Chapter Text
To absolutely no one’s surprise, Snape was completely thick when it came flying. Regulus supposed it made sense. It must be hard to concentrate on steering a broom when you already had such a massive stick up your ass.
Somehow, Snape had got it into his greasy head to try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team this year. He wanted to be a chaser. Why, Regulus had no idea. Watching him careen across the field, barely succeeding in avoiding the wooden poles that lined the stands, it was clear to anyone with eyes that Snape would much sooner put himself through one of the goal hoops than succeed in getting the quaffle there.
Aside from Snape, there were a few promising recruits. One third year girl looked like she could be a good replacement for the beater that had graduated last year, and there were a few boys that seemed fast enough to be decent chasers. Jesup, their captain, made everyone on the team try out each year, but it was mostly a formality. He forced them to do a few laps and run through some plays, but called it quits pretty early. It was shaping up to be a blustery day, and no one seemed to want to spend more time on the pitch than they needed to. Regulus could see Cerci suppress a shiver as they touched down on the grass.
She poked Regulus in the side, and he tried not to stiffen. Cerci was bright and loud and overflowing. She seemed too big for any room she walked into, always laughing or joking or standing on a chair to make some kind of statement. She had worn bright pink roller blades to get to class for about a year before they had been confiscated by Slughorn. She was everything that Regulus was not, and though he did have a strange amount of affection for her, she had absolutely no idea about boundaries. For her sake, he tried not to mind when she prodded at him or bumped him in the halls or put her feet across his legs in the common room. You’re too tightly wound, she had told him one night as they walked back from the quidditch pitch, If I poked you, you would fall right over like a plank of wood. You need to lighten up. He had pointed out that she did poke him, all the time, and he somehow managed to stay upright despite it.
She leaned toward him, dark hair escaping in rivulets across her forehead, “Think we can bribe the house elves into giving us some hot chocolate after this? I'm freezing!”
“We can try,” Regulus said, doubtfully. The house elves really didn't seem to like him.
After a quick speech from Jesup, during which Snape and the other hopefuls looked anxious and the rest of the team looked woefully bored, they were released. They trudged back towards the locker rooms to change out of their kits. Cerci walked backwards, chatting with Regulus about the book she was reading. He nodded along, trying to stifle a laugh when Snape tripped on his broom a few paces ahead of them.
“He really is pretty useless, isn't he?” He whispered to Cerci. She looked over her shoulder at Snape, who was brushing grass from his pants.
She hit Regulus’ arm in reprimand, but giggled a bit when Snape stumbled again, this time tripping on the edge of his uniform. He whipped around at the sound, face turning a color Regulus has previously only ever seen on tomatoes.
“What are you laughing at?” He demanded, clearly embarrassed by his own clumsiness.
“You, Severus,” Regulus called, “As always.”
Snape sputtered for a moment before spitting out, “At least I didn't have to rely on my family name to get a spot on the team.”
Regulus knew he should let it drop. Snape was clumsy, and annoying, but he was generally harmless. Most of the time, Regulus just felt bad for him. Sure, he was a bit of a git, but he paid for it more than enough at the hands of Sirius and his friends. Regulus didn’t really know what their little rivalry was about, but he didn't really care. Snape was miserable enough on his own. Regulus didn’t often feel the need to add insult to injury.
But the mention of his family name prickled along his skin, raising the fine hairs on his arms and putting a sour taste in his mouth.
“Believe it or not,” Regulus spat, “Some of us don't have to resort to cheating and blackmail to get what we want. Some of us just have the skill.”
He let his shoulder bump harshly into Snape’s as he walked by.
Snape clearly didn't get the message. He gripped Regulus’ arm, forcing him to turn around. Up close, Regulus could see beads of sweat gathering on Snape’s brow. He must really want to be on the team. For some reason.
Over the other boy’s shoulder, the Gryffindor players were starting to filter onto the field for their tryouts. Their gold and red kits were stark against the colorless sky, and Regulus could hear shouts of laughter above the low whistle of the wind. It was hard to miss his brother in the crowd. Ever the center of attention, he shot up from the grass and immediately launched into a series of loops and twists that would give their mother a heart attack. Show off.
Where there was Sirius, there was always James. Even from across the field, you could tell he was grinning as he lifted off in pursuit of his best friend. He had been made Captain this year, and for good reason. Though the Gryffindor season had been off to a rocky start so far, it was clear that James was an incredible flier. He was not as flashy or brash as Sirius, but he had a good head for strategy and teamwork. When he flew, there was a grace about him that was in contrast with his usual, stumbling lankiness. Even in the chaos of a game, he commanded the field. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. It was annoying beyond belief.
“I have the skill,” Severus gritted through his teeth, bringing Regulus’ attention back from the center of the field. Across the pitch, James let out a joyful shout as he chased Sirius around a goalpost.
“Please,” Regulus said, meeting Snape’s eyes, “Even Potter could fly laps around you.”
There were a few laughs from the Slytherin team members who had caught up with them, but Snape’s eyes were cold. His face had somehow turned even redder, and he looked ready to throttle Regulus on the spot.
It has been a mistake to bring up James. If there was anyone at this school that Snape hated more than Sirius, it was James Potter. Regulus could understand it. James was like a magnet, pulling people and attention towards himself without even trying. Sirius might have been the loudest of his friends, but it was clear that James was the center of the group. Things just seemed to revolve around him wherever he went. Head Boy. Quidditch Captain. Gryffindor’s Golden Boy. He was easy to hate.
“ You ,” Snape had gone quiet, which was much more intimidating than the wheedling, red-faced boy Regulus had been faced with only seconds before. Regulus had clearly hit a nerve, “You and your stupid brother and his stupid friends. You think you’re so important, that people are just going to lay down in front of you and give you whatever you want. But you’re wrong. You’re wrong.”
Suddenly, he brushed past Regulus and disappeared into the locker rooms.
“The fuck was that about?” Cerci appeared at his side.
“I have no idea,” Regulus replied. Despite the fact that Snape had practically been whispering, Regulus felt his strange words linger in the crisp air. Even after changing into his jeans and sweater, and being dragged along by Cerci in her pursuit of hot chocolate, something about Snape’s unnerving quietness set him ill at ease. It was the kind of stillness he often saw in his mother, the kind that told him she was truly upset.
Maybe Severus was not quite as harmless as he seemed.
Needless to say, Snape didn’t make the team. A fact he clearly blamed Regulus for, if his glares across the dining hall table were any indication. Regulus tried to ignore it, instead pretending to focus on the conversation happening around him.
“Has anyone ever told you you're supposed to chew your food before you swallow it?” Barty asked sarcastically.
Evan tried to say something, but it was muffled by the alarming amount of potatoes he had shoved into his open mouth. Barty snorted, turning to Regulus, “What a cretin.”
Regulus nodded, but his attention was still on Snape. It looked like the older boy was trying to prove that looks really could kill.
“What's with him?” Barty asked, following Regulus’ gaze down the table. “He looks like he swallowed a lemon.”
“He always looks like that,” Evan was much more understandable now that he’d managed to swallow some of his food.
“You're right. He looks like he's swallowed a lemon even more than he usually does. What did you do to him?”
This last question was directed at Regulus.
“What makes you think I did anything to him?” Regulus asked, turning back to his friends.
“Oh I don't know,” Barty replied, pushing his greens around with his fork, “Maybe the fact that he seems like he's about to pop a blood vessel every time he looks this way.”
“I didn’t do anything to him. He’s just throwing a hissy fit because he didn't make the team.”
“Right,” Barty didn’t sound convinced. Evan just shrugged, setting back to work on his boiled potatoes.
Snape’s weird behavior continued throughout the week. At first, he mostly just glared at him across classrooms or hallways. But eventually, things took a turn for the strange. His looks became less venomous, and more… calculating. Like he was waiting for something. Regulus was pretty sure he saw Snape smile at him in potions. Almost like he was trying to be friendly.
Regulus, naturally, was highly suspicious of this. Snape wouldn’t know ‘friendly’ if it hit him over the head with a broomstick.
“I wonder what he’s up to” Barty mused at their next Slug Club gathering, after Snape made another awkward attempt at a smile across the table. This week, Slughorn was hosting Slug Club in one of the dungeon classrooms for a kind of early holiday party. Everyone was allowed to bring a guest, and was forced to wear formal attire. Slughorn had donned ugly, green velvet dress robes, but pretty much everyone else has opted for suits and dresses. The classroom was decked out with glittering bits of tinsel that snaked slowly around the stone columns and falling pieces of snow that tasted like sugar when they landed on your tongue. Or at least, Barty said they did. Regulus hadn’t tried.
They had attempted to invite Evan, but he’d simply laughed and shook his head. Why would I want to spend my Friday night trying to make conversation with that stuck up, pretentious twat and his mindless zombie followers? I’d rather strangle myself with one of his fancy ties. No offense.
Regulus didn’t really blame him. Barty seemed to enjoy Slug Club, or at least enjoy the fancy dinners and bottomless drinks. Regulus, though, found it all a bit uncomfortable. Slughorn might be cheerful and smiley most of the time, but it did little to hide the slimy greed with which he looked at them all. He reminded Regulus of the distant Blacks that would gather in London for the holidays, all stuffy manners and fake niceties.
Dinner had been a long, painful affair. Regulus sat between Barty and Mary McDonald, who was Lily’s guest. Mary, he knew, had some kind of history with his brother. She barely spoke to him all evening, save for when she asked him to pass the salt and pepper. Barty, on his opposite side, kept trying to make eyes at her. She ignored him too.
Lily, on Mary’s other side, had attempted some small talk with Regulus, but gave up pretty early on. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Lily - she seemed nice enough, plus she was pretty wicked on the Quidditch pitch. But whenever he looked at her, he could only see her pale hand winding through James’ hair, his arm around her waist, them smiling at each other sweetly in the hallways. She was undeniably beautiful, with her light green eyes, porcelain skin and striking orange hair. Her dark dress draped elegantly off her frame, and her shoulders shook delicately as she laughed at something Slughorn said. It made Regulus want to hurl.
He knew his obsession with James Potter was childish, something he desperately needed to outgrow. But, even though James and Lily had split up sometime during the summer, the sight of her still set something sharp and jealous running underneath his skin.
Plus, she was friends with his brother. Things had been better between him and Sirius recently. Not perfect, not even necessarily good, but better. Still, he didn't make a habit of fraternizing with his brother's friends. It was easier if their lives were as separate as they could be while at school.
After dinner, Barty opted to hang around one of the enchanted crystal punch bowls that lined the room. They changed color every few minutes, from blue to silver to a dark purple. Little bubbles floated up to the surface, and made a musical noise when they burst at the top. Regulus wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a fish swimming around the bottom when Barty had dipped his glass into it.
After draining a few of these glasses, Barty had roped Regulus into making droll conversation with Olive Clearlake, a pretty Ravenclaw with loose, blonde ringlets. Her slightly sour-faced guest looked as bored as Regulus felt. Regulus was just debating the merits of drowning himself in the punch bowl rather than listen to Barty’s simpering attempts at flirting when Snape sidled up in front of him. Mulciber, the thickset bully of a boy that Snape had invited as his guest, hovered behind him, arms crossed. Regulus stiffened.
“Regulus,” He said it like it took all his willpower to push past his teeth. His face contorted strangely. After a moment, Regulus realized he was attempting a smile.
“Yes?” He answered warily. Beside him, Barty pushed himself off the podium he had been leaning against, clearly intrigued by this development.
“I wanted to… ,” He coughed, and his smile looked more like a toothy grimace, “apologize for my behavior the other day. I overreacted.”
“Overreacted,” Regulus repeated dumbly.
“Yes, overreacted. At tryouts.” When Regulus still didn’t respond, he spoke again, “I really think it would be better if you and I were on amicable terms. Seeing as we’re in Slug Club and all.”
Regulus wasn't sure what to make of this sudden turn of events.
“I suppose,” He said, noncommittally. Snape’s grin widened, showing his canines.
“Splendid. Well, then, a toast.” He shoved a flute of bubbling elf-wine into Regulus’ hand and clinked it with his own before the other boy could react, “To house pride.”
Behind him, Mulciber echoed the toast and downed his glass. Snape took a small sip, looking expectantly at Regulus. It wasn’t clear what this whole thing was about, but Regulus agreed. Frankly, having Severus constantly breathing down his neck was getting a bit tiring. It would be easier if whatever had gotten into Snape recently was quietly dissolved. If this is what it took, so be it. After a tense moment, he took a gulp of the wine before nodding sharply at the older boy. Snape looked relieved, and after a moment he spun around and wandered with Mulciber back to the center of the room.
Barty burst into a fit of laughter as soon as their backs were turned.
“Looks like you have an admirer, Regulus,” He managed between laughs, “Merlin, that kid is weird.”
Regulus couldn't help but agree, the whole interaction had certainly been strange. He tried to put it out of his mind while Barty launched back into conversation with the Ravenclaw girls. The blonde laughed a high, tinkling laugh, but her poor friend looked unamused. Regulus didn’t blame her, Barty was abhorrent when it came to flirting.
The elf wine Snape had given him was light and sweet, unlike the sickly, overpowering flavor of the punch Barty was nursing. It tasted of amber and spices; a flat, rich taste that was surprisingly pleasant. The sweetness was a bit much though, and soon he grew tired of listening to Barty dig himself into a deeper and deeper hole as he tried to impress Olive.
“Barty,” He nudged his friend, “I’m going. Headache.”
Barty looked at him absently and nodded, waving him away. Regulus often leaned on the headache excuse, but it tended to work. And anyway, it wasn’t a lie. He felt suddenly a bit drowsy, and there was a steady pressure building up between his eyebrows. Probably a result of the five course dessert Slughorn had subjected them to. Sugar didn’t tend to agree with Regulus. Sirius teased him about it relentlessly when they were younger. It's because you’re so bitter.
He said a quick goodbye to Slughorn, and nodded when Lily waved at him, before slipping behind a heavy curtain and out into the hallway. The quiet felt thick and heavy after the cacophony of voices at the party, but it was a welcome reprieve. His head really was beginning to hurt. At least he was already in the dungeons, not far from the dorms. His mind wandered as he climbed a flight of stairs, looking out the deep-set windows to see that snow was falling from the purplish night sky. It was cold in the corridor, and he found himself hoping that the weather would clear before the weekend. They had a game on Sunday, against Gryffindor. It would be a shame if it got canceled, he always looked forward to beating his brother on the pitch. And James… James would be there too. Unbidden, an image of him materialized in Regulus’ mind. Bright and grinning against the snowy sky, hair tousled by wind as he raced across the field. Bold and warm and always larger than life. He hated James sometimes, he really did. But always, there was another feeling underneath it. Sometimes, Regulus wondered if anyone could look at him and feel anything other than a strange sense of awe. He shook his head, as if trying to dispel the image. It was a stupid thing to think, but his brain felt weirdly muddled, as if he was hearing his thoughts from underwater. Perhaps the elf-wine was stronger than he’d realized.
He hurried along to the Slytherin dorms, walking briskly through the common area and up the stairs to his room. Evan was there already, playing some sort of game with levitating sticks and glowing circles of light. He looked up when Regulus came in.
“Where’s Barty?” He asked as Regulus shut the door.
“Trying to pick up Clearlake. Badly.”
“Ah,” Evan said darkly, returning his attention to his game. “You look a bit peaky, party that bad?”
Regulus made a noncommittal noise, changing out of his stuffy formal shirt sleeves into a sleeping shirt. He felt a bit peaky. It had to be the wine. His mind seemed addled by that same taste of cardamom and amber; a dark, rich sensation that sent his thoughts spinning away from him. Suddenly, he was reminded of Lily, sitting at the dinner table. Her long, elegant fingers against a glass of dark liquid. A small freckle on the right side of her cheek. The elegant slope of her collarbone under her silk dress. It filled him with a stab of jealousy so strong he had to put out his hand to steady himself on the bed.
“Lily was there.” He heard himself say, voice cold.
“Well, yeah I expect she was. She’s in the club.” Evan responded. Of course she was. It had been a strange thing to say. He tried to get a handle on his brain, but the thought of her continued to fill him with a bout of hard-edged rage. “You sure you’re alright? You’re going all pale.”
“Headache.” He gritted out, trying not to picture Lily’s pale hands against dark skin. Or her laugh when lips brushed against the freckle on her cheek. What was happening to him? The burst of emotion springing from his chest felt almost alive, like something inside was desperate to get out.
“Maybe you should go to bed, Reg, you look tired.” Evan seemed concerned, so Regulus managed to nod at him. He went through the motions of preparing for bed and drew the curtains around himself, trying to ignore the sensation that someone had thrown his intestines into a giant blender. He closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his palms against them, but it was no use. The smell of the elf-wine was everywhere; on his hands, his sheets, in the air. It fogged up his thoughts and put an overwhelming, sickly feeling of warmth in his stomach. He felt a weak laugh bubbling up his throat when he realized what the smell was. . Memories flashed behind his eyelids. James, with his arm around Sirius, laughing as they stumbled through the halls. James, early in the morning, yawning across the coffee table in a soft cotton shirt. James, who always somehow smelled like cloves and warm laundry and amber. Regulus’ heart was racing. He could feel his pulse in his teeth. With each beat, his blood seemed to turn to electric, fizzing as it passed beneath his skin. Something was seriously wrong. His whole body tingled and buzzed, and the headache behind his eyes got more and more intense, until he felt himself slip down into a deep, sifting darkness.
Regulus couldn’t tell if he was dreaming or awake. Things felt a bit floaty, and time kept slipping disjointedly. It was night, he knew that much, and he was wandering around a castle hallway. Moonlight filtered in from the high, arched windows, bouncing off the stone columns. Everything looked silvery, fluid, like the castle was dancing. Or like it was underwater. I’m underwater, he thought, hearing his own laugh float in the air around him. He stumbled on a stone step, and started climbing the stairs before him.
There was something he was doing. It was important. He felt this distantly, a spare thought echoing around in his foggy mind. There was something wrong inside him. Like someone had cut a jagged hole in his chest, and ripped out what was inside. Sirius had done that to one of his stuffed animals, once. Stabbed it with scissors and pulled out all the fluff inside so he could hide money in it. Regulus had watched, from a doorway. That's how he felt now, someone had pulled out all the stuff from inside him, and there was nothing underneath his skin. That's where he was going, there was something he was looking for that could fix the yawning, frigid emptiness he felt pressing against the inside of his chest.
The stairs below him moved, and he clutched unsteadily at a railing. The paintings on the walls stared at him owlishly, their eyes following as he climbed higher and higher. His feet stopped in front of a huge gold frame that was almost twice his height. The woman in the painting was snoring. Loudly. He stalled for a moment, unsure what to do, or why he had stopped at this particular place. He had a distant memory of coming here with Sirius, but when he tried to remember why, it slipped away from him. His thoughts felt like fish, slippery and fast. They darted around him, only surfacing in his dreamy consciousness for a moment or two.
After some time, during which the sinking feeling in his gut got more and more heavy, the lady shifted in her sleep. She yawned and opened her eyes, letting out a shriek when she saw him standing there. He tried to speak, but it felt like his mouth was full of cotton balls.
“Dear God, boy! What are you doing here in the middle of the night? I ought to call Minerva! Don’t you know it's rude to disturb a sleeping portrait? I need my beauty rest!” He needed to say something to her, but he couldn't remember what it was.
When he continued to stand there, unblinking and silent, she began to look concerned, “Are you quite alright? What are you doing here?”
“I need…” He managed, trying not to sway on his feet. He was pretty sure the ground had turned to sand. It was pulling at his feet, begging him to lay down, “I need to get through. My brother…”
Yes, his brother. Sirius lived here. Maybe that's why he had come this way. Was he looking for Sirius? There was something he needed to say to this woman, to get to Sirius. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate.
“Taffeta…” He remembered the shape of the words Sirius had said to the painting, but not the sounds. It was quiet in the hallway, aside from the creak of stairs moving, “Maroon… Taffeta?”
“Sorry dear, that was the password last year,” He stared at her. The floor kept tugging at his bare feet. And it was cold in the hallway. He shivered. “Though… maybe under the circumstances. Yes, I better let you in. You look as though you might fall over.”
He was moving again. Past the painting and into a room that swam with red and gold. He’d never been here before, and it took him a while before he found Sirius’s room. On the door, there were four names outlined in swooping gold letters. Sirius, Remus, Peter and James. James. His stomach lurched, and he could feel the emptiness itching beneath his skin. His vision was starting to swim, so he put his forehead to the door, feeling the cool metal letters digging into his skin. He lifted a hand and knocked it weakly against the door. He had to be dreaming, how else would his arm have gotten replaced by a fifty-pound dead-weight? He knocked again, closing his eyes as he leaned on the door.
“What the h-” the door swung open, revealing a bleary eyed Remus. Regulus tried to regain his balance, swaying again, “Regulus? What are you doing here?”
Remus turned, calling over his shoulder, “Sirius. Sirius! You better come over.”
It wasn’t until he saw Sirius emerge behind Remus that he realized he hadn't been looking for his brother after all.
Disappointment swooped through his stomach. It was getting harder to stand.
“Regulus?” Sirius’ face was pinched with concern. He reached out, catching Regulus’ arm in a steady grip.
He really felt like going to sleep. Why had he gotten out of bed again? There was something, something important.
“I…” he trailed off. He tried to look over Sirius’ shoulder, but it was dark. The itching underneath his skin was nearly unbearable. There was something he needed to do. Someone he needed to see.
“Reg, what's wrong? You look…” But Regulus never got to find out how he looked. Green and purple spots crowded his vision as his legs finally gave out. He closed his eyes, and the fog overtook everything.