Severus said, still cheerful.
"Maybe you do," Reg muttered, not particularly quietly. Then a muscle under his eye twitched involuntarily, because an angelic Narcissa-smile on that blade of a face just did not work.
"I could bribe you to leave with information," Spike suggested, all demonically-glowing helpfulness.
"You could make him leave without saying one word to him," Evan pointed out, still from under despairing hands.
"Yeeesss," Severus drew out, with a contemplative, calculating, absolutely terrifying look at the ceiling. "But that would make the kitten cry, Ev. I think, on balance, I'd rather make Saw-scales scream."
Reg drew in a quick, quiet, comprehending breath and saw Spike smile, saw Spike watch him understand out of the corner of an eye. So: there was still something for Bella to be jealous about. Despite whatever had stirred their Lord into a flurry of new plans, whatever he was doing with Severus was still on.
"I suppose I should go," he said carefully, his eyes locking with Spike's. "You two do seem a bit, er, tired."
"It's been a quite long week," Severus said with a little shrug, not looking away. "No matter what happens, the work goes on."
"Good to be able to count on that, I suppose," Reg suggested.
"Nice to be appreciated," Severus allowed, "even without anything definite to come of it."
Reg slid his boots back on, tapping them closed with his wand. "Well, I suppose I'll just be, er, going," he said, getting up.
"Mm," Spike said, giving Reg a look that would have appeared inscrutable to someone who hadn't known him so long. "Suppose you do that."
Regulus turned in the door to say goodnight, but Evan had stood up. He was walking away, and had paused to muss Severus's black hair. His hand was golden against it, above Spike's utterly meaningless, low-intensity scowl.
Hufflepuff, Reg thought, only just more wistful than jealous.
Not long afterwards, the door Regulus was knocking on opened. The loveliest eyes he quite often never wanted to see again were blinked at him. He tacked a warm smile onto his little wave hello, and meant it.
"Reggie!" the wizard exclaimed buoyantly. As ever, he sounded as though he was rolling every word over in his mouth to catch its honeyed flavor, and finding each one good. "Well! This is a surprise. Couldn't go another day without me, eh?"
"How did you know?" Reg asked, with a look of admiration. Of course, his deranged classmate would have filled in the admiration for himself if it hadn't been forthcoming in objective-reality-land. Just as well in these matters to give what was wanted, though, when it cost Regulus nothing. "I've missed you awfully, Gilderoy. You wouldn't be free to come and have a drink with me, would you? We could catch up."
"Well," Lockhart deliberated, tapping his mouth, yes, deliberately, the rake and catch of his eyes giving his moue of hesitation the lie.
Regulus was actually quite pleased about this piece of absurdity. If there was one thing you could rely on Gildylocks for, it was an accurate assessment of how fit you were. Of course, he cared so much more about being appreciated himself that Reg had always vaguely felt he shouldn't be allowed around house elves.
But he was something of an expert. Reg had been feeling worn down and washed out lately, like his soul needed to be not only washed but darned, bleached, starched, ironed, infused with black coffee, and bleached again. The appreciation of someone whose expertise encompassed every beautifying charm in the library (even if it stopped there) was enormously welcome.
"I don't know, Reggie," Gildy went on, cheerily and gracefully arch. "I had planned on a quiet evening in. I'm writing a book, you know."
"Are you!" Reg exclaimed. "No, are you really? How clever of you! You'll have to tell me all about it, Gilderoy. Maybe I could give it a look-over for old times' sake. You know," he said, "your spelling never was as good as your smile. But then it would have a hard time of that, wouldn't it?" You didn't exactly have to, with Gilderoy; he really would fill in these things on his own. But it did speed things up. And, as Narcissa had long-sufferingly pointed out, it was probably good practice for courting airheads one had to take seriously.
"Reggie, you're just too generous," Gilderoy declared. He favored Reg with a playful thump on the chest, as well as the aforementioned white grin.
Regulus had to admit it was a pretty grin. Unfailingly enthusiastic, with long, full, mobile lips. No one else he'd ever seen had teeth so regular. Not even Narcissa or Sirius, who had been born like that. Not just obviously spelled (and obviously pathological) but a bit odd-looking. Not in a bad way, though. Exotic, almost, when one was in the mood to see it that way.
"Never stinting of his time, that's old Regulus. Always ready to help a friend. And, do you know, about that drink, I think I might just have a very nice bottle of…"
Regulus let himself be drawn inside, let the burbling pour over him. Maybe he didn't have a partner and a match, like all his cousins did. No reason to sulk about it through a perfectly good night off. There were still simple things in the world, free and easy and (o soul's balm) no harm to anyone.
Not quite free, actually, but Reg didn't mind. Gildy's spelling was still awful, but his book was shaping up to be better-written than Reg would have expected from his school essays. And, when you knew him, it was hilarious.
Notes: Very Small Prophet points out that Evan is wrong about which Isuelt in the Tristan story (there were three, and I will proceed to use all the spellings) is known as Isolde of the White Hands. He is wrong; it was Ysuelt the Fair who was the obsessive chivalric object. However, Severus was in a Mood and wasn't going to correct him too much in front of Reg and was moderately impressed that Evan remembered anything about a story which had not been one of their favorites (it's kind of icky by modern relationship standards), let alone how to pronounce Isolt's name.
Credit to Roald Dahl for the Willy Wonka tribute. Which is a book that Severus has absolutely read, because his father MADE him. May have even read to him soon after it came out ('64). It was a book about a FACTORY, and it wasn't expliiiiiiiicitly about magical stuff, and candy is sort like potions, right? And there's a candy-making factory in their town (still running, I think, or at least was at the time of the books) that Severus could totally have grown up to work for... anyway, nice try at world-bridging, Toby, and I mean that sincerely.
