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8.
The new moon was unforgiving that night, no light to spare as it pitched Spinner's End in oppressive darkness.
“Lumos.”
The emerging faint light revealed the form of Severus Snape. Slung around his shoulder was Regulus Black, unconscious.
The light also uncovered the inside of a house in abandon, its furniture swallowed up by cobwebs and disrepair. Clouds of dust floated in the air, disturbed by movement. Severus grunted as he heaved Regulus through the narrow space, up the creaking stairs and into one of the rooms.
He carefully placed Regulus on the bed, the sheets dusty and looking exactly how Severus had left it, a long time ago. The bed groaned, but it did not fall apart.
The house did not have electricity anymore, and the light from his wand wasn’t enough to see through the dark in his room. Severus went to the boarded up window and spelled the planks away. What little light from the stars spilled into his room, and it was better than nothing at all.
Regulus’s body was ice-cold and his skin was so sickeningly blue, and with Severus's wand light hovering over it, his skin almost looked translucent. Severus pressed his fingertips, shaking he noticed, against Regulus’s wrist, searching for a pulse.
There, a faint pulse. He’s still alive.
He’s still alive.
One by one, Severus removed Regulus's clothes, his Death Eater robes, spelling them dry before letting them crumple onto the ground by the bed. Severus took one of his old shirts and trousers in his closet and modified them to fit Regulus. Halfway through fitting Regulus's right leg into the pants did Severus realise he could have spelled this unto Regulus’s person. Still, Severus finished what he started. Not once did Regulus stir, his breathing barely detectable.
Severus stalked around the house, hitting furniture and making a ruckus as he went, looking and taking whatever healing potion he could find scattered about. He would have to concoct a drowning treatment to re-oxygenate the body and possibly remove water from the lungs, but for now any healing potion and spells would do.
When he returned, Severus half-expected Regulus to be dead. He slumped over Regulus’s form, searched for a pulse again, relieved when he still found it. Severus cast a warming charm over the bed, and tipped a draught into Regulus’s mouth, his thumb and index finger gently stimulating Regulus’s throat to get the liquid down quicker.
Severus kept track of Regulus’s body, obsessively taking note of every little movement. Eventually, the potion’s effects kicked in, and Regulus was breathing a little bit steadier. It was only then Severus also allowed himself to breathe freely, like a weight was taken off his chest.
…
1.
Regulus didn’t understand the reason for Lucius Malfoy’s latest obsession with the half-blood a year above him.
Yes, Severus Snape was brilliant in certain subjects, but he was hardly the best in his year. There were plenty other mudbloods who were the best in their years, yet Lucius hadn’t constantly asked for updates about them. Even Slughorn favoured the Gryffindor mudblood whom the half-blood called his best friend over him.
Lately, the half-blood had holed himself up in the Slytherin common room, when before he would always hang around that Gryffindor mudblood. Regulus heard from Mulciber that Snape had called the mudblood for what she was. She was furious, refused to accept any of his apologies, and ended their friendship.
Regulus couldn’t care much less, but then Lucius had been hounding him and Narcissa about how the half-blood hadn’t been responding to his letters.
“Regulus, do something,” Narcissa complained.
“Why me? You’re friends with him,” Regulus said. He’d been snipping at a Daily Prophet article about the Dark Lord. He would add this to his collection once he’d arrive home.
“He barely leaves the boys’ dormitory. And he wouldn’t talk to me.”
“Then what makes you think he will talk to me?”
“He has an affinity for the Dark Arts,” she said, “much like you.”
“So what—”
“He invented several spells and potions. That spell that almost tore Potter’s ear off? It was his.”
Now that piqued Regulus’s interest. Spell creation was incredibly complex and dangerous, requiring an advanced proficiency and core understanding of magic. It wasn’t even taught at Hogwarts, and only a few Higher Education institutions offered apprenticeships for the form. For a half-blood to be able to create multiple spells at ease?
Interesting.
“Engage with him, get his mind off that mu—girl,” Narcissa said. She scoffed at herself. “I know you have something he likes.”
That night, when Snape skipped dinner yet again, Regulus thought it was the best time to approach him. He wasn’t in the common room, in the dormitory, the bathrooms, even the Potions classroom. Regulus was just about to give up and head back to the Great Hall, then he heard the sound of a spell going off in one of the Dungeon rooms.
He eventually found Snape in an empty room. Was this how the half-blood practiced his inventions?
The moment he stepped foot into the room, Snape had fired a spell at him. White light hit the frame of the door, sizzling and searching for skin, and then dissipating into nothing.
Intense black eyes filled with contempt. It was the first thing Regulus noticed.
“Was that the spell you used on Potter?” Regulus asked. The emotion passed from Snape's eyes and gave way to a look of surprise.
“I thought you were—”
“My brother? I’m not.”
“I don't care which Black you are,” Snape hissed, "do not bother me!"
If Regulus was a regular student, he would have cowered away from a higher year student telling him off. But Regulus was a Pureblood, and the higher year student in question was a half-blood, so he wasn’t the least bit fazed.
Snape resumed practising his spell, but he kept Regulus within his peripheral vision. Regulus stayed where he stood, observing the half-blood. After a few minutes, it was clear that he wasn’t leaving.
“Why are you still here, Black? Didn’t I tell you to leave?”
“I want you to teach me that spell.”
Snape turned to him. “Why?”
“Because I’m interested,” Regulus said. “This isn’t your first invention, is it? You have many more.”
Regulus carefully stepped into the room.
“Why are you so bloody interested in it? You’re a Black, you have a library full of Dark Arts books at your disposal.”
Regulus shrugged. “I don’t have anyone else to talk to about the Dark Arts here. It does get lonely, sometimes.”
“A pity, but I fail to see how that’s my problem, Black.”
This half-blood was brilliant yet feisty. No wonder Lucius liked him and Slughorn didn’t. Regulus also had half a mind to understand why his brother was obsessed with Snape. Snape made a move to leave the room.
“I know you’ve been looking for this book. There’s a copy of this in the Hogwarts library, but it’s deep within the restricted section. Slughorn wouldn’t give you his permission to access it.” Because you unnerve him.
Regulus took a tome out of his robes. Snape’s black eyes went to the book, and a look like greed passed over, before sliding over to Regulus. His expression shuttered again, unreadable.
“I will teach you mine if you teach me yours,” Regulus said. Surely, this was an offer that this half-blood couldn’t refuse.
“What,” said Snape slowly, eyeing him, “do you want from me?”
The question caught Regulus off-guard. Was this the nature of Snape’s relationship with Lucius? Transactional? Regulus could see it, but over the years, he suspected Lucius had grown fond of the half-blood, and had done more things for him without getting anything in return.
“I just needed someone to talk to about the Dark Arts, that’s all.”
Most of Regulus’s friends had told him that his fascination was excessive. Mind you, they were all Slytherin and Pureblood. Yet a number of them took the Dark Arts for granted, learning the family signature spells only because it was expected of them. For them, the Dark Arts was only an arsenal of necessary means to achieve the results they desired, and not a sophisticated magical art form that required respect and further study and exploration.
“That’s all?” Snape snorted, “you are willing to trade spells—your family’s well-kept magical secrets—with me, a poor half-blood, for company?”
“These spells are old and outdated,” said Regulus. “There hasn't been a new spell invented by a Black for generations.”
"And you think I can help you there? Haven’t you asked Narcissa, or Bellatrix? Perhaps your brother?”
Regulus was getting impatient. He gestured to the book in his hand. “So, what do you say?”
Doubt and suspicion arose in Snape's face, but then it morphed into something like interest as his eyes flirted with the book and the prospect of consuming its contents.
That was how it started.
…
9.
The thought of leaving Regulus by himself made Severus physically ill, but he had no other choice. There was much to do, and he couldn’t do them all by sitting idle in the house, watching Regulus breathe, or struggle to.
In the early morning, Severus sought out, placing as many protective wards as he could around the house. No one but Lucius and Regulus knew of Spinner’s End, but it was better safe than sorry.
There was much to do: summons to attend, orders to follow through. For the most part, the Dark Lord would dictate how Severus’s day would go.
Severus had placed Regulus under a stasis charm, and had set up various tracking spells. He charmed an old pocket watch he had found in his parent’s bedroom. Instead of indicating the time, it indicated the status of Regulus’s vital signs, the hands of the clock charmed to move with every beat of Regulus’s heart. When Regulus gained consciousness again, the watch would grow warm and vibrate.
Severus kept the watch on the left breast pocket of his robes, taking comfort in the faint mechanical ticking.
The Dark Lord’s summons were usually at the later half of the mornings, giving Severus time to visit Knockturn Alley to procure potion ingredients that were not in regular stock in the Malfoy potion pantry. They had given him free access to it after Severus had created a fertility potion for Narcissa.
Some time ago, Severus had already developed a prototype of the potion that allayed the physical symptoms.
The mental symptoms, however… he could never get it right. Even worse, the lethal surprise waiting at the end of the symptoms.
One thing at a time. That was what Regulus had always said to him.
First order of business would be gathering the ingredients. Then, setting up a makeshift potion den in the house, perhaps in the attic.
…
2.
When Regulus told Severus he would be taking the Dark Lord’s brand in the summer before Regulus’s sixth year and Severus’s seventh year, Severus said he had gone mad. No one had taken the Dark Mark while still attending Hogwarts.
Regulus would be the first.
The thought thrilled him, made him feel like he was on top of the world. He had started from collecting news articles of the Dark Lord as a young child, and now he had taken his brand at sixteen. The Dark Lord thought him worthy enough to be in his trusted circle, and he hadn’t finished school yet. Not even Lucius or Bella was this favoured.
“What would happen if the Headmaster found out?” asked Severus.
They had just settled in their compartment, where it was only the two of them, sitting side by side.
“He will not,” Regulus said with utmost confidence. “And I am not violating any school policies that could cause my expulsion.”
“Don’t underestimate him,” Severus said, a shadow passing over his face.
"My brother has done the worst and he's still around."
"Your brother," spat Severus, "is not a Slytherin. You'd think an old codger like him would get over house prejudices now that he’s Headmaster, but he’s done nothing but double down on it."
“The Headmaster wouldn’t expect it from me,” Regulus said, gently. “My record in Hogwarts is pristine. I haven’t had any detentions from the first day nor have I caused points to be taken from our house. I am on the short list to become the Head Boy, Slughorn revealed to me just before summer break.”
“Well, aren’t you a model Slytherin student.”
“Well, aren’t you jealous,” Regulus teased. “Besides, the Dark Lord had taught me Occlumency all summer long, Bella as well, to keep the Headmaster out of my head.”
“He taught you…? Occlumency?” Severus’s black eyes glinted. “Teach me.”
Regulus nodded. “I’ll teach you. You’ll be a natural.”
“Let me see it,” Severus said. “The Mark.”
Regulus carefully rolled up his sleeve, revealing black ink stark on tanned skin. Severus let out a soft breath.
“Did it hurt?” he breathed.
Regulus glanced at Severus, surprised he had to tilt his head slightly down. He had experienced a growth spurt over the summer, and had gotten taller and broader. Severus had too, but judging by his still-loose second hand robes, it was not much.
Severus’s fingertip was tracing the Mark on Regulus’s left arm. It left a trail of goosebumps, and Regulus hoped Severus did not notice.
It was inevitable that they had immediately gotten close. After Narcissa graduated, it was only the two of them left. Though they had their own respective groups of friends to hang out with, they would always gravitate back to each other. Severus had stopped moping around over the Gryffindor mudblood, who had faded away from his life for good, and Regulus thought good riddance.
Severus was better off without her, especially when Regulus discovered the mudblood kept discouraging him from pursuing the Dark Arts. She was holding him down, stopping Severus from achieving his full potential. Regulus couldn’t comprehend ever doing that to Severus, not in a million years.
They would stow away in empty classrooms, trying out dark spells or experimenting on something dark. Regulus would bring books from his family's library and they'd read it together. Whenever they come across advanced Dark Magic, the two would work together to understand the inner magical workings of it. They would swap magical theories, test them, reverse-engineer them.
Each of them had found their own niche: Severus preferred to explore more on Potions and Spell Creation, while Regulus focused on Magical Theories, Ancient Runes, and Ancient Studies. Regulus would watch Severus brew and Severus would hover over Regulus’s shoulder as he constructed runic charts.
“Yes,” Regulus murmured. “But after the pain… you feel something else, you feel the connection between you and the Dark Lord. The power. And you feel chosen. Favoured.”
Severus shivered at that.
His hand still lingered on Regulus's left arm, covering the Mark with his long fingers. Regulus imagined Severus with the Mark, how beautiful it would look on his skin, which was shades paler than Regulus's sun-kissed ones. He imagined what it would be like to roam his hands freely on the pale skin, branded like his own. They would be finally connected, part of a whole, where nothing less than devotion and complete surrender was needed from them.
One day.
"So," Regulus said, "any theories on the kind of magic the Dark Mark is?"
…
10.
The summons came as expected, while Severus was waiting on a small vial of undiluted Unicorn tears at a discreet room of a Knockturn alley shop. Severus placed the vial into his satchel with carefully placed extension and stasis charms. He did not need to worry about any of the ingredients spoiling while he’s out for the rest of the day. He went into a secluded alley and apparated.
He found himself inside the Lestrange Manor.
“My Lord,” Severus said, bowing low.
“Severus,” the Dark Lord said quietly. “No need for the mask. My task for you should have no reasons to be wandering out the Manor.”
Severus removed his mask as instructed.
“I have sent the others out on a mission,” the Dark Lord said, noticing Severus’s quick glance around the empty room. “Have you been to Leweston Village? A lovely place, all the way to the south, a small village of muggle-borns.”
This was the thing with the Dark Lord, he knew when to switch seamlessly between muggle-born and mudblood, depending on who he was talking to.
“It would be to our great advantage to establish ourselves there. I have plans to grow our numbers in other parts of the continent.” The method of establishment wasn’t mentioned, but heavily implied.
“How may I assist you, my Lord?” Severus asked.
"Come," the Dark Lord beckoned.
Severus followed. The Lestrange Manor was in many ways different from the Malfoy Manor, where Severus had stayed as of late, but just as large, old, and grand. Where the two manors differ were the architectural influences, a knowledge Severus had been greatly overexposed of, learning a great deal of it against his will. French architectural influences were prominent around the Lestrange Manor, a nod to their ancestral origins.
He was led into room after room, each one as decorated and expensive as the previous. The floors were polished smooth and the velvet curtains regularly dusted. Ahead of him, Voldemort strode smoothly, his sleek black robes gliding across the floor, his gait steady and confident, as if he was the owner of the Manor.
Eventually, they have reached what seemed to be the Potions den, at the right wing of the Manor. Severus’s heart sank and he felt heat rising to his face. It’s been five months since he joined the Death Eaters, and he’d only been jumping from one rich Pureblood’s Potions lab to the next, inventing potions that had not existed prior and not knowing where and how the Dark Lord was using them.
Was this his place in the ranks? Was he doomed to be hidden away, doing the bulk of menial brewing for the Dark Lord, while the rest of them were doing the important work?
He thought of Lucius, who had been steadily climbing his way up the Ministry. Regulus had been primed by the Dark Lord to join the Hogwarts staff, and eventually the board, just like his ancestor. Bellatrix and her husband, they were the lead generals of the Death Eaters. Even Mulciber and Rosier were given their own aides to command.
Purebloods.
Those with filth in their blood should know their place! A common cry of the Pureblood Death Eaters.
“Is something the matter, Severus?” Voldemort asked. "Is the room not up to your standards?"
The Dark Lord was facing him. His Master's red eyes always made every look sharper and more intense, like he was staring right into Severus’s very soul.
“No, my Lord.” Severus gulped. "The room is extremely lavish, on the contrary."
The Dark Lord wasn't having it.
“Out with it! Has brewing disinterested you as of late?"
"It's not about brewing, my Lord," Severus said, absolutely hating how pathetic he sounded, "but I can be useful in the field. I am also a skilled duellist. I can aid in—establishing—our grounds. I also am proficient in espionage—"
Voldemort brought a long, cold finger under Severus’s chin and lifted it up with surprising gentleness. Severus’s heart pounded; he had never been in this close proximity with his Master before. This close, he could see the unnaturalness of the Dark Lord. He was flesh and blood and bones, and… more. It felt like dark magic in its purest form simmered on the surface of his skin, his power overflowing that it could barely be contained within.
“Ah, you feel inferior,” Voldemort said softly. “You think the tasks I have given you are of no importance to the cause we are all fighting for. Do you believe me to be one to waste a mind like yours hidden and locked away?”
Severus's eyes widened. "No, my Lord!"
"You have long proven yourself, and now it is my time to provide. You came to me for protection, so you could continue your pursuit of the Dark Arts unchallenged and undisturbed by narrow-minded, self-righteous wizards. A thirst of the Dark Arts that I promised to quench." Voldemort's red eyes flashed. “Haven’t I been a generous Master? Haven’t I pushed you to the limits of what you thought you knew about Dark Magic?”
"Yes, you have, my Lord. I am extremely grateful,” Severus bowed again.
“Then patience, Severus. Your time will come,” the Dark Lord said, patting him on the head like sometimes did with his snake companion. "Now come along."
Severus followed the Dark Lord down to the Lestrange's massive basement, past the cellar with barrels of elf wine, past the house elves’ station, and into a chilling, dark room.
Small torches on the wall lit up at the flick of the Dark Lord's wand, but their lights were weak and barely enough to fill the room. Severus strained his eyes, making out a claw tub at the far end of the room. Beside him, the Dark Lord flicked his wand again.
From the tub, a figure rose slowly, in the shape of a person, dripping with water. Severus gagged at the stench of it. It crawled out of the tub, making its way towards Severus. Its eyes were dimmed and glazed over, but was fixed on Severus.
“An inferius,” Severus gasped. It can't be!
“Yes,” said Voldemort, pride in his voice. He stayed in place. "I achieved what the Dark Wizard before me, Grindelwald, chased but failed: growing an army of inferi."
The inferius was steadily crossing the distance between itself and Severus. Severus gasped and stumbled backward until he hit a wall, his heart was pounding and his instincts were screaming at him, torn between wanting to flee and attacking the thing. But the lack of reaction from the Dark Lord kept him in place. Just when the inferius was one drag away from Severus, it choked on itself, spasming violently, before crumpling to the ground, putrid green water seeping out of it.
"Only, I’ve hit an obstacle. The problem with them is that they need to be in water at all times, otherwise they will die again. They're good for… protection… now, but when the time comes, I will need them on our fronts."
Another flick of his wand and the inferius levitated back to the tub, where it sank out of sight.
“Find me a solution for this problem of ours. I am not in dire need of it yet, we have the Giants and the Werewolves on our side, but someday they will not be enough. Experiment with this fellow here: a grave-robber lurking around my late father’s grave. My late father, who was a Muggle, much like your father.” The Dark Lord’s red eyes gleamed in the dark.
“Come to me if you need anything particular for this research. You are dismissed.”
After a whisper of magic, like smoke, the Dark Lord was gone.
Severus didn’t want to be alone with the creature, so he hastily left the room. The spot under his chin where the Dark Lord had touched still felt the phantom coldness of his finger, the awful stench of the inferius clinging to his robes.
He remembered the countless other inferi that night when he pulled Regulus out of the water.
…
3.
As Lord Voldemort’s spy on Dumbledore, Regulus should have stayed in Hogwarts for the holidays.
It was only because of Orion’s rapidly deteriorating health that Regulus was allowed to go home. There wasn’t anything St. Mungo’s Hospital could do for his father anymore.
Walburga needed help and comfort. Sirius moved out immediately after Regulus had taken his Mark; he’d come home briefly when he heard of the news of their father’s health, but then left again. The most he did was urging them to have Orion be admitted into a mudblood hospital, but to no one’s surprise it hadn’t ended well. Walburga was still seething at the gall that Sirius displayed.
It was also around this time that Lucius would present Severus to the Dark Lord for the first time.
Regulus didn’t want to miss that moment. When he received a letter with Severus’s neat handwriting all over, brought by Lucius’s haughty-looking owl, he couldn’t calm himself down.
Today is the day.
“What’s gotten into you, Regulus?” Orion said from the bed, peering at him over his book. His voice was barely a rasp these days.
“Father,” Regulus stammered, “would it be alright if I—well, it’s only for a short while—you don’t have to tell mum—I’ll be back before you know it—”
“It’s the half-blood again, isn’t it?”
Regulus felt his heart was gonna stop. “Yes, sir. His name is Severus. Lucius will present him to the Dark Lord today.” He continued when there was no reaction. “His mother is from the—”
“The Prince line, I know,” Orion said. There was a pregnant pause where he looked deep in thought, staring into open space. Then his faded grey eyes went back to Regulus and held the stare.
“Regulus.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You haven’t agreed to any of the arrangements with any of the Pureblood girls your age.”
Regulus dropped his gaze. “No, father.”
“You declined every invitation to meet with them, to get to know them more.”
“I was busy—”
“Do not lie to me, Regulus.”
Regulus grimaced. “Yes, father.”
“You have not shown interest in anyone else aside from the Dark Lord, until this half-blood boy. Do half-bloods capture your attention so?”
“The Dark Lord is the most powerful wizard the Wizarding World has seen for centuries, surpassing Gellert Grindelwald.”
“And this half-blood of yours? What makes him different from the rest?”
Where would Regulus even begin to explain? He wished he could make his father understand; he wished he didn’t have to explain anything. He took a deep breath and looked up. They locked eyes again. Orion read something in his eyes that made him sigh a long sigh.
“This half-blood boy is special to you.”
It wasn’t a question, but Regulus answered anyway. “Yes.”
Another long pause. All of Regulus’s life, he had strived to be the perfect child for his parents; for Orion, most of all. His father always seemed too hard to please, and had always kept his sons an arm’s length away. Regulus followed their every word, soaked up all of their ideals and beliefs like a sponge, and followed the path they had pointed out to him, doubling his efforts when Sirius lashed out and turned his back on his own blood.
Unless, it came to one Severus Snape.
It was as if Orion could sense it too. He tried to clench his fists and sit up straighter, but his frail body wouldn’t let him.
“I see,” Orion nodded, sinking deeper into his cushions. He gave Regulus a sad, resigned look. “Don’t be long, then.”
Something heavy fell from Regulus’s chest, and he fought the tears that sprang to his eyes. Regulus reached for his father’s thin, weathered hand, grasping it firmly. This was the most affection they had shared in a long time. Orion replied with a weak little squeeze of his own.
Then, Regulus apparated to the Malfoy Manor.
Narcissa welcomed Regulus in and left him at the sitting room, calling on their house elf to serve him tea and biscuits. She didn’t bore him with small talk nor gave him pitying looks. Instead, she retreated to the drawing room shortly after for a nap.
Two pops were heard outside, then Lucius appeared in the archway to the sitting room, with Severus in tow.
“Hello, Regulus,” greeted Lucius.
“Hello, Lucius,” Regulus said. “Well? How did it go?” His gaze shifted from one man to the next.
Lucius patted Severus on the back, the older man’s expression mildly cheerful. “It went as well as I’d hoped. I haven’t seen the Dark Lord express this much interest in a while.” Lucius paused for effect, his grey eyes glinting. “He offered to Mark Severus.”
“He did?” Regulus couldn’t believe it.
“Not without completing a task for him first,” Severus said, frowning.
“That is normal for anyone who wanted to join him,” assured Lucius. “Especially when it comes to his inner circles.”
“You and Regulus hadn’t. None of the Purebloods—”
“Our families have long-standing ties with the Dark Lord, as you know,” Lucius cut him off, patting Severus again on the back. “Boys, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to important matters. In the meantime, help yourselves to tea and biscuits.”
Lucius left the room, leaving Regulus and Severus alone. Severus was scowling at the door. At that moment, Regulus was struck by how much he missed the boy in front of him. His scowls, his wit, his sarcasm. Missed the late nights they spent poring over tomes, their lingering touches, pale skin against tanned skin.
Regulus thought of his father, about how it was the closest thing to a form of acceptance he could get, and he immediately wanted to drop all pretence and simply just kiss Severus now. He thought of his recurring fantasies, of two twin Marks on their left arms, Regulus running his hands all over Severus’s body.
“You’re here,” said Severus after a beat. Merlin, Regulus even missed the black of his eyes, its intensity, its warmth.
“Of course I am.” Regulus said gently. “Didn’t I promise?”
“How’s your—”
Regulus shook his head firmly.
“What task did the Dark Lord give you?” Regulus asked instead.
Severus allowed him the sharp swerve of topic, looking a little bit sheepish. “The Dark Lord wants me to brew a potion,” Severus said.
“An easy task for you then,” Regulus said excitedly. “Potions is your expertise.”
But Severus neither looked excited nor pleased. His brow was furrowed and Regulus could tell his mind was running faster than a Portkey hook.
“The potion the Dark Lord wants," Severus murmured, "it doesn’t exist.”
“What do you mean? What did he want?”
"I can’t say.” Severus shook his head. “He wants it kept between us only."
Regulus pursed his lips. The Dark Lord had his reasons, Regulus was sure, reasons that should not be challenged, but the thought of not knowing in depth what Severus would be doing for the Dark Lord made him uneasy.
The Dark Lord had given Severus a challenge, then. It would make sense. After all, this was a test where, upon succeeding, one would be allowed to be a part of the Dark Lord’s inner circle. Be blessed with his utmost trust and his mark, the cream of the crop. Like any competent Master, he required and deserved only the best out of his most trusted followers; of course he would not be known as a generous man.
“Invent it, then,” said Regulus. “This is hardly your first invention, and you’ve long mastered the art of Potions, since fifth year. It's not impossible, is it?”
"It's never been done before. I’ve never heard of a working potion with the effects the Dark Lord wants."
"But not impossible."
Severus black eyes slid over to him.
“If I fail—”
“You will not—”
“This could take me months, even years, to invent!”
“You’re living under Lucius Malfoy’s roof now, he won’t let you fail. It’ll be bad for his name. He will support you. He will do whatever it takes.”
Regulus placed a comforting hand on Severus’s rounded shoulder. Severus tensed for a moment, and then relaxed, unfurling himself in front of Regulus.
“I am here, too.” Regulus murmured.
“You’ll be back at Hogwarts after the holidays,” Severus scoffed, “worry about yourself. Dumbledore is suspecting you of something, and he doesn’t trust you even when you’re Head Boy. And your father…” he trailed off quietly.
The mention of the Hogwarts Headmaster filled Regulus with frustration and anger, and he was grateful for it. It was better than the despair he felt surrounding his father, especially now they have reached an understanding of sorts.
This year was indeed the most difficult year: his father’s health, the burden of Lord Voldemort’s task of spying on the Headmaster, and not having Severus by his side. They kept in touch through letters, and even then Regulus had to be careful what to say.
“I can’t wait ‘til I’m done with Hogwarts,” Regulus blurted out, “where I can be of more use to the Dark Lord, and I won’t have to hide my devotion to him. And I get to be with you, finally.”
“Don’t be silly,” Severus said, a blush creeping up on his pale skin. Regulus’s hand was still on his shoulder, rubbing little circles with his thumb. “I do not know if I can brew this potion or not.”
“You can,” Regulus said, “and you will.”
“You really think you know me so well,” Severus scoffed.
“Oh,” Regulus grinned, “I think I do.”
…
11.
There was something warm and vibrating against Severus’s chest.
Severus was confused for a moment, in the midst of bottling a nutrient-rich potion, before remembering the pocket watch.
Regulus!
He casted stasis charms on the cauldrons he had going, hastily gathering the potions he had brewed, and apparated to a discreet alleyway before Spinner’s End. When he arrived at the house and ran up the stairs, Regulus was writhing on the floor, the bed sheets tangling around his body, clawing at his throat.
“W-water!” Regulus rasped. “Pl-please, water!”
Severus summoned a cup and filled it with water. Regulus greedily drank it, making a mess and spilling water all over himself, nearly inhaling the water in his haste. After three cups of water, Regulus calmed down. Placing two hands on either side of Regulus’s neck, Severus gently held it in place so that he could take a good look at him.
There was a glaze in Regulus’s eyes. Severus could see his own reflection in them, his nose so large and his expression so concerned.
The effects of the potion had an iron grip on Regulus, just as Severus had designed it to. It was only a matter of a few days before the slow-acting lethal poison would begin to activate inside Regulus’s body, unless counteracted quickly. For now, he would be dealing with the mental turmoil caused by the potion.
“Regulus. Regulus,” said Severus gently. “It’s me, Severus. You have to drink this.”
Severus summoned one of the potions from his satchel.
Regulus’s eyes widened when he saw the potion. "Pl-please, n-no more!"
"Regulus, listen to me. Stay still. I am helping you. This potion will help you. Please, open your mouth."
But Regulus didn’t listen. Severus bodily held Regulus down. It was hard; Regulus had the adrenaline of panic and a bigger bulk on his side. Severus had to bind his arms and prop him up against the bed frame, and forced the potion into his mouth, holding the other’s jaw tightly shut when Regulus gurgled and tried to spit the potion out.
It was a long moment before the potion took effect. Regulus blinked slowly, his eyes looking more focused, and there was the light of recognition when he saw Severus.
“S-Severus?”
“Yes! Regulus, it’s me, Severus!”
“K-Kreacher?” Regulus croaked. “K-Kreacher… I-is he…?”
“He’s alive,” Severus said. “He’s alive, he’s back at Grimmauld—”
Regulus began to sob uncontrollably. Severus cancelled the binding jinx and Regulus immediately clutched at his robes.
“M-mum… S-Sirius…”
Severus wrapped his arms around Regulus, running one hand through Regulus’s locks, damp from sweat, gently rocking him in an effort to calm him down. “They’re all alive. They’re alive and well, Regulus. Your mother is with Kreacher at Grimmauld, and your bro— Sirius —is off defying the Dark Lord.”
“S-Severus—y-you—”
“I’m here,” murmured Severus. “Can you feel me? I’m alive. I’m here with you.”
Regulus kept repeating the names, sobbing and shaking, his tears, snot, and sweat smearing Severus’s robes, and Severus answered for every one patiently, holding him close.
Kreacher, Mum, Sirius, Severus. They’re all alive. They’re all safe. I’m here and I’m with you.
Over and over, until Regulus’s tears and energy ran out, his grip on Severus’s robes weakened and he leaned heavily against Severus. Severus fed Regulus more potions, and this time Regulus didn’t fight them. He fell into a fitful sleep in Severus’s arms.
Look at what your invention has done!
Severus examined his work. It was easy to create potions of devastating effects and not think of it to ever be drank by the people you love. He just realised how powerless he was, and how foolish he had been, for him to agree to brew potions for the Dark Lord without knowing where it would be used.
You will not have a choice, once Voldemort targets someone you love.
Hanging limply around Severus, Regulus’s left arm exposed the Mark. It was only a matter of time when Voldemort would start summoning Regulus, asking for progress. When that would happen, the pain from the Mark would be too much for him to bear, and it might push Regulus to the breaking point of insanity.
…
4.
The school year was finally over; Regulus bid his farewells to his professors and peers, knowing what awaited them outside the walls of Hogwarts, and knowing he would be fighting from the other side. But he didn’t dwell on that too deeply. He went home to Grimmauld, and indulged his mother and Kreacher.
There were two empty chairs on the dining table, one something they had gotten used to and the other one a recent development, still heavy on their minds. Kreacher still made enough food for a four-man feast.
Walburga said Orion’s portrait wouldn’t arrive until late in the year.
Regulus couldn’t wait for the next week, like he promised. The next day, he found himself preparing to visit.
“Where are you off early this morning?” Walburga asked.
“To the Malfoy Manor,” Regulus said.
“The Malfoys,” she mused, “they have strayed off, haven’t they? They’re turning into blood traitors.”
“I don’t know what you mean, mum.”
“They let filth inside of their beautiful manor. That mudblood friend of yours. Don’t you think I didn’t know. I heard Lucius had taken him in, welcoming the mudblood into their home and sullying themselves in the process. I wonder how Abraxas allowed it.”
“Mum, we’ve been through this,” Regulus said wearily. “He’s a half-blood, his mother’s from the Prince line—”
“Don’t tell me he’s got you wrapped around his finger too!” Walburga’s eyes narrowed. “His mother is a blood-traitor and a whore, debasing herself and destroying her noble line for a mudblood! You see what happens if you choose mud over family? A single drop of filth is enough to taint everything!”
Regulus saw red. “Will you say this to the Dark Lord as well?” he snapped.
“What?”
“The Dark Lord,” said Regulus, “as you know, was born from a witch and a muggle father. Yet you were so enamoured with him. You read my articles of him like they were bedtime stories. And you urged me to follow him.”
“The Dark Lord is different,” Walburga paled. “He is powerful and brilliant—”
“You said he was raised in a muggle orphanage. He was poor, he worked as a clerk in Borgin and Burkes. Didn’t you say a single drop of filth is enough to taint everything? Yet here you are, placing your entire trust in a filthy mudblood.”
“How dare you talk about the Dark Lord that way!” Walburga screeched. “How dare you talk back to your mother! Where are you going? Don’t you turn your back on me!”
But Regulus was having none of it. He stalked past his mother and out of Grimmauld. He apparated to the Malfoy Manor.
If Severus noticed Regulus was irate, he didn’t mention it. “Lucius and Narcissa aren’t around,” Severus said. “Try not to destroy anything. Lucius will have my head mounted over his fireplace.”
Severus wasn’t leading him to the Malfoy’s Potions room, but instead to a bedroom, where Regulus guessed was Severus’s. Regulus was buzzing with a different kind of energy, the anger from dealing with his mother draining quickly the moment he saw Severus, after a long time apart. He could tell from Severus’s shifty gazes that he too, felt the same.
Living with the Malfoys did wonders for Severus. His skin was no longer sallow, and he wasn’t as thin as his wand no more. He stood more sure of himself as well, shoulders straightened out instead of hunched in.
“So,” Regulus said. “I’ve officially graduated from Hogwarts.”
“So I see,” Severus said.
“I can do whatever I want now.”
“No doubt about that.”
Regulus sat down on Severus’s plush bed. Some time ago, in one of their letters, Severus shared that he had a hard time sleeping on the bed because of its softness, when all he was used to was the hard latex mattress at Spinner’s End. He was staring intently at Severus, and for Severus’s part, he was trying his hardest to avert Regulus’s gaze.
“Lucius said you had news to share too,” Regulus said.
“That bloody wanker,” scowled Severus.
“Tell me.”
Severus sighed and pulled out a small potion vial from his pocket. He moved until he was standing over Regulus. He handed the vial to Regulus, their fingers brushing and lingering. The liquid inside the vial was a vivid, deep green, reminding Regulus of the emeralds that usually adorned Slytherin artefacts.
“Don’t drink that,” Severus murmured. “I managed to get a bit before handling the rest to the Dark Lord—”
“You did it,” Regulus said, awed. “You created the potion.”
Severus smiled, not one of one-corner upturned tilts, but a full one where his features turned soft. “Yes, I did.”
“Then…?”
Severus lifted his left arm and rolled his sleeve.
The image before him took Regulus’s breath away. There, across Severus’s pale skin was the Dark Lord’s Mark. Regulus was right; it was more beautiful on Severus’s skin. Regulus never thought Severus suited the colour red until now. But it had to be blood red, the colour of the Dark Mark, or none at all.
Regulus held Severus’s arm with one tanned hand and traced the Mark with the other. Regulus was broader and bulkier in all places than Severus, thanks to the Quidditch practices. Compared to him, Severus looked fragile, but Regulus knew better than that. When it comes to magical prowess, he knew Severus was leagues ahead of him.
“You’re one of us now,” breathed Regulus. “One of ours.”
“Yes.”
With the arm in his grasp, Regulus pulled Severus down into a searing kiss. Their mouths moved in a frenzy, clumsy and hungry, and everything Regulus had ever wanted. This was the reason why his brief stints with the Pureblood girls failed horribly; none of the Pureblood girls was Severus.
“I’ve been dreaming about this for so long.”
“Me too.”
They kissed before, the natural awkward fumblings of teenagers, and though it was full of emotions, it was never this intense.
Regulus licked Severus’s bottom lip, requesting access, and Severus immediately let him in. They were groaning and panting, hot, wet, tongues sliding against each other, the friction arousing him further. Capturing Severus’s tongue between his lips, he began to suck, earning a moan.
Rolling Severus until he was underneath him, Regulus continued to kiss, suck, and bite. He let Severus take in a lungful of air, attacking his neck and leaving bruises on his pulse point. The paleness of Severus’s skin was a charm on its own; all the marks Regulus was leaving stood out with a shade of deep blush.
“Your skin is so soft, Severus.”
“You’re so hard,” moaned Severus, feeling out his pecs.
Regulus rocked his hips against Severus’s, feeling the clothed outlines of their cocks rub against each other. “Yes,” he hissed. “I am.”
Severus broke their kiss angrily to shove at Regulus, getting impatient at the layers of clothes in the way. He pawed at his buttons, since Regulus was utterly useless at that area for now, and threw his shirt across the floor. If it’s possible, Regulus’s dick jumped at that.
Seeing Severus all hot and bothered like this was so captivating.
In no time, they were both naked. Not letting a single second pass by without touching each other, they fell back onto the bed, hands all over each other. Severus spread his legs, an image that would be seared in Regulus’s head forever, and he fell neatly into place between them.
There, the Mark on Severus’s left arm, blood red, his hair mussed from their fumbling, his nipples a dusky pink. He reached down to suck one, making Severus keen, while his hand pinched the other, rolling it between his fingers. He gave the same treatment to the other nipple.
“Regulus.”
“Yes, say my name like that.”
“Ah, Regulus.”
With a snap of Severus’s fingers, he conjured up lube, coating both of their cocks and closing his fist around them. He couldn’t do it successfully, so he brought his other hand to form a bigger first where they both fit, closing tight like a vice.
The contrast between Severus’s pale skin and Regulus’s sun-kissed ones was a sight to behold. Two different people, two different bodies, coming together, falling into each other, and fitting like home.
“Merlin, that feels so good, Severus. You feel so good.”
Regulus captured Severus’s lips again, swallowing Severus’s cries and he pumped their cocks with both hands. Before either of them could come, Regulus stopped Severus’s hands.
“Wanted to taste you,” reasoned Regulus, breathless.
“Bloody hell—”
He left a hot trail of bruises from his chest to his stomach, sliding off the bed for better vantage point, before reaching Severus’s cock. Severus sat up, his face and chest so flushed, looking at Regulus with eyes so dark. Regulus pumped Severus at the base, then started lapping at the head, his tongue passing over the slit. Severus’s hips jerked, and he moaned high.
“Gods, Regulus, that’s so good.”
“You taste so good.”
Regulus swallowed as much as he could before he gagged, sucking briefly and pressing the flat of his tongue on the underside of Severus’s cock. He repeated the motion again and again, fucking Severus’s cock in his mouth, his hand pumping him at the base.
One day he would take Severus up to the back of his throat.
When Severus came, he looked so beautiful. His eyes were closed and his mouth was open, panting and crying out Regulus’s name, face awashed in pleasure. Regulus swallowed every drop, loving the bitter taste of Severus on his tongue.
It took a few moments for Severus to come down, and when he did, he gave a sultry smile. “Your turn.”
He pushed Regulus off him and up against the headboard, and Severus positioned between his legs, his arse high up in the air. Using his still-slicked fist, he pumped Regulus at the base, swallowing the head, teasing it first and lapping at the leaking slit. Severus took his time with Regulus, languid after he came, and almost drove him mad.
Regulus hissed, resisting the urge to thrust against Severus.
There was a glint in Severus’s black eyes.
Oh—
Regulus tangled his hands in Severus’s hair. Slowly at first, he thrust shallowly into Severus’s mouth. Like Regulus, he also couldn’t swallow him down full, but he had much better control of his gag reflex than Regulus. Severus sucked harder, his tongue pressing flat against his glans. It was more than Regulus could take, and he came hard inside Severus's mouth.
“Want your dick in me someday,” Severus murmured, muzzling against Regulus’s neck.
Regulus dick twitched. Someday indeed.
Regulus traced the Mark on Severus’s arm lovingly. Severus sighed in contentment, his breathing slowing until he fell asleep in Regulus’s arms.
…
12.
The Dark Lord had summoned all of his inner circle. Everyone fell neatly into their respective places, filling the Lestrange Manor’s ballroom with lines of hooded and masked figures.
In the first row, the sixth from the right, there was an empty space.
“Regulus Black has not been answering my summons.”
The Dark Lord’s voice was soft, yet it was heard loud and clear in all corners of the room. It held a powerful current underneath. He stood in front of the line, facing his followers, his eyes an intense blaze of red.
“He could have been captured.” There was a chorus of indignation among the ranks. “Or,” continued Lord Voldemort. “he could have defected.”
The chorus fell silent.
“Anyone who has seen or heard Regulus in the past months outside of Death Eater gatherings, speak up. Speak up now!”
“My Lord,” Lucius spoke up, “We met in September, when Dumbledore had appeared in the Ministry. I aided in giving him access to the levels where Dumbledore had visited.”
"My Lord," Severus spoke up next. "We corresponded through letters. He revealed to me that Dumbledore might have figured out he was being spied on. His last letter to me was from October. He has not written a letter to me since."
Murmurs broke out among the Death Eaters.
"I see," Voldemort said. "Thank you, Lucius, Severus. He has warned me that as well. I tasked him to spy on Dumbledore, yes. He was meant to come back to me every so often for updates, but he had not answered my summons this November."
“If I may, Master,” Bellatrix's voice rang out to the room, “lately we haven’t caught sight of Dumbledore during our village raids, when he was the first to arrive at every scene. He failed to show up at Leweston Village, only sending in his minions, to fend us off.”
Lord Voldemort was silent for a moment. He drifted through the polished marble tiles of the Lestrange Manor, passing by each hooded figure. Everyone waited in bated breath.
“We will never know for certain what has become of our dear companion Regulus,” the Dark Lord said. “Indeed, it would be a pity if he was captured by Dumbledore. But if it turns out that he had defected and betrayed me, kill him.”
“Yes, my Lord,” came the chorus.
“Severus,” the Dark Lord stopped in front of him.
“My Lord,” murmured Severus, bowing.
“You wanted to get into the field, am I correct?” Voldemort hooked a long bony finger under the chin of his mask, almost brushing his jaw. “Now may be the time. You shall replace the role that Regulus left behind. I need someone to spy on Dumbledore, and you will do whatever it takes. I trust that you do not follow the fate of the one before you.”
There was no hint of grief in the Dark Lord’s voice.
“Yes, my Lord. Thank you.”
“Forget about your previous task. Right now it is more important to know every move Dumbledore makes.”
“I understand my Lord. I will not let you down.”
…
5.
Regulus was pacing back and forth. It had been hours now since he had volunteered Kreacher to the Dark Lord for an important task for him. Kreacher had never stayed away from Grimmauld place for long periods of time; the poor creature must have been anxious and afraid and begging to come home at this point.
The Dark Lord wasn’t a patient man, and Regulus feared what he might do to Kreacher if he lost patience with the elf.
Half an hour passed and he heard a pop in the kitchen.
“Kreacher!” Regulus’s excitement turned to horror once he saw the state Kreacher was in. “Kreacher!”
Regulus caught Kreacher before he collapsed to the floor. The house elf was writhing in pain, his skin had turned a sick shade of grey.
“Water!” Kreacher sobbed. “Water!”
Taking a goblet from one of the kitchen cabinets, Regulus hastily filled water from the tap. Kreacher downed it in one go, and Regulus had to refill it again and again.
“Kreacher, what happened to you?” Regulus asked.
“Terrible things!” Kreacher continued to sob. “Kreacher drank a potion and saw terrible things!”
A potion? The Dark Lord made Kreacher drink a potion that made the elf see terrible things?
“What terrible things, Kreacher?”
The sobs turned to wails, and Regulus didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t seen Kreacher in this anguished state ever, and it made him distressed. Severus popped in his mind; he would know what to do.
“Kreacher, stay here, I’ll get help.”
“Master Regulus, please don’t leave Kreacher alone!”
“Kreacher, you stay here.” Regulus commanded, having no choice when the house elf clung tightly to his robes, “I will get help. I will be back immediately.”
He apparated to the Malfoy Manor. Their house elf let him in, though he was afraid to knock on the door to Severus’s bedroom. Regulus barged right in, much to the house elf’s protests.
“What’s going on?” Severus groused, his hair mussed from sleep, “Regulus?”
“Come quick,” Regulus said urgently, “Kreacher, something happened to him!”
There was the unmistakable desperation in Regulus’s voice, and Severus sprung from the bed, pyjamas and all. Together, they ran out of the Manor to the apparition spot, where they intertwined their fingers and Regulus side-along apparated them back to Grimmauld.
Kreacher was right where Regulus left him, still writhing and wailing on the ground, his skin a shade greyer now.
“What happened to him?” Severus asked, crouching down to touch the elf.
“He said the Dark Lord made him drink a potion that made him see terrible things—”
“The Dark Lord? Why was Kreacher with him?”
“He said he required an elf for something important, and I volunteered Kreacher.”
“Kreacher,” said Severus over the elf’s wails. “Tell us what happened, from the beginning.”
“A mudblood—talking to Kreacher—” Kreacher gasped indignantly.
“Don’t call him that!” Regulus pleaded. “Kreacher, answer him!”
Kreacher sobbed brokenly. Interspersed with wails and moans, he began to narrate everything: the Dark Lord had brought him into a cave, then to a cavern within the cave, then to a great black lake within the cavern. There was a boat, which carried them to an island in the middle of the lake. On the island, there was a basin full of potion, a rich verdant colour, and the Dark Lord ordered Kreacher to drink it, continue drinking it, as he filled the basin with more potion.
The potion made Kreacher’s insides burn, made him see terrible things, and made him so so thirsty. The Dark Lord only laughed at Kreacher’s suffering, at Kreacher’s pain. When the basin was finally empty, the Dark Lord dropped a locket into the empty basin, a locket unlike any other that whispered dark things, filled the basin with more potion and then sailed away, abandoning Kreacher. Kreacher tried to drink water from the lake, but dead hands came out of the water and tried to drag him down.
And then Kreacher came back to Master Regulus.
Regulus and Severus were stunned into silence; there was much information to take in. Regulus felt despair. Severus looked pale.
“Dead hands? Could he mean… inferi?” Regulus asked.
“Most likely,” Severus nodded, face white.
“As for the potion…”
Severus stiffened beside him, his breath hitching. He dropped his gaze and looked away.
It clicked inside Regulus’s head. He remembered the potion in the little vial that Severus had shown him before, a deep emerald colour. Something broke inside him.
“It was your potion, wasn’t it?”
Regulus seized Severus by his pyjamas and slammed him into a wall. Severus’s breath was knocked out of him, and he stared wide-eyed at Regulus. He looked so small, cowered against the wall while Regulus’s bulk loomed over him.
“Look at what your invention has done!” Regulus growled. He was shaking. “Did you know about this?”
“No, I didn’t!” Severus gasped. “He only asked me to create the potion, but I didn’t know what it was for! I didn’t know where he would use it—”
Enraged, Regulus took his wand from his pocket and aimed it at Severus. The wand glowed with magical intent, the name of the unforgivable curse swirling in Regulus’s mind. Severus’s black eyes widened in fear, those pretty black eyes he yearned for so long, and Regulus could see himself in those depths. He looked deranged and dangerous, his face twisted into someone he didn’t recognize.
He didn’t know, he didn’t know. A voice of reason chanted at the back of his mind, but it was hard to think straight when Kreacher, his beloved house elf, was suffering on the floor. All he saw was what Severus’s invention had done to Regulus.
Moreover, he couldn’t believe why the Dark Lord had done this. What for? Didn’t he know how important the house elf was to Regulus? He was so lost in thought that he barely registered Severus’s pleas.
“...make an antidote!” Severus said. “We don’t have much time! The potion—it’s also a poison—”
That snapped Regulus back to reality. He lowered his wand and slowly let Severus go.
“How long will it take to make the antidote?” Regulus asked.
“I can have a prototype by tomorrow night,” said Severus. He didn't look at Regulus.
All of his anger evaporated in an instant. After the fire of anger came the wave of shame and guilt.
“Is there anything you need—” Regulus reached out to touch Severus but he stepped away.
“No, I have all I need at the Manor. Give him calming draughts and dreamless sleep for now.”
Then Severus apparated away.
Regulus swayed on his feet. He thought the ground was shaking from underneath him, but it wasn’t. Everything he believed in, everything he thought was the right choice, crumbling before his very eyes.
…
13.
In the mornings, Severus would hunt for Dumbledore’s whereabouts. It wasn’t easy; sometimes the old man was hot on the heels of other Death Eaters that were plotting for another attack, sometimes he was apparating from coast to coast, and sometimes he was just actively luring Severus into a trap.
Severus had half a mind to walk in on one.
In the evenings, he’d have dinner with the Malfoys, then feign headaches or fatigue, and retreat to his bedroom. After, he’d sneak out and apparate to Spinner’s end, where Regulus was waiting for him.
Bubbling in his mother’s old cauldron was a thick and shimmery potion with a colour of deep gold. A culmination of months of research and work, and the resolution of the previous year's hard work. He filled a glass full of it; it was the most beautiful potion Severus had ever brewed, if he ever decided to care about such vanity.
“Regulus, wake up,” Severus murmured gently.
Glassy-eyed and weary, Regulus obeyed. Severus’s old clothes almost hang loose on him, his face looking sunken. By now, he already knew to obey and drink whatever potion Severus would give him.
The potion spilled gracefully into Regulus’s white lips. As Regulus drank, Severus pointed his wand to the other man’s chest and began to whisper incantations. Shivering, Regulus continued drinking from the clear glass, until not a single drop has left. Catching him before he fell, Severus lowered Regulus back unto the bed, feeling Regulus grow warmer and warmer.
Severus could see it happen in slow motion: the olive colour returning to Regulus's skin, the rising and falling of his chest stronger now, the life rushing back into his body.
Regulus opened his eyes, grey and clear.
“Severus,” he breathed.
“That was unbelievably foolish of you,” Severus huffed.
“You saved me.”
Cupping Regulus’s face, still sunken, but no less handsome, Severus teared up. “Of course I did.”
Regulus enveloped Severus in a hug, and together they cried. Severus relished in the strength that returned to Regulus, held tight and firm inside his arms.
“How did you save me?” Regulus whispered against his hair.
“I didn’t act alone,” Severus said, breathless. “Kreacher assisted me.”
“I told him not to tell anyone—”
“Kreacher owed me a favour beforehand,” Severus said. “I ordered him to alert me if you do something incredibly foolish, like going to the cave and attempting to get the locket.” He poked at Regulus’s bony ribs.
“You think you know me so well, do you?” Regulus breathed, awed, his heart beating steady in his chest.
“I do,” Severus smoothed his hand over his beating heart. Thump. Thump. Thump. He sobbed. “You know I do.”
…
6.
Through Severus’s antidotes and Regulus’s careful care and attention, Kreacher’s health improved. Bit by bit, his skin returned to its natural colour, and the terrible things stopped haunting his every waking moment. Lurking in the shadows, the terrible things were still there though, and many times Regulus witnessed Kreacher screaming in his sleep, but the worst of it was over.
Severus was dedicated to the task of perfecting the antidote, and Kreacher must have sensed it, because he was much nicer to the man now. Kreacher would obediently drink the potion brewed, golden in colour, by Severus, and shiver at the soothing and calming effects it had on him.
"Kreacher is most thankful to sir Severus for healing Kreacher, sir," he said tearfully. "If there's anything Kreacher can do for sir Severus, Kreacher will be honoured." Severus gave him a small smile.
Later on, Severus confessed, "The only reason he survived the poison was because there were ingredients in the potion that house elves are naturally resistant to."
“So, if someone, a person, had drunk the potion, they'd be dead by now,” surmised Regulus.
Severus nodded. “I have a theory in Light, but I have no means to test it. Perhaps I should continue delving more into it in the meantime.”
They left it at that. When Regulus reached for Severus this time around, he didn’t evade. They fell into each other, all lips, skin, heat, and passion, until the weight of the world seemed so far away.
For weeks, something was creeping at the back of Regulus’s mind, until it slowly consumed him in obsession.
It followed him everywhere, even when he’s deep in espionnage, tailing Dumbledore around until he lost his leads on the slippery old man, just when he was on the brink of discovering Dumbledore’s army’s headquarters, and extracting information of him wherever he could find. Many times Regulus almost slipped, falling for the traps Dumbledore set up in an effort to capture him. Dumbledore knew he was being followed, but Regulus’s anti-recognition and anti-detection charms kept him safe from the old man’s clutches for now.
Whenever he was summoned by Lord Voldemort, he had to maintain a good facade. To keep the false narrative going, Regulus asked Lord Voldemort what became of Kreacher. The Dark Lord merely smiled and said, “Put to good use.”
It took all of Regulus’s self-control and self-preservation to occlude his seething anger.
What was in that locket that the Dark Lord hidden away, that had him thinking Kreacher’s life was disposable in trying to test out his defences?
Monetary value wouldn’t make sense in the slightest; the Dark Lord never cared for money.
The Dark Lord cared about power, power that Regulus only realised too late had no room for anyone else other than himself. Then, that would mean the locket held extraordinary powers, for it to warrant extreme means of protection, but why would Lord Voldemort hide away such a thing? Shouldn’t he use the locket to his advantage rather than hide it elsewhere? No, that wouldn’t make sense.
Perhaps it was personal sentimentality.
The protection itself was baffling, the cave, cavern, the black lake surrounding the island, the basin filled with potion—Severus’s emerald potion—and the army of the undead. It was incredibly overkill, was it not? It was as if Voldemort’s life depended on the safety and protection of the locket.
Some nights Regulus would lose himself to his thoughts and theories, passing by countless nights without sleeping. Other nights Regulus would spend warming Severus's bed, chasing the world away against Severus’s body, the twin Marks on their left arms amounting to nothing but harmless ink on their skins in these moments.
“Stop that,” murmured Severus. “I know what you’re thinking.”
Regulus looked over at Severus.
“I want to know what was in that locket for him to set up defences like that,” Regulus said. “I want to know what about that locket was so important that the Dark Lord thought Kreacher’s life was disposable, trying to test out his defences.”
“That curiosity will get you killed. You know the Dark Lord doesn’t like anyone poking their nose at his personal business. It’s why he was raving on and on about Dumbledore, because he feared the old man was on to him.”
“I’ve been reading—”
“Merlin’s sake, Regulus!” Severus shot up from the bed, naked, love bites scattering his pale skin, searching for his discarded pyjamas. “Don’t—”
“Tell me you wouldn’t have done what I did,” Regulus challenged. “Tell me that when Voldemort comes after Lucius, Narcissa, hells, even that Gryffindor girl of yours, you will sit back and do nothing.”
At the mention of the Gryffindor girl, Severus's expression turned livid.
“Don’t bring her into this!” Severus hissed. “Don't bring anyone else into this! Lily and I—we’re not—not anymore—”
"You will not have a choice, once Voldemort targets someone you love, decides their life is no longer important, it's over. He demands and he takes, he doesn’t feel any remorse, and there's nothing that can stop him."
“And you think we can stop him?”
“If we get to the bottom of what was in that locket, then yes, we can,” Regulus had never been more sure in his entire life. “I know we can.”
Severus’s expression shuttered, and he asked Regulus to leave.
One particular night, he stared at the collage of photos and articles of the Dark Lord that he’d accumulated over the years. He managed to get older ones too, all thanks to Walburga and the newspapers she managed to preserve when she was young, dating back to before he was born. There was a faded still-photo of Lord Voldemort, then Tom Riddle, standing in the cramped shop of Borgin and Burkes.
Wait!
Regulus took a closer look at the old photo. Tom Riddle was an incredibly handsome man, all sharp edges and angular features. Voldemort was still handsome, even today, but he looked vastly different compared to his younger self, and it looked beyond the work of natural ageing, unless it was a normal part of ageing to have the nose retreat back into the skull.
Regulus removed the collage hanging from his wall and dismantled it, taking the pictures and lining them in a chronological order based on Voldemort’s age. Regulus could see it clearly: as the years went by, Voldemort’s face shifted and morphed into something else, his features slowly becoming unrecognisable and muddled, looking less human and more reptilian.
There were many explanations for this, and all of them point to the corruption on the body caused by the Dark Arts.
But in order to achieve that level of corruption, there must be a tampering of the soul, and breaking the deepest laws of magic.
Regulus’s heart was thudding wildly, his eyes jumping from one photo to the next, unnerved by the implications before him. His surface knowledge wasn’t enough, and he had to research more about this.
He thought of Severus. It was an instinct, at this point, to think of Severus whenever he stumbled upon uncharted Dark Arts practices. He thought of the times they’d study dark and ancient tomes together. There was no one else Regulus wanted by his side, discovering the secrets of Dark magic with.
But this time, Regulus would be venturing to the most depraved form of the Dark arts, and he didn’t know if he would come back from it whole and uncorrupted. He didn’t want it to happen to Severus.
…
14.
“Is it time?” Severus asked.
“It is time.”
“You sure this plan of yours will work?”
“No,” Regulus grinned, bright-eyed and dimples showing, “but I have you by my side.”
“Merlin, help us. We are going to die.”
“We will not.”
Dumbledore had set up another trap for them, this time without an audience. He had made an illusion of himself in the middle of a thick forest, looking like he was on his way discreetly, taking the road less travelled, to one of the Giant’s tribes for a dialogue, another attempt to get them to break off from the Dark Lord.
Regulus and Severus apparated to the forest, wands out and at the ready, covering each other’s backs. An atmosphere of tension was building around them, threatening to burst any moment now. A flash of hot white light cracked through the air, knocking them both off their feet and their wands flying out of their grasps.
Albus Dumbledore stood in the clearing.
“Don’t kill us!” Severus said.
“That was not my intention,” he said. “What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?”
“No message,” Severus said, “we are here on our own accounts.”
Dumbledore flicked his wand, and pure utter silence befell on them. Not a single rustle or whisper of leaves could be heard.
“Ah, then what do you want from me?”
Regulus stepped forward. His sleeves were rolled up, the Dark Mark looking like a faded pink thing on his skin, less menacing. He dangled the Slytherin locket in front of him.
“Have you heard about Horcruxes?” Regulus asked.
A surprised look passed over Dumbledore’s face, then a little twinkle emerged from one of Dumbledore’s eyes.
…
7.
The time has come. Regulus was as ready as he would ever be.
He felt unbalanced, unmoored, by the things he had learned. There was no going back. Where the edge of human depravity was found, Voldemort had made it into his personal playground.
Regulus came to Kreacher and asked him to bring him to the cave where Voldemort had taken him.
And so, Kreacher did.
Voldemort’s defences were superb and well-executed. Kreacher led him towards the island with the basin filled with the emerald potion. If there was any comfort to be had that night, deep within the cavern, it was knowing that it would be Severus’s invention he’d be drinking.
Regulus pulled a gold locket from his pocket. He faced Kreacher.
“Kreacher, I want you to take this and switch the lockets when the basin is empty,” Regulus ordered, invoking the house elf’s highest order. “Then, you will leave this cave without me and go home. You will not tell anyone about this: not to mum and not to Severus. Once you arrive home, destroy his locket. Do you understand me?”
Kreacher, with tears in his face, nodded. Regulus conjured a cup, scooped a cup full of potion—Severus's emerald potion—and drank.