the marriage stone (Discontinued)

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.