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beth_hWritten in for the December 2010 edition of Snapely Holidays - for fanficforensics
Title: The Turning Point
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters and/or Pairings: Snape/Regulus
Rating: R
Word Count: 4950
Possible warnings and/or enticements - highlight to view (may contain story spoilers): (skip) Alcohol use. Occasional excessive swearing. Consensual underage sex. Implied imminent canon death. Please leave a comment if you believe anything should be added here
Summary: A tale of divided loyalties, choices made, and choices unmade.
June 1979
The Knockturn Alley flat's tiny windows rattle and shake with each blast of unseasonably cold air, and Severus wraps the edges of his grandad's old grey cardie more tightly around himself. Now that Severus is full grown, the sleeves are much too short to cover his thin, blue-veined wrists, but his grandad's been dead these dozen years now, and the cardie is all that remains to remind him of his da's people.
Severus sets the copper kettle on the hob to boil, then carefully places two biscuits on a plate, telling himself he doesn't want a proper supper.
He's always been a good liar.
Beside him, on the counter, sit two gleaming cauldrons, and behind them - secured to the wall with powerful sticking charms - are shelf upon shelf of potions ingredients. Many of them are rare and almost all are expensive, well beyond the means of Severus, whose only income is the meager stipend he receives fortnightly from Arsenius Jigger. It is under Jigger's tutelage that Severus is working towards Potions Master's status.
Lord Voldemort is more than generous when it comes to supplying his young potions maker-in-training with everything he requires for his work, including the most recently published books and journals. He does not, however, think to ask whether Severus could use the odd Galleon or two in order to replace his threadbare black robes or have a proper heating charm installed in the flat. His followers are, for the most part, wealthy men and women, none of whom require financial assistance, and in any case, Voldemort rarely thinks about inconsequential matters such as food and lodgings. Regardless, he would, no doubt, provide Severus with money if he were asked, but Severus is unwilling to play the role of supplicant.
*~*~*
Severus has just finished his first cup of tea when he hears the unfamiliar sound of somebody knocking on his door. He slides his wand out of its sleeve holster and walks quietly across the kitchen, casting a spell of his own design to determine whether or not it's wise to open the door. As far as he knows, his slightly less-than-legal potions haven't yet caught the attention of Magical Law Enforcement, but better safe than sorry, as his gran used to say.
When no danger seems likely, Severus turns the handle, and there - standing in the dark, narrow hallway - is Regulus Black.
Almost a year has passed since the two young men last had contact, and it is almost more than Severus can do to resist the urge to step forward, reach out…touch.
Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest.
"Black," he says flatly, as if meeting like this after so long a time meant nothing at all. He notices Regulus's face fall, just for a moment, but even when Regulus reclaims his more usual expression, Severus can see that beneath the calm, self-assurance is an unfamiliar tension. "What do you want?"
"Still no interest in the social niceties, I see," says Regulus tightly, a brittle smile creasing the corners of his mouth. He brushes his shoulder-length hair back off his face, an oft-seen gesture that Severus recognizes as an indication of nerves, but then he shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry; that was uncalled for."
Severus's eyes narrow marginally. He can't remember a single instance when Regulus apologized for anything, and to do it now is…suspicious. "I repeat…what is it that you want from me?"
Regulus takes a deep breath, then exhales sharply. "I need you, Severus."
To say Severus is shocked would be an understatement. That Regulus would appear at his door after so long a time, and make so blunt an announcement is surprising enough in itself, but given the circumstances surrounding their parting, it's almost unbelievable. For a brief moment, Severus is silent, and it's only this small delay that saves him from foolishly revealing too much of his feelings, for Regulus hasn't finished speaking.
"I need your help."
June 1979
"I need your help."
Severus fights to keep the anger from showing on his face, but he isn't able to speak without bitterness leaching into his voice. "What, precisely, makes you imagine that I'd be willing to help you with anything other than what our Lord demands of us?"
Regulus tries to answer, but a sudden sob catches in his throat. He turns his head and dashes a tear from his eye, before turning back to face Severus again. His expression reveals nothing, but he still seems unable to speak.
Severus feels suddenly wrong footed. What could he possibly have said that would affect Regulus so strongly? Irritated with himself for caring, Severus snaps, "Stop sniveling at once, and tell me what you need of me, or get the hell out of my home."
"My parents are abroad, but they're returning in a week, and if they discover their house elf…Severus, it's Kreacher. I think he's going to die. Please help…I'll do anything, but…he can't die."
Severus shook his head. "Even if I were willing, I'm not a healer of any sort, much less a healer for house elves."
"Severus, please."
*~*~*
They Apparate to Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
Severus has never been there before. He'd been invited to spend part of the summer with the Blacks after he left school, but in the wake of his falling out with Regulus, the invitation had, of course, been rescinded.
The house is quite large, but like many of the old Pureblood homes, the rooms are damp and the furniture in disrepair, and Severus can feel the thrum of Dark Magic running through the very foundations. Regulus leads him up the stairs to the topmost landing, then down a hallway. He opens the door on the right, and ushers Severus into his bedroom.
In the corner of the room, just behind a mahogany wardrobe, is a little nest made up of blankets and old robes, and there in the middle of it, lies a house elf. His eyes are closed and his skinny limbs are trembling.
"This is Kreacher," Regulus says quietly, as he kneels down by the elf.
Severus kneels beside Regulus and puts his hand, palm down, on Kreacher's forehead. Kreacher's head feels hot, but Merlin only knows what's normal for house elves.
"You need to tell me how he got this way," Severus says.
"I don't know for certain," Regulus replies, "but I think he was poisoned, somehow. He'd been…."
"He's been what?" Severus asks harshly. "Tell me what you know, or there's no point in my remaining here."
Regulus takes a single sharp breath, then nods. "Yes, of course. He's been with…Lord Voldemort."
"Ah."
Severus knows better than to ask any further questions, regardless of how the answers might aid his attempt to bring the house elf - to bring Kreacher - back to health.
He runs through a series of basic diagnostic spells, starting with the most common household spells he learned from his mother on nights when da was unwell, then moving on to the handful of more advanced spells he'd picked up from Madam Pomfrey and Master Jigger, but none of the results prove conclusive.
Reaching into the pockets of his robe, Severus retrieves a vial containing a soothing potion to help with the blistering on the soft tissue of Kreacher's mouth and throat. The elf moans a bit less frequently, but as he'd expected, there's no lessening of the shaking of Kreacher's limbs or the threadiness of his pulse.
Severus looks once more through the items he'd packed in his small leather traveling bag. Few of the ingredients Severus keeps on hand are particularly useful in the healing arts, the Dark Lord's interests tending towards rather less benevolent potions. If only Severus hadn't needed to use his last remaining bezoar when the experimental potion he tested on two of his fellow Death Eaters had worked a bit too well.
But he hadn't used it all, had he? The antidote hadn't required a bezoar quite so large as a hen's egg, so he'd sliced off the end, ground the compacted hair and fibers until they were the consistency of Demerara sugar, then sealed it in an air-tight container, which he'd never taken out of the side pocket of the bag.
"Do you have any Butterbeer?"
"Do I what?"
"Do you have any Butterbeer," Severus says impatiently. "I first thought in terms of a hydrocolloid, but given what little pertinent information I possess regarding House Elf physiology, a different medium in which to disperse the ground bezoar might prove more efficacious. In any case, given Butterbeer's slight narcotic properties…you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
"Almost none," Regulus replies, allowing a small smile to tilt up the corner of his mouth. "But I still like hearing you speak."
"Butterbeer!"
"Sorry," Regulus says, then pulls a large wooden box out from under his bed. When he opens the lid, Severus can see the box is full of an assortment of items - hashish, pornographic photographs, Muggle chocolates - which must have been banned at various times in Regulus's childhood by his parents, and yes, butterbeer is amongst the hidden 'treasures.'
"Does it matter how old it is?" Regulus asks, handing a bottle to Severus.
"Not if it hasn't been opened," Severus says, removing the cap and measuring out eleven fluid drachms. He adds thirteen pennyweight of the ground bezoar and stirs clockwise until green bubbles start to appear. "Take this, and make sure he drinks all of it."
Regulus lifts Kreacher gently and settles him on his lap. It takes some time to get him to drink the bubbling potion, but at the precise instant the last drop has been swallowed, Kreacher stops shaking and his eyelids flutter open.
"Kreacher mustn't be rumpling Master Regulus's fine robes," he says with some alarm. "It is not seemly!"
Regulus smiles at Kreacher, then lays him back down on the little pile of old robes.
"Get some rest, Kreacher."
"Kreacher thanks Master Regulus," the house elf murmurs sleepily, "…and master's friend, the Half-Blood Snape."
*~*~*
The two men walk out into the hallway, the words "Half-Blood" echoing accusingly in the narrow space.
"I'll be off then," Severus says brusquely, refusing to meet Regulus's eyes directly.
Regulus nods. "I see…of course. Thank you again," he says, "although…I was actually hoping you wouldn't go."
"Your house elf will be fine," Severus says, trying not to think about how stupidly good it feels that Regulus said he wanted him to stay, even if he meant nothing by it.
"I'm sure he will," says Regulus with quiet certainty, then adds even more quietly, "but that's not why I wanted you to stay. I've…missed you, Severus, and I wanted to…I'm sorry, Severus. It's probably too late, I know, but I want to apologize for the way I behaved on the night of our initiations."
"Two apologies in one day? Perhaps you should visit St. Mungo's to get checked for spell damage," Severus says bitterly. "But no, there's really no need for an apology. I was a fool to think my blood status wouldn't matter to a Black. 'Toujours pur,' isn't that right, Regulus?"
Regulus exhales sharply, his exasperation plain. "Of course I believed in blood purity. I believed in a great many things. When you were a child, you doubtless believed in eckeltricity or whatever it is your Mu…Muggle relations valued. But I've been re-thinking quite a lot recently, particularly my thoughts about you."
"Because I was able to tend to your house elf?" Severus asks angrily.
"No, because you were willing to try, even after I'd been such a stupid bastard." Regulus reaches out and lays his hand on Severus's forearm. "Do you…do you think you might be willing to try just one more thing?"
Severus eyes Regulus suspiciously. "What?"
"Give us another chance."
Shaking Regulus's hand off his arm and flashing a look of sheer incredulity, Severus says, "You must be out of your feckin' mind."
"Look, I know it's a lot to ask of you…"
"No," Severus says. "It's too damned much to ask, and if you weren't such a self-centred idiot, you'd…."
"We were good together, Severus." Regulus takes two steps back, giving Severus some space, but he stretches out his hands, palms up, in supplication. "We were so good together, and if I hadn't been such a complete idiot then, we still could be."
He knows he should refuse Regulus out of hand, knows he should ignore that pathetically hopeful expression. What could it possibly matter to Severus that Regulus's grey eyes seem to be shimmering with unshed tears?
Except it does matter, and Severus can't help but think back to his own pathetic behavior three years earlier, curled up on the floor in front of the Gryffindor portrait, his arms wrapped around his knees, crying because Lily had refused to talk to him anymore.
He still isn't willing to accept the possibility that his erstwhile best friend might have been justified in her response to one poorly chosen word - and maybe he never will be - but he remembers his own heartache as clearly as if it all happened yesterday.
Is that the sort of pain he wants to make Regulus feel?
Regulus, whom he loved.
Still loves.
"Severus, I'll do anything, I swear. Anything you want, if you'll only agree to…."
"Oh, for God's sake, Regulus…stop begging. You sound like Moaning Myrtle."
"No…no, you're right," Regulus says, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I just…say you'll think about it, Severus. Please?"
Severus crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the door, wondering just how far "anything you want" might extend.
"I'll…consider it."
Regulus's eyes widen with surprise and then joy, for despite their long separation, he understands Severus well enough to know when 'perhaps' means 'yes.'
"You won't regret this," Regulus says happily, wrapping his arms around Severus. "I promise!"
Severus is far too pessimistic to believe such a baseless promise.
He is, in fact, regretting it already.
But somewhere in the Pandorean box locked deep within Severus's heart, there's hope,
July 1979
fin
Note: this story was really meant to end with "R.A.B.,", but this was for a holiday exchange, after all, and perhaps that note to Severus was a bit too much "the foreshadowing of doom?" So! To read the optional epilogue (now with 49% more smut and 51% more happily-ever-after!), highlight below:
Later, much later, i.e., May 1999
"You are a complete bastard," Severus gasps. "You know that, don't you?"
Regulus, arms wrapped tightly around Severus's chest, thrusts forward, his cock sliding up into Severus's arse. "I know," Regulus pants. He pulls back, changing his angle just slightly, then pushes in again. "I'm… a complete bastard."
"Oh, God! Just there! And you're going to pay for not telling me about the fucking horcruxes and for making me think you'd died in that fucking cave and for being a complete…fuck!...a complete bastard. You're going to pay, aren't you?" Severus says, clenching tightly around Regulus's cock. "Answer me!"
Regulus moans, thrusting faster and faster. "Yes, god yes! I'm…I'm going to pay. God! Whatever you want, you can…oh fuck!"
"Whatever I want I can what? Finish that sentence, you bastard."
"You can have! Whatever you…oh…want, you can have. Oh god, Severus, I missed you so fucking much."
Severus closes his eyes and drops his head down, wiping the sweat from his brow onto his crossed forearms, then lifts up and pushes back again, meeting each of Regulus's hard thrusts with one of his own. "I missed you…too," he rasps. "Don't . Ever. Leave. Me. Again!"
"Never," gasps Regulus, coming hard and collapsing on Severus's back. "I'll never leave you. I love you."
"And I love you," Severus says softly, turning over to take Regulus in his arms. "But you're still a bastard."
[1] Annus Horribilis: Latin for "horrible year," made particularly "popular" by Queen Elizabeth in her 1992 Christmas speech. (back)
Title: The Turning Point
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters and/or Pairings: Snape/Regulus
Rating: R
Word Count: 4950
Possible warnings and/or enticements - highlight to view (may contain story spoilers): (skip) Alcohol use. Occasional excessive swearing. Consensual underage sex. Implied imminent canon death. Please leave a comment if you believe anything should be added here
Summary: A tale of divided loyalties, choices made, and choices unmade.
June 1979
The Knockturn Alley flat's tiny windows rattle and shake with each blast of unseasonably cold air, and Severus wraps the edges of his grandad's old grey cardie more tightly around himself. Now that Severus is full grown, the sleeves are much too short to cover his thin, blue-veined wrists, but his grandad's been dead these dozen years now, and the cardie is all that remains to remind him of his da's people.
Severus sets the copper kettle on the hob to boil, then carefully places two biscuits on a plate, telling himself he doesn't want a proper supper.
He's always been a good liar.
Beside him, on the counter, sit two gleaming cauldrons, and behind them - secured to the wall with powerful sticking charms - are shelf upon shelf of potions ingredients. Many of them are rare and almost all are expensive, well beyond the means of Severus, whose only income is the meager stipend he receives fortnightly from Arsenius Jigger. It is under Jigger's tutelage that Severus is working towards Potions Master's status.
Lord Voldemort is more than generous when it comes to supplying his young potions maker-in-training with everything he requires for his work, including the most recently published books and journals. He does not, however, think to ask whether Severus could use the odd Galleon or two in order to replace his threadbare black robes or have a proper heating charm installed in the flat. His followers are, for the most part, wealthy men and women, none of whom require financial assistance, and in any case, Voldemort rarely thinks about inconsequential matters such as food and lodgings. Regardless, he would, no doubt, provide Severus with money if he were asked, but Severus is unwilling to play the role of supplicant.
*~*~*
Severus has just finished his first cup of tea when he hears the unfamiliar sound of somebody knocking on his door. He slides his wand out of its sleeve holster and walks quietly across the kitchen, casting a spell of his own design to determine whether or not it's wise to open the door. As far as he knows, his slightly less-than-legal potions haven't yet caught the attention of Magical Law Enforcement, but better safe than sorry, as his gran used to say.
When no danger seems likely, Severus turns the handle, and there - standing in the dark, narrow hallway - is Regulus Black.
Almost a year has passed since the two young men last had contact, and it is almost more than Severus can do to resist the urge to step forward, reach out…touch.
Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest.
"Black," he says flatly, as if meeting like this after so long a time meant nothing at all. He notices Regulus's face fall, just for a moment, but even when Regulus reclaims his more usual expression, Severus can see that beneath the calm, self-assurance is an unfamiliar tension. "What do you want?"
"Still no interest in the social niceties, I see," says Regulus tightly, a brittle smile creasing the corners of his mouth. He brushes his shoulder-length hair back off his face, an oft-seen gesture that Severus recognizes as an indication of nerves, but then he shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry; that was uncalled for."
Severus's eyes narrow marginally. He can't remember a single instance when Regulus apologized for anything, and to do it now is…suspicious. "I repeat…what is it that you want from me?"
Regulus takes a deep breath, then exhales sharply. "I need you, Severus."
To say Severus is shocked would be an understatement. That Regulus would appear at his door after so long a time, and make so blunt an announcement is surprising enough in itself, but given the circumstances surrounding their parting, it's almost unbelievable. For a brief moment, Severus is silent, and it's only this small delay that saves him from foolishly revealing too much of his feelings, for Regulus hasn't finished speaking.
"I need your help."
April 1977
For his first five years at Hogwarts, almost all of Severus's non-academic focus was split between Lily Evans and the Marauders. He rarely deigned to notice anybody else, even his own Slytherin yearmates, and had absolutely no interest whatsoever in wasting his precious time on lower form students, even ones as aesthetically appealing as Regulus Black.
However, the Annus Horribilis [1] of his O.W.L. year left Severus bereft of not only the company of his erstwhile best friend, but also without the active rivalry of his four greatest enemies, and when his sixth year commenced, he was at leisure to pay a bit more attention to his fellow Slytherins, generally with an eye to forging some useful alliances.
Severus's developing interest in Regulus, though, had very little to do with alliances. It was, instead, directly related to a libido which had recently made it clear to its owner that Lily Evans was a bit of an aberration in a sexual orientation that far preferred men to women - and whose "type" could be summed up almost entirely by describing Regulus Black.
Throughout the course of his sixth year, Severus agreed to tutor Regulus in Potions at the request of Slughorn, sat beside him once or twice at dinners hosted by their Head of House, and attempted to rein in his acerbic tongue on those occasions when Regulus struck up a conversation with him in the Common Room, but Severus gave Regulus no overt signs of the nature of his feelings. He'd known - and been obsessed with - Lily for half his life and had barely been able to summon up the nerve to give her a single kiss two summers past. It would take far longer for Severus to make his interest known to Regulus.
It might have taken forever, in fact, if it hadn't been for Quidditch.
Severus had never had any particular interest in Quidditch, but as he did have an interest in the current Slytherin seeker, he attended every game. He also - less willingly, it had to be said - attended all of the celebratory after-parties, if by "attended" one meant acquiring an illicit shot or five of Firewhiskey and retiring to a dark corner where he could watch the goings on without drawing anyone's unwanted attention.
On this particular Saturday, Severus was even less in the mood for an afternoon in the Quidditch stands than usual, but Regulus - as if he'd suddenly developed the ability to read Severus's mind - caught the Snitch twenty-three seconds into Slytherin's last game against Gryffindor, thereby giving his team its final win of the season and guaranteeing that Slytherin would win the Quidditch Cup, both of which did please Severus. That James Potter hadn't been able to score a single goal - hadn't even been able to get his hands on the Quaffle - had just been the icing on the cake, as far as he was concerned, and Severus headed off to the party in uncharacteristically good spirits.
Severus was never quite certain whether to ascribe what happened that afternoon to the excessive amount of alcohol being drunk by the Slytherin team and their friends or whether it was just the general celebratory mood, but forty-five minutes into the party, Regulus - plate of food in hand - joined Severus in his usual shadowy spot.
"Severus, Severus, Severus," Regulus said, with just a hint of a slur in his voice. "I have a vol-au-vent for you…and if you're very, very, very good, I'll let you share my sweeties."
"You're drunk."
"And you," Regulus said, leaning in towards Severus, "are not drunk enough."
Against his better judgment, Severus smiled, and Regulus's eyes widened. "Oh, that's what I was hoping for. Come on," he said, standing up and extending his hand to Severus. "I have something to show you."
"What, exactly, is…."
"No, no, no," Regulus said, tugging at Severus's wrist. "I can't tell you, because then it wouldn't be a secret. I told you it was a secret, didn't I? No matter…just come along. We'll bring the vol-au-vents."
There was no particular reason for Severus to feel nervous, he thought, but judging by the weakness in his legs as he was led away from the party and down the corridor, not having a reason wasn't especially useful for keeping nerves at bay. He felt even more anxious when Regulus stopped at the door of Madam Hooch's office.
"Alohamora," Regulus said, cracking a grin when the door opened at his command. He stepped inside, then beckoned Severus to follow. "Hooch left right after the match and won't be back until tomorrow night."
Severus hesitated for a moment, but the expectant look on Regulus's face drew him like a moth to a particularly strong Lumos spell. As soon as he was inside, Regulus cast a locking spell, then pushed Severus against the inside of the door.
"You have no idea," Regulus murmured, rubbing his cheek softly against Severus's cheek, "just how long I've wanted to get you alone."
"And I…you," said Severus, trying not to whimper as Regulus unbuttoned Severus's shirt and ghosted long, cool fingers over his nipples. If Regulus never took this any further, Severus thought as he fought to stay on his feet - just continued to lightly stroke his chest - it would still be enough.
But Regulus didn't stop there: he leaned in and kissed Severus, softly at first, then with greater force until his teeth clicked against Severus's own, and the tip of Regulus's tongue slid into Severus's mouth. Completely brilliant, this kiss…because it was Regulus doing the kissing, and then Severus moaned, forgetting all about mere kisses when Regulus reached his hand into Severus's robes - pausing just long enough to ask "Is this okay? This is all right, yes?" and hear Severus whisper "Yes"- before slipping his hand into Severus's pants to take hold of his already leaking erection, sliding his hand up and down, faster and faster, until Severus came with a shout.
*~*~*
At three in the morning, when he was alone in his bed, listening to Rosier mutter something in his sleep about runes and Mulciber snore loudly enough to wake the dead, Severus convinced himself that what happened between him and Regulus earlier that day, while possibly not part of an elaborate hoax, could not have meant anything, at least not to Regulus - and Severus promised himself that whatever happened next, he would not be made a fool of.
At breakfast, he ate his toast and drank his coffee and did not look across the table where Regulus sat, not even once. When he finally glanced up, just for a moment, Regulus was gone, and Severus felt vindicated. It was a relief to know he'd been right, he told himself, but the relief felt strangely tight and painful in his chest, and there was an unexpected prickling of moisture in the corners of his eyes.
Then he heard Regulus's voice, just behind him, fewer than six inches away. He was speaking to Ian Parkinson about something unimportant - dragon hide boots, perhaps - and Severus suddenly found it hard to draw a breath.
Despite being utterly and completely certain that it was a mistake, Severus felt compelled to turn around. As he did, his eyes met Regulus's and in that space of time, Severus was sure he'd given absolutely everything away. Regulus didn't ask Severus how he was feeling or whether something was wrong, because that was not the Slytherin way, but Severus felt the touch of Regulus's hand on his shoulder, just for the briefest of moments, and in that instant, Severus had a glimmer of hope that, for once, something he wanted might not end in complete disaster.
May 1978
A steady stream of correspondence and an occasional circumspect meeting in Diagon Alley kept Severus from running mad during the summer before his seventh year, and when he boarded the Hogwarts Express in September, for the first time in years he didn't dread what the coming months would bring, because Regulus was with him.
Throughout that year, Severus and Regulus were inseparable. They talked deep into the night about their studies, their families, and the world around them, encouraged each other's interest in the opportunities that might soon become available under Lord Voldemort's ascendancy, and regardless of Severus's antipathy toward public displays of affection, found endless opportunities for more private displays.
The night after Severus took his final N.E.W.T., he and Regulus slipped off in the midst of the celebrations and Portkeyed to an undisclosed coastal location to swear allegiance to the Dark Lord and his cause. For obvious - if unspoken - reasons, Severus still wasn't as convinced about Pureblood supremacy as Regulus was, but he had come to believe that without Lord Voldemort's support, there would be no place for him in the coming order, and Severus had long since vowed not to be condemned to the sort of harsh and meaningless existence which had ended up claiming the lives of both his parents.
The initiation went as well as he had expected it to go. The fixing of the Dark Mark on his forearm was painful, but not unbearably so, and a half hour later, as Severus stood beside Regulus on Abraxas Malfoy's terrace, drinking a second glass of champagne, the pain had been all but forgotten.
"Enjoying yourselves, gentlemen?"
The voice belonged to Lucius Malfoy, but when Severus and Regulus turned around to greet their host, Lord Voldemort stood by his side.
As Severus looked into the Dark Lord's oddly shaped eyes for the first time as one of his followers, he felt a slight twinge in his arm. Although he felt certain this was merely a coincidence, he immediately turned his gaze towards Lucius.
"Yes, thank you," Severus said. "I appreciate your invitation."
"As we appreciate your joining us, Mr Snape," said the Dark Lord. "Lucius, perhaps you'd like to run along and see how your other guests are faring. I'll be happy to look after Messrs. Snape and Black in the meantime."
"Of course, my Lord," said Lucius, nodding once, then turning around and walking back into the manor.
When the terrace doors clicked shut, Lord Voldemort turned his attention to Regulus. "I was pleased to discover you wished to join our cause, Mr. Black. It is good to know that your family - with one very notable exception, I believe? - can always be depended upon to choose the sensible path."
Regulus had stiffened at the reference to his errant brother, but he nodded politely. "Thank you, sir."
"And you, Mr. Snape…expertise well beyond your years in both potions making and spell creation, I've been given to understand. Talents like yours should be nurtured, wouldn't you say?"
"I'm pleased to put whatever limited skills I possess in service to your goals, my Lord."
Lord Voldemort smiled a vaguely reptilian smile. "A very politically astute reply, Mr. Snape. A pity your father was a Mudblood, but I can see that your late mother taught you well. And now gentlemen, I fear I must be leaving. Until we meet again."
The Dark Lord disapparated, leaving Severus and Regulus alone again on the candle-lit terrace.
Severus took a deep breath and exhaled in relief. "Well, that was more nerve-wracking than I'd expected it to be. There's something about his eyes - did you notice? - a sort of…."
"So, your father was a Mudblood," said Regulus flatly. "And that would make you a Half-Blood, then?"
"Yes, but…"
"Did you never think that this information was something I would have been interested in hearing?"
Severus frowned. "I was certain you knew."
"You were certain I knew?" Regulus asked sharply. "And did you think I was just paying lip service to the Dark Lord's message? This is over…we are over."
"Regulus, you don't understand," Severus began, reaching out to take his lover's hand, but Regulus drew his wand before Severus could touch him.
"Keep your hands off me, filth," spat Regulus, before disapparating away.
*~*~*
By the time Severus returned to Hogwarts late that night, every single item Regulus had left behind in Severus's room over the course of the past year had been removed. The few items that Regulus had borrowed from Severus - one or two books and a Slytherin scarf - lay charred and smoldering in the common room fireplace.
Severus had been living with the reality of being a Half-Blood in a House populated entirely by Purebloods for as long as he'd been attending Hogwarts, and angry as he was with Regulus, he also recognized what a shock it must have been for Regulus to discover the truth of his parentage in such a way.
In any case, Severus's deeper feelings were the same as ever, and he couldn't imagine that the same wasn't true for Regulus, at least at some level. It would just take time. However, Regulus saw to it that their paths never crossed even once, from the start to the finish of Severus's final fortnight at Hogwarts.
Even after he left school, Severus didn't give up - told himself he never would - but repeated attempts to communicate with Regulus by Floo and by owl and by all other conceivable means went unheeded, and after two months passed without a word, Severus stopped trying.
June 1979
"I need your help."
Severus fights to keep the anger from showing on his face, but he isn't able to speak without bitterness leaching into his voice. "What, precisely, makes you imagine that I'd be willing to help you with anything other than what our Lord demands of us?"
Regulus tries to answer, but a sudden sob catches in his throat. He turns his head and dashes a tear from his eye, before turning back to face Severus again. His expression reveals nothing, but he still seems unable to speak.
Severus feels suddenly wrong footed. What could he possibly have said that would affect Regulus so strongly? Irritated with himself for caring, Severus snaps, "Stop sniveling at once, and tell me what you need of me, or get the hell out of my home."
"My parents are abroad, but they're returning in a week, and if they discover their house elf…Severus, it's Kreacher. I think he's going to die. Please help…I'll do anything, but…he can't die."
Severus shook his head. "Even if I were willing, I'm not a healer of any sort, much less a healer for house elves."
"Severus, please."
*~*~*
They Apparate to Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
Severus has never been there before. He'd been invited to spend part of the summer with the Blacks after he left school, but in the wake of his falling out with Regulus, the invitation had, of course, been rescinded.
The house is quite large, but like many of the old Pureblood homes, the rooms are damp and the furniture in disrepair, and Severus can feel the thrum of Dark Magic running through the very foundations. Regulus leads him up the stairs to the topmost landing, then down a hallway. He opens the door on the right, and ushers Severus into his bedroom.
In the corner of the room, just behind a mahogany wardrobe, is a little nest made up of blankets and old robes, and there in the middle of it, lies a house elf. His eyes are closed and his skinny limbs are trembling.
"This is Kreacher," Regulus says quietly, as he kneels down by the elf.
Severus kneels beside Regulus and puts his hand, palm down, on Kreacher's forehead. Kreacher's head feels hot, but Merlin only knows what's normal for house elves.
"You need to tell me how he got this way," Severus says.
"I don't know for certain," Regulus replies, "but I think he was poisoned, somehow. He'd been…."
"He's been what?" Severus asks harshly. "Tell me what you know, or there's no point in my remaining here."
Regulus takes a single sharp breath, then nods. "Yes, of course. He's been with…Lord Voldemort."
"Ah."
Severus knows better than to ask any further questions, regardless of how the answers might aid his attempt to bring the house elf - to bring Kreacher - back to health.
He runs through a series of basic diagnostic spells, starting with the most common household spells he learned from his mother on nights when da was unwell, then moving on to the handful of more advanced spells he'd picked up from Madam Pomfrey and Master Jigger, but none of the results prove conclusive.
Reaching into the pockets of his robe, Severus retrieves a vial containing a soothing potion to help with the blistering on the soft tissue of Kreacher's mouth and throat. The elf moans a bit less frequently, but as he'd expected, there's no lessening of the shaking of Kreacher's limbs or the threadiness of his pulse.
Severus looks once more through the items he'd packed in his small leather traveling bag. Few of the ingredients Severus keeps on hand are particularly useful in the healing arts, the Dark Lord's interests tending towards rather less benevolent potions. If only Severus hadn't needed to use his last remaining bezoar when the experimental potion he tested on two of his fellow Death Eaters had worked a bit too well.
But he hadn't used it all, had he? The antidote hadn't required a bezoar quite so large as a hen's egg, so he'd sliced off the end, ground the compacted hair and fibers until they were the consistency of Demerara sugar, then sealed it in an air-tight container, which he'd never taken out of the side pocket of the bag.
"Do you have any Butterbeer?"
"Do I what?"
"Do you have any Butterbeer," Severus says impatiently. "I first thought in terms of a hydrocolloid, but given what little pertinent information I possess regarding House Elf physiology, a different medium in which to disperse the ground bezoar might prove more efficacious. In any case, given Butterbeer's slight narcotic properties…you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
"Almost none," Regulus replies, allowing a small smile to tilt up the corner of his mouth. "But I still like hearing you speak."
"Butterbeer!"
"Sorry," Regulus says, then pulls a large wooden box out from under his bed. When he opens the lid, Severus can see the box is full of an assortment of items - hashish, pornographic photographs, Muggle chocolates - which must have been banned at various times in Regulus's childhood by his parents, and yes, butterbeer is amongst the hidden 'treasures.'
"Does it matter how old it is?" Regulus asks, handing a bottle to Severus.
"Not if it hasn't been opened," Severus says, removing the cap and measuring out eleven fluid drachms. He adds thirteen pennyweight of the ground bezoar and stirs clockwise until green bubbles start to appear. "Take this, and make sure he drinks all of it."
Regulus lifts Kreacher gently and settles him on his lap. It takes some time to get him to drink the bubbling potion, but at the precise instant the last drop has been swallowed, Kreacher stops shaking and his eyelids flutter open.
"Kreacher mustn't be rumpling Master Regulus's fine robes," he says with some alarm. "It is not seemly!"
Regulus smiles at Kreacher, then lays him back down on the little pile of old robes.
"Get some rest, Kreacher."
"Kreacher thanks Master Regulus," the house elf murmurs sleepily, "…and master's friend, the Half-Blood Snape."
*~*~*
The two men walk out into the hallway, the words "Half-Blood" echoing accusingly in the narrow space.
"I'll be off then," Severus says brusquely, refusing to meet Regulus's eyes directly.
Regulus nods. "I see…of course. Thank you again," he says, "although…I was actually hoping you wouldn't go."
"Your house elf will be fine," Severus says, trying not to think about how stupidly good it feels that Regulus said he wanted him to stay, even if he meant nothing by it.
"I'm sure he will," says Regulus with quiet certainty, then adds even more quietly, "but that's not why I wanted you to stay. I've…missed you, Severus, and I wanted to…I'm sorry, Severus. It's probably too late, I know, but I want to apologize for the way I behaved on the night of our initiations."
"Two apologies in one day? Perhaps you should visit St. Mungo's to get checked for spell damage," Severus says bitterly. "But no, there's really no need for an apology. I was a fool to think my blood status wouldn't matter to a Black. 'Toujours pur,' isn't that right, Regulus?"
Regulus exhales sharply, his exasperation plain. "Of course I believed in blood purity. I believed in a great many things. When you were a child, you doubtless believed in eckeltricity or whatever it is your Mu…Muggle relations valued. But I've been re-thinking quite a lot recently, particularly my thoughts about you."
"Because I was able to tend to your house elf?" Severus asks angrily.
"No, because you were willing to try, even after I'd been such a stupid bastard." Regulus reaches out and lays his hand on Severus's forearm. "Do you…do you think you might be willing to try just one more thing?"
Severus eyes Regulus suspiciously. "What?"
"Give us another chance."
Shaking Regulus's hand off his arm and flashing a look of sheer incredulity, Severus says, "You must be out of your feckin' mind."
"Look, I know it's a lot to ask of you…"
"No," Severus says. "It's too damned much to ask, and if you weren't such a self-centred idiot, you'd…."
"We were good together, Severus." Regulus takes two steps back, giving Severus some space, but he stretches out his hands, palms up, in supplication. "We were so good together, and if I hadn't been such a complete idiot then, we still could be."
He knows he should refuse Regulus out of hand, knows he should ignore that pathetically hopeful expression. What could it possibly matter to Severus that Regulus's grey eyes seem to be shimmering with unshed tears?
Except it does matter, and Severus can't help but think back to his own pathetic behavior three years earlier, curled up on the floor in front of the Gryffindor portrait, his arms wrapped around his knees, crying because Lily had refused to talk to him anymore.
He still isn't willing to accept the possibility that his erstwhile best friend might have been justified in her response to one poorly chosen word - and maybe he never will be - but he remembers his own heartache as clearly as if it all happened yesterday.
Is that the sort of pain he wants to make Regulus feel?
Regulus, whom he loved.
Still loves.
"Severus, I'll do anything, I swear. Anything you want, if you'll only agree to…."
"Oh, for God's sake, Regulus…stop begging. You sound like Moaning Myrtle."
"No…no, you're right," Regulus says, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I just…say you'll think about it, Severus. Please?"
Severus crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the door, wondering just how far "anything you want" might extend.
"I'll…consider it."
Regulus's eyes widen with surprise and then joy, for despite their long separation, he understands Severus well enough to know when 'perhaps' means 'yes.'
"You won't regret this," Regulus says happily, wrapping his arms around Severus. "I promise!"
Severus is far too pessimistic to believe such a baseless promise.
He is, in fact, regretting it already.
But somewhere in the Pandorean box locked deep within Severus's heart, there's hope,
July 1979
S.
I'm afraid I'm going to have to cancel our plans for dinner this evening. There's a piece of rather important jewelry that needs collecting, and I think I'm the only one capable of retrieving it.
I'll see you when I return.
I love you.
R.A.B.
Note: this story was really meant to end with "R.A.B.,", but this was for a holiday exchange, after all, and perhaps that note to Severus was a bit too much "the foreshadowing of doom?" So! To read the optional epilogue (now with 49% more smut and 51% more happily-ever-after!), highlight below:
Later, much later, i.e., May 1999
"You are a complete bastard," Severus gasps. "You know that, don't you?"
Regulus, arms wrapped tightly around Severus's chest, thrusts forward, his cock sliding up into Severus's arse. "I know," Regulus pants. He pulls back, changing his angle just slightly, then pushes in again. "I'm… a complete bastard."
"Oh, God! Just there! And you're going to pay for not telling me about the fucking horcruxes and for making me think you'd died in that fucking cave and for being a complete…fuck!...a complete bastard. You're going to pay, aren't you?" Severus says, clenching tightly around Regulus's cock. "Answer me!"
Regulus moans, thrusting faster and faster. "Yes, god yes! I'm…I'm going to pay. God! Whatever you want, you can…oh fuck!"
"Whatever I want I can what? Finish that sentence, you bastard."
"You can have! Whatever you…oh…want, you can have. Oh god, Severus, I missed you so fucking much."
Severus closes his eyes and drops his head down, wiping the sweat from his brow onto his crossed forearms, then lifts up and pushes back again, meeting each of Regulus's hard thrusts with one of his own. "I missed you…too," he rasps. "Don't . Ever. Leave. Me. Again!"
"Never," gasps Regulus, coming hard and collapsing on Severus's back. "I'll never leave you. I love you."
"And I love you," Severus says softly, turning over to take Regulus in his arms. "But you're still a bastard."
[1] Annus Horribilis: Latin for "horrible year," made particularly "popular" by Queen Elizabeth in her 1992 Christmas speech. (back)