Firstborn

by Fabula Rasa

***

"So your father thinks you'll be heading back to Egypt soon." Molly Weasley handed the next plate to her eldest son, who was Drier tonight to her Washer. The sound of laughter drifted over from the sitting room, where Charlie was telling a story about a dwarf dragon-tamer that had them all in stitches. Mr. Weasley's loud guffaw could be heard above all the rest.

"Oh, I don't know. I might stay here for a bit," he said vaguely.

"Bill. None of that, now. Your father and I are fine."

"I know, Mum," he said, with a glance at the group by the fireplace, which it was impossible to think of as anything other than sadly diminished. "I know. I just thought . . . "

"You have your own life. We have ours. And life goes on," she said resolutely, frowning at the sink full of suds. "It goes on. Even if it is a bit. . . quieter." She paused, then picked up a large pot and attacked it with fervor.

"Yeah," he said. "I know." He watched the little cluster in the sitting room " Dad in his chair, the lines on his face harsher now, the set of his jaw grimmer, but the smile still open and generous. Charlie had launched into another story, one that had Ron clutching his sides. Harry was grinning, and Hermione, perched on the arm of his chair, was smiling as though in spite of herself. Ginny was curled in an armchair, already half-asleep, and Percy was stretched out on the floor with his back against the sofa, wearing much the same expression of amused disapproval as Hermione. Charlie never stopped talking these days. Almost as though he was afraid to let a silence fall, as though he was determined to take over the role of entertainer. Who knew what went on in Charlie's head. Bill sighed and tossed his dishrag over his shoulder.

"You done with that pot yet? It never did anything to you."

"Oh. Right you are." She left off her brutal scouring and handed it over, picking up on her son's train of thought. "You know, in many ways it's Charlie I'm most worried about. He talks all the time, but he doesn't talk, if that makes sense. Can't you find a way to""

"Come on, Mum. Charlie and I never had much to say to each other, you know that."

She sighed. "I know. How you can all be so different I don't. . . anyway," she continued. "Maybe he'll find a nice girl. That's what he needs, more than anything. There was that girl in Romania, Mirela what's-her-name, I never could pronounce her last name. But he doesn't say anything about her anymore, so I suppose that's off. At this rate Harry and Hermione will be the first ones to give us any grandchildren."

He studied the platter he was drying. "Mum. If this is a lead-in to the 'why don't you find a nice girl' speech . . . "

"Oh for heaven's sake, William Weasley. Is it deaf, blind, and dumb you think me?"

"Well, we've never exactly had this conversation, not in so many words."

"You think I needed a conversation to know you better than you know yourself? A mother knows these things. No, don't put it away like that . . . it's still damp on this side. It'll go all spotty in the cupboard. And hurry up there, you're getting behind."

"Sorry." He hastily re-dried the platter and started in on the mountain of soup bowls. "Anyway. Like I was saying, I might stay in England for a bit more. Through the summer, at any rate."

She shot him a shrewd look. "You've not stayed three weeks together in England since you left school. What's going on?"

He shrugged. "I'm getting a bit tired of being abroad all the time. The Gringotts Board of Governors wants me to take a job in London-- an administrative one."

"Administrative? But they've never let a human . . . Bill, what a tremendous thing! Oh, I'm so proud! Why didn't you say so before?"

"Well, I'm not at all sure it's the thing for me. I haven't said yes, but I haven't said no, either. And there are other things I'm looking into."

She stopped her scrubbing and narrowed her eyes at him. "You've not said a word to us about any of this. What other things?"

"The Ministry wants me to head the new Goblin Liaison Department."

Mrs. Weasley dropped her plate with a dull thunk back into the suds. "Head the new. . . Bill! You're joking! What . . .but you. . . I can't believe it . . .so young. . .oh!"

"Calm down, Mother," he said grimly. "That falls under the 'not enough tea in China' heading. All that's changed at the Ministry are the faces, not the attitudes. They're still convinced of their inarguable superiority to all other forms of life, still just as arrogant and stupid."

"But, Bill, you could change all that! You could . . . "

"No. It would feel like a betrayal of every goblin I've ever known. I shouldn't even have mentioned it. I knew you'd take on," he said with a grimace.

She sighed. "Well, it's your decision, of course. And I do see your point. Your father and I aren't hopelessly prejudiced, I hope you know."

"I know that."

"Do you?" She gave him another close look. "Then why have you not had any of this conversation with anyone else in your family . . . about not settling down with a nice girl, I mean?"

He put the last of the bowls on the shelf and hung his towel on the rack. "It never seemed like anyone else's business."

She pulled the plug in the sink and dried her hands on her apron. "You're a queer one, and no mistake." He gave a little laugh at that, and considered explaining the joke, but decided against it.

"So. I'm going to have a bit of tea before I go to bed. No telling how long that lot will stay up. Care for some?"

"Sure."

"This sudden desire to stay in England," she said, pulling the teapot down from the shelf and setting on the kettle. "It wouldn't happen to have anything to do with someone else, would it?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Hmph. Nice try. Come on, sit down and tell me everything."

"There really isn't anything to tell," he said. He hadn't calculated on his mother's shrewdness when it came to any of her family's romantic entanglements. He might have known the gender wouldn't matter to her. What mattered were details.

"Don't hand me that tripe. Is it serious?"

"It. . . well, I couldn't say. We haven't really. . . I wouldn't know."

She reared back and gave him a startled look. "My God. So it is serious. Serious enough to give up Egypt?"

He studied his hands, folded on the table. "It might be. It might be. . . serious enough to give up a lot."

They were quiet for a minute, until the whistle of the teakettle startled them both. She set a cup of tea - understeeped, as always - in front of him and resettled in her chair. "All right then," she said at last. "You bring him here for dinner tomorrow night."

"Mum, I really don't think that's a good idea."

"I'm not interested whether you think it's a good idea or not. If you're seeing someone, and it's serious, you're jolly well going to bring him to this house. Unless you're ashamed of us?"

"Mum, don't be ridiculous."

"Then what on earth is your objection?"

He glanced at the crowd in the sitting room, then back down at his tea.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Do you think I'm going to hang a placard round his neck that says 'William Weasley's Homosexual Lover'?"

He choked on his tea, coughing weakly.

"You don't have to advertise anything. But there's no reason you can't bring a friend round to dinner if you please. We'd all be delighted to meet any friend of yours."

And while he was still struggling for breath, she rose and patted him on the back, heading up the stairs. Oh, fuck, he thought, sinking his head onto his arms. I'm fucked now.

Bill sat out in the garden, watching the last of the sunset, smoking a cigarette, and enjoying the last few hours of his life. Either way, he thought, I'm not coming out of this evening alive. He took a last long drag, then tossed his fag end in a gnome hole. He leaned back and closed his eyes. Sounds of ersatz Quidditch practice drifted from the field behind the house. His mother would be coming out soon to shriek at Harry and Ron and Charlie and Ginny to come in and wash up, just like when they were kids. Percy never did play. He shifted and tried not to think about the two broomsticks on pegs by the back door. Don't think about it. Don't. He put his hands over his eyes as though to shield himself.

A loud crack sounded from the corner of the garden, and Bill stood up abruptly. The tall wizard was arranging his robes about himself and stepping gingerly off the mound of gnome droppings he had apparated on top of.

"Merlin's nightgown," he muttered.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Bill grinned. "What's that you've got there?"

"Whisky for your father, flowers for your mother, wine for your brothers. Too much?"

"They'll faint. Don't overdo it."

"I'll try to restrain myself. Lead on."

"RON! CHARLIE! HARRY! GINNY!" His mother's head popped out the kitchen window. She was in full cry. "Get in this house right now! It's going to be dark in another minute, and you're going to break your necks out there! RONALD WEASLEY! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!" She shook her head and turned to Bill. "At least you're decent . . .get in here and set that table, Bill. Severus," she said in surprise when her son stepped aside. "Goodness, I'm sorry. I didn't even see you there. Arthur will be home soon, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see you. Come in and make yourself comfortable." Snape opened his mouth to reply, but her head retreated, and the kitchen window came down with a clatter.

"That went well, I think."

"Brilliant."

Dinner was a more restrained affair than the previous evening, Snape's presence being a kind of dampener that affected even Charlie's manic exuberance. Snape talked quietly with Bill's father about the state of things at the Ministry, and Bill joined in occasionally, omitting to mention his job offer from the Ministry even when he felt his mother's eyes on him.

"This is wonderful wine, Severus. You have excellent taste."

"Thank you, Arthur. You know, speaking of new blood, the Ministry isn't the only institution looking for it these days. Hogwarts has also been trying to lure many of her best and brightest back to help re-build her into the school she used to be."

Bill set his wine glass down rather hard. "This is unbelievable stew, Mum, really excellent. What did you say is in it again?"

"Oh, this and that. You never seemed to care much for it before. But I did use those leeks from that new market, the one we went to the other day, and they do add a bit of a flavour."

"Who is Hogwarts going to hire, Professor?" Hermione leaned down from the end of the table, where she had been trying to listen to their conversation over Harry and Ron's Cannons versus Tornadoes debate.

"Well, the Headmistress has any number of people in mind. She is also interested in offering some new courses, in fields Hogwarts has neglected, such as Runes and Cursebreaking," he replied casually, refilling his glass.

"Cursebreaking! It's a wonder they don't hire you, Bill," his mother exclaimed from her end of the table.

Ron guffawed at that, and Percy glared at him reprovingly. Percy, on the whole, was far too intimidated at sitting next to Snape to have said much this evening, for which everyone was silently grateful.

"Pass the bread, will you, Charlie," Bill cut in.

"It's odd you should mention that, Molly," Snape said smoothly. "Professor McGonagall has, in fact, made your son an offer, but he has yet to inform her of his decision."

Every head at the table turned to Bill, who glared at their guest with clearly murderous intent. Snape was innocently crunching his bread. "Bill is right. This stew is really exceptional," he said, tucking in with gusto.

"Bill? Is this true?" Mr. Weasley said in a still voice.

"Ah. . well, technically, yes, it. . . ah, is."

"Bill! I can't believe it!"

"Well done, Professor Weasley!"

"My darling boy'a Hogwarts professor!"

"Good show, Bill!"

The table erupted in chatter, congratulations and questions and more congratulations, all of which ignored his own protests that he hadn't made up his mind yet, he had plenty of other things to think about. His parents just rolled their eyes as though he had been out in the sun too long, and carried on with reminiscences about their days at Hogwarts, interrupting each other, pausing to ask Snape a question every so often about the way things were run now. Hermione gazed at him with open envy.

"Well, why anyone would want to go back there after finally getting sprung is beyond me," Ron called loudly to his brother, and Bill smiled indulgently at his youngest brother and secret favourite. "I mean, they gave me a hard enough time when I was made prefect. Can you imagine what Fred and George would . . ." He made a choking noise and ducked his head.

A stillness fell over the table, and Ginny pushed back her chair and headed for the kitchen, her face down. Ron looked at his plate, his ears going red. No one said anything for a minute.

"Charles," Snape said, "Professor Hagrid and I were having a discussion the other day about the usefulness of carnelian elixirs in the calming of agitated Latvian Longtails. I am curious to know, what has your experience of the matter been?"

Charlie was off and running, and conversation resumed rapidly, if rather more quietly than before. Hermione leaned in and asked him a question about the Great Pyramid.

"No, no," he replied, "Khufu was Sneferu's son, not his nephew, and they were fourth dynasty, not third. Cheops is just the Greek name, like Suphis. But it's often the smaller, less well-known burial sites that have the really intractable curses."

"Really? That's fascinating. Because when I was in Egypt I noticed. . . "

He let his eyes flick to Snape's for a second in silent gratitude, then re-focused on Hermione.

"Good save back there."

He stepped up behind Snape, who was alone in the garden, watching the late summer stars wheel overhead. He slipped his arms around his waist. Snape stiffened, then leaned back.

"Getting daring, aren't you," he murmured.

"No one's paying any attention. I think Hermione's got them all playing charades in there, God help them."

"So you forgive me for my little indiscretion."

He snorted. "Indiscretion, my arse. You planned that one. I'll be taking that out of your hide, you bastard."

Snape straightened, and Bill wondered what he had said. Snape left him feeling as if he had wrong-footed it half the time without any idea why or how.

"I ought to be getting back," he said, turning around.

"All right. Tell Minerva . . ."

Snape cocked an expectant brow. Bill sighed. "Tell Minerva I'm thinking about it. Really thinking."

"Bill."

"I know. I just . . . Severus, you know why I'm hesitating, don't you?"

He turned his head, and examined the stars to the southeast. "I know. And I am trying."

"I know."

Snape gave a wry smile. "We're a knowledgeable couple."

Bill reached a tentative hand for him. Angered at his own hesitation, he pulled Snape to him harder than he had meant to, and pressed their mouths together. As always when kissing Severus, his own arousal spiraled rapidly out of control. It both angered and amazed him that this difficult, remote, infuriating man could reduce him to this, to such need and hunger. He gripped the back of Severus's head and plunged his tongue in further. Snape met his aggression, and pulled their hips together. When the hard length of Snape's cock brushed his own, he moaned into his lover's mouth.

"I have to go," Snape was murmuring in his ear. "And I rather think Arthur and Molly would take a dim view of my buggering you in their garden."

"Maybe," he gasped, working on the bit of Severus's neck just above his collar. "So I guess I should really do the buggering."

He felt Severus smile at that, and felt a little surge of triumph. There was never any telling what would win a rare smile from Severus, just as there was never any telling what would make him frown. Severus kissed him lightly, then once more.

"Owl me," he said, and with a crack he was gone.

When he had finished his last cigarette and stepped quietly though the kitchen door, the only sign of life downstairs was a desultory crackle in the fireplace. Half a teapot of still warm tea sat on the draining board. He poured himself a cup and went to sit by the fire, almost dropping it when his mother spoke to him from underneath her mound of blankets.

"I was beginning to worry you'd never come in."

"God, Mum, you gave me a fright."

"Sorry." She stretched and yawned. "Couldn't sleep. Must have been all that wine. How about yourself?"

"Oh, just thinking."

She straightened up and studied him. "I'm sorry your friend never showed up, darling. I'm sure there was a reason -- he must have been held up at work or something. But at least it was a nice surprise to see Severus again. What do you suppose he wanted?"

Bill gaped at her, the tea halfway to his lips sloshing unnoticed onto his lap. She blinked at him innocently a few seconds more, then burst into merry peals of laughter.

"Oh, goodness, I've been holding that one in for hours! Oh, but you should see your face, love, it's priceless." And she was off in fresh gales of glee as he mopped at his lap.

"Mother! That was. . . really awful. Just. . . awful. Where have you been hiding this secret streak of meanness?"

"Oh, you. You really do think your father and I are idiots, don't you, the lot of you?"

He chuckled, thinking despite himself how good it was to hear her laugh again, and seeing for the first time where Fred and George had acquired their not-so-secret streak of devilment. She stretched again and resettled in her quilts like a plump cat. "So. Are you going to take the job? Not the Ministry job, of course, but the one you really want."

"That depends."

"On him."

"Among other things."

She snorted at his equivocation, and shrugged out of her blankets, tottering to her feet. "Well, I've had my fun. Off to bed with me, now." She stood for a moment, looking down at him - not a perspective she often had on her firstborn. She sighed. "He's a good man, Bill. The best. I don't think you could have done better."

"Thanks, Mum." He stared at his tea to hide his blush of pleasure.

"But I still think you should cut that hair."

"Mother."

"Oh, all right, I'm done." But she stopped on the bottom stair and leaned over. "One more thing, though. You make sure he's settled his score with Sirius Black before you pack your bags for Scotland."

He looked up, momentarily shocked. Was there nothing the woman didn't know? He nodded slowly. "I know. But that's a ghost I'll never get out of his head." Or his bed, he silently added.

"Well." She set her mouth in a line. "Don't you give up."

"No. I won't. Ever." He met her eyes, and a slow smile passed between them.

"That's my boy," she said quietly. "Now get some sleep, will you?" Her voice was back to its brisk self as she ascended the stairs.

"I will," he called after her, too softly to be heard. He finished his tea and got up to pull the shade. The stars were almost too bright tonight. He would have to sleep with the curtains drawn against their light.

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