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Everything in the house reeks of never breaking tradition, of the walls cluttered from landing of stairs to the chandelier that hangs precariously above the large, faded-by-time wine stain on the busy carpet. It feels like when one walks through the hallway everything in existence sprouts undead eyes and it wouldn't be unlikely to spot a few thestrals once exiting the premises. It's as if things stick between the coils of life and death. Remnants of a soul burn in the two sons and nowhere else.
Walburga Black cares not for her eldest son, nor does he wish for anything more.
"Isn't your dear old brother's birthday coming up?" Less of a question, and all a reason to sneer and scoff. Regulus slams his palms on the counter, the look on his face wild, then deadpan. The same gray eyes.
"Unfortunately."
"He doesn't shut up about it, he's convinced he's London's favorite doll." Severus stares from across the room with a twinge of satisfaction in his chest, it's a rarity to hear anyone agree with him. To speak and know he was in similar company. Sirius Black wasn't all that, in fact, he was below average across the board. I wish he weren't so pretty at least. Maybe if his nose were twisted just a smidge to the left. And if someone were to douse that hair in petrol.
"Even worse, in 3 months."
"I know."
"He could stand to wait till October."
And Severus has to think for a moment. Has to dig through the many layers of memories he isn't particularly interested in—he isn't interested—and there it is, the first day Autumn showed her face in the leaves and her unrelenting breeze. Sirius, the bastard all grinning and standing tall over his friends, growth spurt, lunges an arm over James' shoulder while proclaiming he wants to do something dangerous for his birthday. November 3rd wouldn't be a good day, Severus had thought.
"Their lot would kill me if they knew mine, I'm sure." Severus balances his tilted head in the palm of his hand, almost like a fateful reminisce. Though his face remains sour, and Regulus only stands to mirror.
"Potter oughta be expelled."
There's that feeling, the one where Severus thinks it be best to douse the stove and all its tangled wire before the pot can even come close to boiling over. He blinks, his breathing stiff and the line between feeling as calm as a Cokeworth boy can be to wanting to hide in the nearest quiet closet looms in between his skeleton and the subtle beating of his heart. "They would never expel Potter, he's got a whole battalion on his side."
"So do you, Severus."
The boy looks at him expectantly, his hands still firmly placed and the curl on his forehead twirling to obscure the visible scar Regulus wears near his left eyebrow. An expression of mercy on his hair's part, Severus always feels guilty laying his eyes on it.
"No one is on my side Regulus, what are you playing at?"
"I just mean it would take a thousand Potters to outsmart you." Regulus moves in search through his jacket pockets. "Mum will be home soon, let's head out."
Severus hops off his place on the rickety old stool, almost on command. His feet don't reach the floor from up there, and he's glad no one ever comments on it.
"Does it hurt..to smoke?" His hands rest in the pockets of his sweater, the edges of its stitching frayed and full of holes. It's hardly sweater season yet, but Severus doesn't like when people can see his arms. And the pockets, he likes those a fair amount. They walk at a steady pace, leaving the grounds of Number 12 Grimmauld Place behind.
Regulus shoves his newly retrieved cigarette between his teeth, his perfect set of front teeth, and sets the end aflame with a careful cup of his other hand. Taking a drag, his eyes close and for a moment Severus wonders if he shouldn't be so curious. Wonders if this is a fork in the road the future him would madly scold him for.
Regulus balances his cig between his index and center. "Nah, not really."
A dense cloud escapes from his lips and rises up, disappearing into the monotone atmosphere above. It smells like it always does, bitter and strong enough to make you wanna plunge into the nearest shore just to get away from it.
But Severus doesn't run, and his eyes stay fixated on the schoolmate he's somehow managed to get along well enough to be friends with. That might kill him someday.
"Do you wanna try it?"
His heart doesn't skip a beat.
"Yes." He frees his left hand, then stuffs it right back in his pocket. Too eager. When Regulus offers him the same cigarette that had just vacated his mouth, Severus appears hesitant, and for the first time in months an odd sense of dread tears its claws into the very back of his mind. "Hold on, same one?"
"Yeah? Why not. You a germaphobe or something Sev?"
The words bounce right off him. He doesn't feel particularly strong about germs in either direction, no and it isn't like they haven't shared snacks before, or even taken sips from the same water bottle. But his mind twists and his stomach feels sick and for once in his life Severus isn't in any danger yet thinks he's looking death straight in the eyes. Petrified.
"Fire's dying." Regulus hits it again, his eyes watching Severus closely. He doesn't like the way Regulus always looks him in the eye, too near and too close and it'd take a million Regulus Blacks to get any of this out of his head. Sometimes he wonders if it's on purpose, what's his aim in all of this?
Severus makes up his mind in the same second that his friend tries to offer him the cig again, can't be too cowardice. Doesn't matter his reason, doesn't matter the fear. He tentatively holds it between his fingers and repeats the action of guiding it to his lips.
It tastes awful. Like dirt and the corroded, burnt bits of whatever got thrown into the brazier for last night's supper. Inhaling is much, much worse.
Resisting the urge to drop it on the ground, Severus hands it back and his whole body convulses into a fit of heavy coughs. His hands shake and it feels like his chest is on fire.
"Did-" he coughs a few more times. "Did you fucking jinx it?"
Regulus can't contain his amusement whatsoever, the way his giggling turns to a couple snorts and he totally drops the cigarette without even realizing. Severus looks about ready to hex the guy himself before he's met with a water bottle shoved in his face, cap already slightly unscrewed just for him.
"I didn't do shit to it Sev, you just aren't used to it."
He'd be more inclined to believe him if he didn't think his lungs were crawling with fire ants right about now. Clinging to the bottle like it was his saving grace, Severus gulps down three quarters of it without stopping. Ebbing the pain away into a subtle discomfort.
"I thought you said it didn't hurt." He wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve and coughs again.
"I forgot you're...."
"Forgot i'm what? You did that on purpose and you know it, Black."
"Hey... hey okay maybe I knew that would happen—" Severus' eyes are glaring and narrow as nervous-to-pick-up-the-pieces words fumble out of the boy's mouth, hands raised in mock defense. "But I didn't jinx anything. That happens to everyone- it's normal!"
The betrayed Slytherin stamps the sole of his shoe on the last bits of life the stick of death had left, all embers burnt out and their fuel crushed to dust. "You're very lucky that I'm generally a fan of you."
Wind picks up and brings both of their hair to reposition around their faces, Severus brushes his back into place and Regular doesn't move a muscle. That godforsaken scar stares its dark eyes back at him, 2 dots amongst the general blob-ish shape. Taunting him, making him wish to repent.
"I didn't like it."
"Clearly.. It's okay, you would've transformed my head into a pincushion if it wasn't taking effect. Feel any better?"
He takes a second to assess it all, the way his head feels and the dissipating burn in his chest and the odd sense of anxiety that'd come over him. How he doesn't like how close Regulus is and gets, yet he doesn't mind at all. Maybe it's the latter half that makes him so queasy, everything feels like sandpaper on his skin and there's nothing he can do that would land him in better shape. Nowhere else was as safe as the right here, the right now.
"I don't know.”