Chapter 2
They landed with a pop inside of Severus' sitting room. He hastily let go of his bride's arm and stalked the short distance across the room. Severus paced in between the coffee table and the fireplace. He was absolutely infuriated!
His new wife took the opportunity to glance around the dark, stuffy room. "Are these the servants' quarters?"
Severus gave a cold sneer. "No, princess, this is it." He gestured with a sweep of his arm, nearly knocking over an electric floor lamp. "Welcome to Snape Manor, ancestral home to the great muggle House of Snape."
He watched as she turned and slowly took in the room, and he could see the thoughts of dismay and derision running through her mind. An ember of shame burned in his gut, and he felt heat rush to his face. What did he care what she thought of the place?
Blocking her view with his cloak, he reached over and righted the lampshade he had knocked askew.
His sitting room was less than welcoming, and that was on purpose. The walls were completely covered with bookshelves packed tight with old, leather bindings, and the mustard yellow chair and couch were threadbare, stained, and worn. A fireplace dominated the wall opposite the front door, the mantle adorned with dust and random knickknacks, and an old television console with antennae was jammed incongruously between the door leading to the kitchen and a pile of books. Everything was dusty and held an air of neglect.
"You're a muggleborn?" she asked carefully, stepping over another pile of books. "I thought you were a pureblood."
Another flare of heat rose to his cheeks; he hid it with a cool drawl. "Half-blood, actually. Were you not listening to a word at that mockery of a wedding? If I rated a pureblood bride, it's because there's something wrong with you." His eyes glinted with a malicious glow. "Well, what is it? Gimpy leg, lazy eye? One breast twice the size of the other?"
Affronted, she clutched at her chest. "Of all the...I never!"
"I will," he sneered. "After all, I'll get to see them eventually, wouldn't want to be surprised."
He heard her gasp as she turned away. Good, he thought. He wanted her to feel the same shame she had inflicted on him with her presence.
He couldn't believe that Lucius had actually gone through with this farce! The old bastard probably thought he was doing him a favour. He was perfectly happy with the way things were, thank you very much! He felt his molars grinding together and he had his fists so tightly clenched he was sure he drew blood. He was stretched thin enough as it was with responsibility. He had his teaching to tend to, Head of House duties, spying duties for Dumbledore, and hiding his true allegiances from the Dark lord whist still being the faithful Death Eater, and now he had this new baggage, being married to…to…
"What is your name?" he snapped, his eyes blazing their fury in her direction.
"Beatrice Dagworth…well, Snape, now, I suppose."
"Old family?"
Thinking this had something to do with her dowry and how he could improve his dismal lot, her eyes narrowed. "Perhaps. What's it to you?" she sneered, clutching onto the back of the yellow, rickety armchair.
"What's it to me?" His lip raised in a snarl. He didn't have need for the backbone his bride had suddenly found. "What's it to me? What is anything to me?"
He took a step forward, and she held on to the chair as if it were a shield.
"This…" spittle flew with the force of his hiss. "This situation is entirely unacceptable! I didn't ask for this farce of a marriage. Did you?"
"No," she answered with barely a quiver. "But I am determined to make the best of what our L-lord requires of us." Beatrice raised her chin, daring him to find fault with her argument.
Severus froze. She thought he was loyal to the Dark Lord, so like a loyal Death Eater he had to act. On top of that, the Dark Lord could simply cast a Legilemens at her any time he felt like confirming his loyalties...or lack thereof. The sense of entrapment filled him with a blinding rage. With a roar, Severus turned for the fireplace mantle, gripped a crystal figurine in his fist and hurtled it at the ground. It shattered, spraying the wooden floor with glass shards.
Beatrice jumped as her new husband hurled the crystal figurine to the ground. His breathing was heavy as he stood head bowed and fists clenched. Beatrice held her breath, even as tears rose to her eyes, waiting to see what her volatile husband would do next. Would he turn his anger onto her?
Severus sat with a thud on the couch and stared into the empty fireplace. He took a shuddered breath and forced his mind to clear, feeling his icy restraint return to him.
Beatrice stepped out from behind the fortress of the armchair and pulled out her wand. "Reparo." The glass shards gathered themselves back into their original form. She knelt down to pick up the figurine and noticed that it was a tiny doe. She carefully sat to Snape's left, ready to bolt if his mood should return.
At the dip of the cushion's rusty springs, Severus turned his head to face her. She held out the doe figurine and he opened his hand to accept it. Beatrice placed the crystal in his palm, and he accepted it like a precious talisman. He held the figurine aloft, watching the light bend and refract through its clear surface, before placing the figurine on the coffee table in front of him. He reached out with his left hand, covering her small hand with his. She shivered as his thumb grazed the back of her wrist. Snape looked down silently at their joined hands and sighed. After a minute, he looked up and caught her pale blue eyes with his dark brown.
"I would like to know where I am kept," she asked, keeping the tremble in her voice to a minimum. "Can you show me to my bedroom, or do I have to sleep on the floor of the parlor?"
"Sitting room."
"Pardon?" She sniffed and wiped discreetly at her eyes with her free hand. He couldn't possibly mean that this is where she was to stay...
"Sitting room," Snape repeated. He gestured absently. "Call it a parlour and it might start getting airs, expecting new furniture and the like."
He had seen her tears and had felt a pang of regret. Blast his sharp tongue! It wasn't her fault, and he knew that. Broken glass, sharp words, and now a woman's tears. How closely he followed the path his father had blazed before him! That thought landed on him like a cauldron full of ice. He could almost feel his late mother's disappointed eyes drilling into his back.
"Madam?" He couldn't bring himself to say her name; such familiarity would only confirm their new status. Instead, he turned his body to face her and took both her hands in what he supposed was a comforting gesture. Beatrice flinched, and he cursed at himself for the direction he had let things travel. They were forced together, and he had to make the best of things.
"My anger gets the best of me sometimes." He swore he heard a snort of agreement from the lady in front of him. "I will endeavour to control myself better in the future, though I cannot promise much." He could explain, but he would not apologise outright.
Beatrice thought carefully about the man in front of her. She knew very little besides what he had seen with her own eyes. Her parent had told her of his great magical prowess, and Malfoy had boasted of his position in the dark lord's court when he had come to make the arrangements. Truth be told, both facts had scared her immensely. What she had not known was how little the man truly had to his name. She had thought him surely to be a man of wealth and prestige, and what she found out...well, he seemed a bit more human, though still rather frightening. How had he managed to garner such influence with so little?
She thought carefully on her answer. "I would rather hear the truth than a lie, no matter how well intentioned. I accept your apology."
He bristled and her misunderstanding; it was an explanation not an apology. Prudence guided him to carefully hide his rage at her condescension. "How magnanimous of you," he deadpanned.
The resulting silence was unbearable, so he stood as if the entire scene had never occurred. "Well, shall I give you a tour?"
Beatrice followed behind Severus as he led her through the hidden door leading through to the kitchen.
"This is the kitchen," he pointed out, as if the purpose of the room wasn't obvious. There was a muggle gas stove in one corner, a tarnished enamelled refrigerator in another. Why was he suddenly so nervous? Anger was a much better emotion, he thought, much more controllable...
"Reparo!" he whispered, seeing a broken handle on a drawer. Why did the disarray bother him now? With another wave of his wand, he set the week-old dishes in the sink to washing. Not that the piled up dishes were a regular occurrence, he had just been away at Hogwarts for a while, that's all. And perhaps he had bumped the drawer with a cauldron the last time he had been through…
Rambling…
He quickly moved her around the small dining table and over to the back door. Pulling aside the dingy lace curtain, he showed her the yard in the back. The ground was concrete, except for a small portion devoted to herbs. Remnants of an old clothesline waved its tattered ends from metals loops on the fence, and an old, forgotten communal water closet original to the house stood in the corner. He quickly shut the curtain. "There's nothing of interest out here, unless you have a fascination with concrete."
She followed him back towards the sitting room, and saw Severus leading to yet another bookshelf that lined the walls of the room. She saw him reach out and pull a blue book on the third shelf. This opened to a staircase that led upstairs. Severus thought to be polite and let her lead up the stairs, but then realised better—he didn't know what was there to greet them. He tugged on the front of his black robes to straighten them and then made his way up the stairs.
"Over here to the right is a spare room and the loo," he said with a dismissive gesture. "This door on the left leads to the bedroom." He cracked the door open and thanked whoever was listening that this one room was spotless.
He opened to door wider to allow Beatrice entry. She stepped around him and entered the room. There was a sturdy wardrobe and a desk on one wall, and a modest bed with a pale green coverlet gracing another. A worn blue rug covered a circle on the floor, and matching curtains covered the window overlooking the yard. A wardrobe took care of the remaining wall.
"It's nice," she said. Severus thought she had to be lying. "Quaint."
She turned to face him. "Do you mind if I change before dinner?"
"Dinner?" Severus cursed under his breath. There was nothing in the refrigerator downstairs. "Yes," he said finally. "But keep it simple."
"Why?" she asked innocently enough.
Severus could feel a vein starting to pulse on his temple. His lip curled into a half-snarl. "We are going out. Don't need the neighbours getting any nosier than they already are."
"But what would my attire matter? I don't see..."
"Muggle neighbours," he gritted out.
"Oh."
"Quite." He stepped around her and reached into the wardrobe, pulling out a couple of dark coloured items.
"I will meet you downstairs. Don't dawdle."
And with that, he left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Severus Snape paced downstairs, waiting for his new wife. What could be taking so long? He rested his left hand on a shelf. When he picked it up, it was covered in a gray layer of dust. Disgusted, he used a scouring charm on his hand and cleared away most of the dust with a wave. Just as he was about to yell up the stairs, he heard footsteps coming down to meet him. She had changed into a slim cream gown with a high buttoned neckline, her black hair pulled back tightly into a knot at her neck.
"Passable."
That comment earned him a glare. She looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow in question.
He was wearing one of his few sets of muggle clothes, a pair of dark gray trousers and a navy turtleneck jumper.
She looked askance at his attire. Why did he feel the need to explain?
"Muggle neighbours."
