A Whiter Shade of Pale Ginzai Prologue: Beauté et la Bęte 1978 The rain was falling in sheets of silver, pelting the unwary and soaking to the bone. It dripped and dropped through barren branches, slipped past to plop on the heads of those who hadn't the sense to get into the dry, of which there weren't many. There were even fewer who had no place to go to avoid the inclimate weather of northern England. To be quite honest, he wasn’t certain if he was one of them. Severus Snape blinked upward, and ran a hand through his sodden hair in a vain attempt to wring some of the water from it. Water plipped downwards, missing his scalp just enough to dribble cold into the collar of his Muggle style shirt. It had been a day like this, when, cold and hungry, seventeen and without hope, he had seen Lucius for the first time. Newly graduated, without a place go to or a home to seek, and Lucius had stretched a hand, smiled his odd smile, and Severus had been warmed by it. Funny, he supposed, idly watching the fingers on one hand as they caught the rain and let it fall again. It really was humorous, the cycle now complete, and Lucius still standing in the rain, letting it soak his newly shorn hair, twisting the white gold engagement ring on one finger idly. The movement would have seemed a nervous one, had anyone else tried it. Lucius didn't look nervous. Lucius was calm, ignoring the drops that ran down cheek and into his eyes. "I'm married next week, Severus." Even his voice was smooth still. Severus said nothing, merely switched his gaze from the pale man to the street beyond. "We can't keep on this way, once I am. You understand, don't you?" A lightening quick shot of pain sliced through the numbness. "Understand, do I?" Severus said quietly. The rain slipped through his fingers; he couldn't keep hold of it. "Severus...please. Don't be this way." And Lucius did sound pained, as though he'd expected this to be a simple, cauterizing procedure, as the rest of their affair had been. And for Lucius, perhaps it was. The pain isolated itself somewhere under his chest making it hard to breathe. He wondered what would happen if he suddenly stopped; would Lucius care enough to press his lips to Severus' own, a lost parody of a kiss to restore a life that wished to flee? Or would he simply walk away? Lucius shifted, ran a hand through his silver hair. Why did he cut it, Severus wondered, and then remembered: Narcissa Decourt doesn't like long hair on men. Severus would like to have been cruel, and think that it was because it made her feel insecure, if the man she married were prettier than she, but the truth was that Lucius hadn't been pretty, even when his hair had fallen like shafts of pure light down past his shoulders. He'd always been much too hard for that, angular, and not even handsome, really, his features sharp and pointed and pale. He'd quipped once that they were beauté et la bęte, but neither had been able to properly sort out who filled each role. "Sev...I've got to go." Lucius reached out long fingers to ensnare his chin, gently moving Severus' face upwards towards his own. A soft kiss to each cheek, the preferred Malfoy dismissal, so much more /personal/ then a crude good-bye, and then Lucius was straightening again, tucking his robes back into place. He smiled, and Severus felt himself dying with it, the pain coming back with waves of desperation, and he spoke again without being able to help himself. "Luc, don't do this. Don't just leave me, please, Luc," and he heard the begging, whining tone to his own voice and in that moment, loathed himself. Lucius was smiling again, not the gentle one of a moment ago, but a darker, sardonic quirk of his lips, and then Severus loathed him as well. "I think Narcissa would be against my having a catamite under general principles, Sev, but perhaps we could keep it from her. For a while, at least." Severus' eyes widened then narrowed. Lucius continued, oblivious to the hurt his words were causing. "We'd still have to take a break, of course. People will talk, and for all that she's French, Narcissa isn't stupid." "Screw you," Severus hissed, and pulled himself upright again. The Dark Mark on his arm burned with his fury. Lucius shook his head. "I'll wait for you, if you change your mind." He offered, eyes warm and glinting like starlight, just as remote. Severus clipped his teeth together, lips pressed shut and tight. The rain was suddenly colder against his face and shoulders, but it was a welcome change to the fire that seemed to rage inside him. Lucius stepped back, lifted his left hand in salute, then Disapparated. It took several moments for Severus to move. He felt like a statue, marble cold on the outside, blazing internally. "Wait for me?" He murmured, beetle eyes black and cold. "Fuck you, Lucius." When he Disapparated, he didn't know where he would go. *** Chapter One: A Hazy Shade of Winter 1991 Severus Snape hated the week proceeding the first day of a new school year. Last minute budget changes were processed, there were always delays in the shipment of supplies, professors arrived, breathless and flushed from their final days of vacation, and spent hours regaling anyone who would listen to their tales of Tours, or Marsailles, or Madrid, or one of the many other places that Severus had never seen and didn't want to. He had never left England, and had no particular desire to change this fact. The stories told to his unwilling ears made certain of that. This year, the popular destination had been France. He hated France. It was the twenty-seventh of August. There were four days before the term officially began, four days to plan and plot how to teach a block of dunderheads the basics of his art. It wasn't that Severus didn't like children, per se, but rather that so few of them lived up to their full potential, and seeing all of that vast intellect go to waste each year, lost on Transfiguration or Magiolomy, or just pranks and violence, was saddening. Even worse was watching the bright eyes of new students enter his classroom and seeing them dull at the idea of doing /work/ instead of mere wand waving. They didn't understand the pure beauty of Potions, of how one's soul stirred the cauldron, and how it was the mindset of the worker that made all the difference. *** He had his back turned when the door opened for the first time, and unconsciously, he stiffened, listening to whispering voices and treading feet. He ignored this, and the shuffle of two, no, three chairs being pulled out. Only one was pushed back in. God. The children were arriving. Severus continued his writing, his dark eyes wandering over his notes, making final preparations for the day's lesson. It wasn't until one of the new students dropped his book that he turned to glare at them. A large set boy looked fearfully at him for a moment, before stooping to grasp his text and hurrying back into his seat. On the other side of the desk, a second boy sniggered, and was promptly and discretely thwapted by the third, who was seated in the middle. He was small and narrow faced, with huge grey eyes that glanced at Severus apologetically for a brief moment before dismissing him to cast a withering stare at the first boy, dressed in the standard Hogwarts robes but left loose at the collar, a hint of a pale grey shirt seen underneith. /Lucius./ The boy, as if sensing his continuing stare, glanced back at him quizzically. His hair flopped over one eye as he did so, and he smoothed it back with his left hand. /Lucius, tall and in the rain, reaching up to brush at his hair, only to find the short ends, and falter, at a loss of what to do./ "Sir?" The boy's voice was high, almost a soprano, made for song. /Lucius had a delightful tenor voice, but he didn't use it often. "My father," he'd explained once, as they lay twined together in bed one night, "He didn't approve of singing." He'd grimaced. "Told me often enough, anyway."/ The other two boys were watching him now as well. The look of the boy was starting to grow alarmed. "Is there something wrong, sir?" Severus shook his head slowly, still staring. /Lucius, Lucius, Lucius/ He couldn't think, couldn't even breath, watching this tiny boy, this exact duplicate of Lucius Malfoy, who watched him back, meeting stare for stare, as though he was used to being gawked at. The door slammed open then, and they both turned to look as the Gryffindors, loud and abrasive, entered the room. Severus closed his eyes tightly for a moment, squeezing them so hard that spots flickered like Filibuster fireworks behind his lids, and when he opened them they didn't fade away for several long moments. This helped; it was a good distraction and he was able to not look at the boy for long enough to gain control of himself once more. The other Slytherins had entered by this point, peering over their notes at their Head of House, wands ready by their hands. The Gryffindors hadn't even finished sitting down yet, most of them were still up and talking in groups and clusters. He was reminded about how much he hated Gryffindors. It didn't take much to get them to sit down, and his usual three minute speach about wand waving and brewing death was delievered without a hitch. Roll was called easily as well, and he took mental notes of each person as they raised a hand to indicate their presence. /Crabbe, Vincent./ This was the first dull boy, with hair looking as though a bowl had been trimmed about the ends. He was pale eyed, nervous and twitching, and his hands shook as he reached for a cauldron. -Idiot.- Severus thought, and dismissed him to go onto the next. /Finnegan, Seamus./ A sandy haired Gryffindor, with a smattering of freckles enough to put any Weasley to shame, grinned at him and promptly knocked his vial of dragon's blood onto his boomslang skin, causing an explosion that singed hair and skin, and required a quick infusion of Burn Be Gone. He was reminded furiously of how much he hated first years. /Goyle, Gregory./ At last a name he knew. He'd stayed with the Goyles for a short time, during the war. Their son had grown nearly as huge as the father, and he shuffled his feet, refusing to meet Severus' gaze . He looked to the pale boy for instruction, and received cool, nearly silent words in reply. /Granger, Hermione./ He felt an odd dislike for the girl, watching as she eagerly raised a hand a waved it several times, attempting to get his attention. That done, she turned back to help and small, pudgy boy with his lids, her bossy whisper carrying over the room. He sneered at her turned back; he knew her type. Then the name he had known was coming. /Malfoy, Draco./ Draco? He stared at him for a moment. Lucius had a son, he'd known that, had received an inviatation to his Christening, years ago. He hadn't attended. He'd put the matter out of his head, hadn't even considered that he might have to face the child in class one day. He frowned, no, he had thought of it, but this wasn't the right time for it. The boy had been born in 1981, he shouldn't be in school yet. He frowned at this, but Draco Malfoy wasn't paying attention. He was scanning through the text, looking at material back towards the end of it, finger trailing the words and his mouth framing them. *** "Mister Malfoy, a word, if you please." The boy blinked at him owlishly for a moment before rising from the table. Severus waited until he had cleared his way from the bench before turning and walking back towards the hall doors. The walk back to his office was slow and silent, save for the clicking of their heels against the cold stone floor.