Chapter 15 - Manners
After the excitement of the weekend, Harry was grateful for an uneventful week. There was a full moon on Friday night, and both Remus and Sirius stayed away from the castle that day, telling Harry that they probably wouldn't be back until Sunday. Snape had brewed the Wolvesbane potion for Remus, but even still he was usually pretty exhausted after his transformation and intended to sleep most of Saturday. Sirius intended to stay with him, though he'd confessed to Harry that he hadn't gotten very far in his attempt to court his friend. Remus still treated his flirtation like a joke.
Dinner in the Great Hall Friday night was particularly lively as several seventh year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had managed to purchase some of the Weasley Twins latest pranks and were in the process of tormenting the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws. A number of students were sporting pink hair and rabbit ears much to the amusement of their peers. Harry knew enough to steer clear of the pranksters.
"So do you know what you're going to wear?" Hermione asked him as they all sat around the table enjoying their meal. Neville and Dean looked up at that, staring at Harry curiously.
"Wear when?" Dean asked.
"Poor Harry has to go have dinner with Snape's family tomorrow night," Ron informed them with a look of disgust on his face. "Can you imagine a whole house full of Snapes?"
"Oh, Harry!" Neville's eyes widened in shock. "A formal Wizarding dinner, with the Snapes of all people!"
Harry rolled his eyes. "It shouldn't be that bad," he insisted. "Snape says the rest of the family is nothing like him."
"Still," Neville shuddered. "I never did like formal dinners. My grandma likes to throw them, but I always felt too nervous to eat."
"Too nervous?" Harry frowned, wondering if maybe there was something about this that Snape hadn't told him. Formal Wizarding dinner. He hadn't really thought about that. Hadn't thought about it being formal.
He glanced down at his plate, remembering suddenly a time when he'd made the mistake of disturbing his Aunt's table prior to one of her formal dinners. He'd been perhaps six or seven years old, and quite curious about the fact that his Aunt had made such a fuss over her table setting. When he'd snuck out of his cupboard to look, he'd noticed the 'good' china - something Petunia had kept locked away in a hutch. He vaguely remembered that there had been more than one crystal glass at each of the settings, and more than one fork. The silverware had looked unusually beautiful and he'd reached for one of the spoons just to see what the pattern was on the shining handle.
Petunia had spotted him then and had shrieked in outrage, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him away from the table. He remembered her calling him all sorts of names as she'd pulled him into the kitchen, intent on punishing him for daring to touch her things. Even now he could clearly remember her pulling him over to the sink and dousing his hand with scalding water from the teakettle. He'd been sobbing in pain by the time she'd dragged him back to his cupboard and thrown him inside, informing him that if he made one sound, one peep that night during their dinner, it would be a week before he saw another scrap of food.
He'd spent the night holding his red hand against his chest, biting his lip to keep himself silent, as he'd listened to the tinkling of fine china and the laughter of the Dursleys' guests. That had been his one and only exposure to any sort of formal dinner.
"What are they like?" Harry asked, apprehension filling him suddenly as he realized that he didn't have the first idea how to behave at a formal dinner. He knew he had decent manners; Mrs. Weasley told him so often enough. But he somehow doubted that any of the dinners he'd had at the Burrow were what someone would call formal. The twins regularly lobbed food items across the room at such gatherings.
"What are what like?" Hermione asked.
"Formal dinners," Harry explained. "I mean I saw my Aunt set her table once for a formal dinner, and there was more than one fork I remember. What do you need two forks for?"
"Good question, mate," Ron snickered. "Maybe it's so you can eat twice as much food."
"Haven't you ever had a meal at a nice restaurant, Harry?" Hermione asked curiously.
Harry thought about that. The Dursleys had never even taken him for fast food, let alone a nice restaurant. Truthfully until he'd come to Hogwarts he rarely even got to sit at a table to eat. "I've eaten at the Leaky Cauldron. And we had ice cream in Diagon Alley."
"Oh," she said vaguely, looking over at Neville who gave her an uncertain shrug. "That's not really what I meant."
"The different forks are for different courses of the meal, Harry," Neville told him. "But this is a Wizarding dinner, which might mean you'll be using something called a 'scramasax' in the old language. That means a dagger."
"Daggers?" Harry asked in disbelief.
"Depends on how considerate the Snapes are," Dean told him with a nod. "Since everyone knows you were raised by Muggles, courtesy demands that they make a concession to that and have proper Muggle implements like forks. But some of the old Pureblood families wouldn't be caught dead using a fork at a formal dinner."
"No forks?" Harry asked in bewilderment.
Ron nudged him, drawing his attention toward the Slytherin table. "Ever notice how Malfoy eats. He holds his knife in his dominant hand and spears his meat."
Harry glanced at Malfoy. He was deep in conversation with Blaise Zabini, but Ron was right. He held a rather pointy dinner knife in his dominant hand and a spoon in the other, only using the spoon when absolutely necessary. Most of the other Slytherins did the same - and as Harry glanced around the hall he noticed they weren't the only ones. There were a number of Ravenclaws and even a few Gryffindors with similar manners.
A quick glance at the head table showed Snape doing the same thing. To his surprise so too was Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick and Sinistra. Hagrid was like usual tearing at his food with his fingers.
Harry looked back at his friends in bewilderment. "What about daggers?"
"At a formal Wizarding dinner, there are typically only daggers and spoons at a setting. Forks are considered too Muggle, and even unlucky to have at a table," Neville explained.
Harry looked at Hermione for confirmation. She just shrugged. "I've never actually seen a formal Wizarding dinner myself," she informed him. "But I've read about them. They have all sorts of customs Muggles don't have."
"But I don't even know the Muggle customs," Harry protested. "How am I supposed to figure out the Wizarding ones?"
"We can give you a crash course, Harry," Neville offered. "I'm completely hopeless at formal occasions, but at least I know what the customs are. My grandma made certain of that."
"You can teach me everything I need to know by tomorrow?" Harry asked hopefully.
"Well. . .." Neville looked skeptical. "We can try."
"Don't forget Quidditch practice," Ron reminded him. "That's more important than Snape's dinner."
"Not if Snape strangles him," Neville pointed out. And on that point Ron had to agree, though only grudgingly. Few things in his opinion were more important than Quidditch.
Severus spent most of the day in the Potions Classroom, marking papers and preparing for next week's classes. He returned to his own rooms to dress early in the afternoon, since his family was expecting them around four o'clock. Harry was nowhere in evidence.
While Harry had been at Quidditch practice, Severus had chosen some appropriate clothing for the boy and had left it on the bed along with a note informing him of the time they had to be leaving. Now as he entered the bedroom he noticed that the clothing was gone, and his note was lying on the bedspread. A quick glance at it showed that Harry had scribbled a response to him at the bottom - saying that he had something to do and would get dressed in Gryffindor Tower, but promised to be on time.
Just as well, Severus thought. It would save them from getting in each other's way.
He collected his own clothing from his wardrobe then retreated to the bathroom to shower. He found to his consternation that his mind was increasingly focused on Harry, and after realizing that he'd just spent the last ten minutes trying to picture what he would look like in the formal attire he'd chosen for him, he shook his head in disgust, thoroughly annoyed with himself.
Wrapping a towel around his waist as he left the shower, he dried his freshly washed hair with a quick spell before turning toward the mirror. He paused to look critically at himself, wondering what his siblings were going to think when they saw him standing beside Harry Potter. Most likely that he'd performed some sort of Dark Magic to coerce the boy into marrying him.
He was never going to win any beauty contests; that was for certain. He glared at his nose - it had never been an attractive nose, and breaking it when he was younger had not improved it any. He was strong and fit enough he supposed, but didn't guess he had much else to commend him in the looks department. And even his body was marred by the ever-present Dark Mark upon his arm - made even more noticeable by the strands of silver wrapped around it in warding.
Then there were the scars. He'd been in enough sword duels to have his fair share of them - could have healed the injuries before they had scarred of course, but that wasn't the Slytherin way. The scars were a mark of honor in the Sword Circles. And from a young age he'd been taught to do things the proper Slytherin way. At least that was one old habit he'd abandoned - he healed any new wounds he received quickly now, not giving it a chance to scar.
Harry had noticed the scars. That had surprised him. It meant that at some point since they'd been married, the boy had actually looked at him while at least partially undressed. So far Harry had been careful not to offer him the same opportunity, and he'd given the boy as much privacy as possible. Regardless, he was familiar enough with at least parts of Harry's body; in the last few years he'd helped Madam Pomfrey patch him back together a number of times.
He couldn't help wonder what the boy had thought of him though. He hadn't been able to tell from his single betraying statement when Lupin and Black had been telling him about Blood Sports. He supposed there was no point in laboring under the illusion that the boy might find him even remotely attractive. Golden Gryffindor boys didn't find slimy Slytherins attractive. It was a simple, well-known fact.
Of course, he'd never really done anything to try and improve his looks either. It had never been important to him.
He frowned at himself in the mirror, then picked up his wand to perform a quick shaving spell. Normally he preferred to use a straight razor, but the spell gave a cleaner look. A simple spell cleaned his teeth as well, and then on a whim he added another spell to whiten them. Marginally better he thought, and then dismissed it as hopeless, because after all who could ever really get past the nose to care about the other features.
With a sigh, he set down his wand and reached instead for his hair gel. He paused before opening the bottle, staring down at it thoughtfully. This was another habit taught to him by his Slytherin peers. All the fashionably dressed Death Eaters wore their hair slicked back in neat unmoving waves. Ironically it made the Death Eater masks easier to wear. It was a common practice among his generation of Slytherin, and as Draco Malfoy set the fashions for his age group, it was common enough amongst the students as well.
Slimy Slytherins, slick and greasy like snakes. Unlike the Golden Gryffindors who more closely resembled their shaggy Gryffindor lion. They typically wore their hair free and wild, with little thought to neatness or style. Like Lupin and Black. Like Harry, whose hair was perpetually messy, practically begging someone to comb their fingers through it to tame the locks.
Severus lowered the bottle of gel without opening it, glancing at himself again the mirror. Without the gel his hair looked silky and wild, and a great deal like Sirius Black's actually. But then maybe that was just the way that Gryffindors liked it? With a frown, he put the bottle of gel back in the cabinet unopened, silently mocking himself for hoping that it would make any difference at all to Harry one way or another. Another glare into the mirror, and he sighed in annoyance - he absolutely could not abide the messiness - no excuse for it really. But he could at least compromise - he combed his hair as neatly as he could and tied it back with a black ribbon.
Enough vanity for one life time, he decided, and then turned his attention to his clothes. Dressing himself quickly in the breeches, doublet and boots he'd chosen for himself, he returned to the bedroom. A quick glance at the clock reminded him that it was nearly time to leave. He wondered if Harry was ready.
He returned to the main room, spotting Harry sitting somewhat pensively on the couch and staring into the fire. He didn't notice Severus immediately, giving him a moment to take in the boy's - young man's he corrected himself, for there was nothing particularly boyish about him at the moment -appearance.
Harry was wearing the green doublet Severus had chosen for him, along with the dark, finely stitched, dragon hide pants and boots. The whole outfit was accented with silver - glittering silver thread stitched into the doublet, decorative studs on the breeches. And having been tailor-made to Harry's measurements, they fitted Harry perfectly, the breeches sinfully form-fitting, the doublet highlighting Harry's slender, seeker build. His hair was still perpetually messy, his glasses somewhat awkward looking, but he looked as much like a young prince as any Slytherin pureblood Severus had ever seen.
He noticed Severus finally and stood quickly. Severus had to force himself to keep his eyes on the young man's face instead of moving down the line of his body as he wanted to do. Those breeches were really the height of decadence. He wondered if Harry had any idea how appealing he looked.
He was grateful a moment later that he had controlled his baser instincts for it afforded him a clear view of the expression on Harry's face as he took in his appearance. The boy's eyes widened behind those glasses, his mouth dropping open in surprise.
"You look. . ." the boy began; Severus stiffened, bristling as he waited for the insult. "Nice."
Severus frowned. Nice. That was certainly more than he had expected. An actual complement, though he might consider himself damned with such faint praise.
And then would wonders never cease? "I like your hair," the boy added. Severus couldn't stop his own eyes from widening at that, though he resolved right then and there to toss out any remaining bottles of hair gel.
Harry flushed suddenly as if only just now realizing that he'd not only just complimented him, but done so twice. The boy crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture that could only be called defensive, his face growing strangely blank all of a sudden, no doubt in reaction to the seizures Severus assumed he was suffering for daring to compliment him.
Severus decided to take mercy on him. "You look very nice too, Mr. Potter." He allowed just enough amusement and mockery to flavor his words that the boy rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Are we through with the niceties?" Severus asked dryly.
"Please," Harry agreed just as dryly. He frowned suddenly. "Look about this dinner. . ."
Severus stilled, guessing this was where Harry backed out of going. He couldn't really blame him after all, the night would probably be miserable.
"I think I should warn you, I'm probably going to embarrass you," Harry finished, not at all what Severus had been expecting him to say.
"Excuse me?"
He noticed that Harry was rubbing nervously at one of his hands, an odd, unconscious gesture he had never seen before. He also looked unaccountably wary about something.
"Embarrass you," Harry explained. "In front of your family. Neville and Hermione tried to teach me some of the customs, but I've never been to anything formal before. I mean the closest I ever came was a brief glimpse at my Aunt's table setting, and I got punished for that. . .. " He broke off, a dark look in his eyes which he quickly shook away. "In any event Nev and 'Mione spent all afternoon telling me about daggers and salt and table linens, but most of it just went over my head. I just thought you ought to know."
Severus stared at him for a moment in silence, processing all he'd just heard. That the boy had made such an effort to learn Wizarding dinner etiquette in an effort not to embarrass him was extraordinary - he couldn't help wondering what he had done to earn that consideration. But there was something else here, something that was making him far more nervous than it should. Harry had not yet stopped rubbing his left hand, as if it hurt.
"How did your Aunt punish you?" he asked quietly. As he suspected, his question drew the boy's attention directly to his hands, catching himself in the act of rubbing his left palm. Immediately he stopped, and he dropped his arms to his sides, his face shuttering the emotion that had flashed briefly across it. But it told Severus everything he needed to know - the Aunt had hurt him, physically this time as the body was remembering even if the mind did not want to acknowledge it.
"That's not important," he said quickly. "The point is I am probably going to screw up royally by passing the salt with the wrong hand or buttering my bread on the wrong side. I just thought you should know."
Severus' eyes narrowed. "Are you concerned that this might anger me?" He suspected he understood the nervousness now as well - while Harry might understand on a rational level that no one would punish him for a social transgression, the nervousness was coming from a completely unconscious part of his mind, one that remembered a lifetime of abuse.
"Well, yeah," Harry admitted, looking somewhat surprised that he'd been asked such a question. "I'm good at making you angry. I've had lots of practice. I just thought you should prepare yourself. You think potions class is bad, with me not knowing whether to slice or dice, well. . .. this will probably be a whole lot worse."
Severus felt his lips twitch in amusement, and he fought the smirk. Gryffindors were really too bloody honorable for their own good - any Slytherin would see this as a perfect opportunity for revenge against him. If he cared about his family's opinion. Which he didn't.
"You seem to think that I care what my family thinks of me," Severus informed him. "Or you for that matter. I don't. In fact I think I would find it quite entertaining to watch my brothers and their wives squirming under social conventions while they try to make nice with the Boy Who Lived."
"Huh?" Harry looked confused.
Severus allowed a faint smile this time. "You seem to forget that without you their social standing in society is questionable at best. You could start a food fight at the table, and they would all smile and politely pretend that nothing was wrong."
"Really?" Harry grinned. "Well, okay then. I won't worry about it."
"Good," Severus agreed. He went over to the mantel to retrieve the port key he'd set there earlier - a small silver coin that he could easily place in his pocket.
"So what can you tell me about your family?" Harry asked. "How many people are going to be there?"
"Don't know about the number of people," Severus admitted. "I have three brothers and my sister, Diana. The two older brothers, Claudius and Marcellus, are both very similar. Rather gruff, but sociable enough, though they had a tendency towards crassness I never cared for. Their wives sadly were chosen for their looks and not their brains - a fact that quickly becomes apparent the moment they open their mouths. Diana is quiet, and sweet, a truly gentle soul - her husband is the exact opposite." Severus shook his head at the thought. He'd always thought Diana had made a poor choice in husbands, and yet the two had always seemed fond of each other.
"And the other brother?" Harry asked curiously.
"Julius," Severus told him. "He's the youngest in the family. I don't really know him very well. He was still quite young when I had my falling out with the lot. But from what I remember I always thought that of all of us he was the most like our father. . .in mannerisms anyway. He's not a whole lot older than you actually."
"What about children?"
Severus shrugged. "My sister has two children, age three and four. Claudius has one, age six. I've never met them."
He saw Harry frown at that, and he pushed his own sense of regret away. It wasn't a very strong regret - all things considered he didn't really enjoy children. But he supposed one of these days he ought to make an effort to get to know them. Considering the marriage he'd made for himself, he'd likely have no children of his own, and would have to pick one of his nieces or nephews as his heir eventually.
"Are you ready to go?" Severus asked him, holding up the port key. Harry nodded and moved toward him, reaching out to touch the coin with him. Severus tapped the coin with his wand, and a moment later they were both being pulled across the land.