Endless Night


Chapter 8 – The Art Of Extracting Incriminating Information From Friends

A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.

-Proverbs 17:17


Ghostly green, occasionally lightening to a vivid electrifying white, bedazzling the eyes with its sudden splendour, darkening almost instantly to a deep, mesmerizing black; these are the colours of the Slytherin common room. Thick stone slabs walling in the basement, made translucent on two sides by the hand of Salazar Slytherin himself to allow views of the lake and its inhabitants; luxurious leather couches and armchairs offsetting the austerity of the other furniture, all harsh, dark wood and sharp angles; these are the elements of Regulus' school life, the shades and shadows that have coloured his world for the better part of six years.

It differs from Grimmauld Place in the quality of texture and ambience: smooth against rough, rich against opulent, luminosity against mud; concurs with Grimmauld across the range of colours: green, brown, black and silver. This is harmony, Regulus thinks for the umpteenth time, sinking onto a couch beside Severus Snape, who is busy stirring a cauldron. Balance is precious to him, made all the dearer by the knowledge that his world may soon swing completely out of rhythm, and this common room – closer to his heart than his own home – has the all the balance he requires: similar enough to the rooms of his childhood for security, and different enough to the weighty atmosphere therein for stimulation.

Severus might feel the same, judging by the brew he is currently making. Regulus leans over the silver vessel, closes his eyes, breathes in old parchment and new snitch-leather, dog biscuits and the barest hint of chocolate. "If I didn't know better Sev, I'd say these were gold ingots you're liquefying."

"And would that not be more useful to us all? But Evan will disagree with you, I am afraid."

"Planning on going out with Evan and catching a few butterflies, are you?"

"I will be dealing with something much more dangerous than Lepidoptera tonight," Severus replies evenly. "However, that still lies in the distant future. My time now is entirely devoted to assisting Evan... he is having some trouble in that department."

Regulus sucks in another deep lungful, still keeping his eyes closed. This is not the right moment to ask Severus what he is planning tonight, so he tries a different tack. "I thought he'd make progress with Dorothy?"

"He has ensnared the bird, but she will do no more than flutter her wings."

Regulus cocks his head, deigns to open one eye. "She's a bird Animagus? Didn't think she had enough brains to do that, actually. Even I wouldn't attempt it. Anyway, what sort of bird?" –

"Diedre," Severus says severely, making Regulus feel ashamed of his inability to remember the girl's name, "is not an Animagus. Do not take everything so literally. Having breathed the same air as Barty for six years should have given you ample practise at untangling metaphors and mysteries in daily conversation." He stirs three times counter-clockwise, then adds two drops of steamed Gurdyroot to the mixture. "Their only drawback – according to them both – is that they have done no more than hold hands at present."

"And he's recruited you to try and rectify that, then." Regulus lets his head flop back onto the leather with a loud thunk. "Salazar's eyeballs. Just like Evan to make a move on Christmas night too."

"They wish to move to the – er – kissing stage," Severus says, words dragged out softly and unwillingly, as though a source of great pain. "The idea was Deirdre's, I believe. She communicated it to Evan, who brought it to my notice."

"Let's hope it's truly Deirdre's idea. If Evan is trying to pass it off as Deidre's brainchild, it's coercion."

Severus shrugged. "I do not believe Evan will stoop to such subterfuge."

Regulus snorts, as loudly and disdainfully as he can. He has been waiting all day for such an opportunity, because his brother somehow got in a better snort than he did – and it is a pity Barty is not here to appreciate it. "I don't really think Evan will do that either. But what in Salazar's name was he doing, all those hours tucked away here and there with Deirdre?"

"Holding hands and listening to wireless broadcasts of the Saturday Quidditch League, apparently."

"Oh." Regulus blinks, and thinks that is rather a nice thing to do. He is sure that sitting next to somebody you like, listening to an interesting programme, or perhaps just conversing, is a much better activity than snogging and groping at every opportunity. But each to his own, he supposes, with a mental shrug. "And they think Amortentia after a bit of Christmas pudding is the way to go about it, is it?"

"I offered them a roast turkey flavoured aphrodisiac, but they refused."

"Oh yes, I'm sure I can't think why."

"She has a certain beauty," Severus acknowledges grudgingly. "Even I can see that. I would not, however, agree with Evan's observation that her worth shines more brightly than a chest full of goblin-wrought silver."

"I'm sure I've heard a poem or line to that effect," Regulus offers. "Yeast, I think the poet's name was... 'A thing of booty is a joy forever'" –

Severus turns his most withering glare on Regulus. "Muggle poetry is of no interest to me."

"But she reads it," Regulus murmurs to himself, thinking of the many times he has seen Evans pouring over books of verse and rhyme in all sorts of nooks and corners in the library. Aloud, he utters no word, just watches as Severus reaches out a thin hand for the vial of Bigglerot on the table, uncorks it, and adds three strands to the concoction. "Hang on," Regulus says suddenly; leaning forward, "did you pinch my bottle of Bigglerot?"

"Certainly not. I have extensive stores of my own. You must have mislaid it, as usual."

"No I didn't. Bigglerot isn't the only thing that's missing either. I forgot to ask around, what with one thing and another, but my Kermanroot has gone missing too. And my ampoules of Wedgehorn and even the Boomslang skin I ordered just two weeks ago." He has searched all the boys' dormitories from top to bottom, but found no trace of the ingredients.

"This place is full of thieves. The sooner you begin the practise of keeping written accounts of your stockroom, the better for you. You will be thankful one day, if the Dark Lord has reason to call upon your potion making skills for his order."

"I doubt I'll ever be that good, Severus. Brewing for the Dark Lord is more in your line of work, anyway."

Potion making is an art that requires precision and balance, and Regulus is sensitive to atmosphere; while the Slytherin common room maybe ideal for the purpose, it is doubtful whether the space given by the Dark Lord will be suitable. Death Eater accommodations would be better geared for interrogating acquaintances, Regulus thinks. After all, who could engage in such sinister acts with two mermen poking their tongues out and making cross eyes at them from the other side of the glass?

Severus jabs his wand in the direction of the mermen, who flee, pausing only to gesture rudely with their tridents at him. "My present line of work includes brewing potions to indulge the vagaries of teenage moods. I highly doubt the Dark Lord will find it useful."

"The Dark Lord will no doubt find something else useful for you, Severus – if you're still intent on joining up." Regulus reaches out for a handful of berries on Severus' cutting board, and throws them into the potion, which turns a darker, shimmering shade of gold at once.

"Feverfew?" Severus curls his lip, and delicately prods the liquid with his wand. "You risk reducing the potency of the ardour."

Shrugging one shoulder – which does not work quite as well as he wishes – Regulus leans back against the leather. "It's good for mild hallucinations, though."

"And hallucinations are clearly what Evan and Deirdre desire tonight…"

"It might be… how do you know? I've read about it. There was a book in the Grimmauld Library about it" –

"Do not except to learn about matter of this sort from books, Regulus" –

But this too good an opportunity to miss. Severus might maintain than some things are better learned from the world, rather than from books, but Regulus knows that books are the world. Besides, this intended information-extraction venture is taking much longer than expected. He will have to leave for Prefect duty soon.

Perhaps embarrassing Severus about something completely different will stun him into sharing the secret.

"How else are you to learn it, then? It was called The Armour of Amor and it was excellent. Did you know that redheads are supposed to be really sexual animals? They're hard to approach generally – skittish like deer, actually – but once you get going, they're fantastic. They like kissing too. I'm not much into kissing myself, but The Armour recommends kissing a redhead" – Regulus cuts off abruptly, the words sheared off by an invisible scythe, as Severus chokes and splutters, an ugly mauve flush creeping up the pale cheeks.

Too late, an image of red hair, green eyes and freckles rises in Regulus' mind.

"Oh no. I'm sorry, Sev – I really am. I didn't mean to insinuate you wanted to kiss her. No – I mean, I can understand why you want kiss her" –

The apples of Severus' cheeks turn a mottled pink.

"No – I mean, not that you aren't kissable, but" –

Severus flushes red.

"Maybe she just isn't that into kissing" –

From red to bright, angry crimson.

Regulus stumbles, but keeps on going valiantly. "I don't think she even kisses – you know, him – she's taken, but you can still be friends, despite what Evan says" –

"Regulus," Severus grinds out through gritted teeth. "A dictionary would greatly aid your fluency."

"I'll pass it on to Sirius; he needs it more than I," Regulus mutters under his breath, but says no more, interpreting Severus' remark as his version of shut up.

Awkward silences are more common between Regulus and Severus than between Regulus and Barty or Evan. Perhaps it is the taciturn outlook that falls naturally to both of them, but the muted tones of camaraderie and comfort that allow Regulus to sit beside Barty for hours at a time without stirring are markedly absent.

Regulus moves not an inch, arms folded over his lap, trying desperately to cool the angry flush that insists on sitting on his cheeks, and slow the fluttering of his heart. Steadfastly ignoring the presence beside him, Regulus fixes his eyes instead on a group of Grindylows swimming past a clump of rushes, visible through the translucent wall directly opposite him, and scowls when one of them sticks their middle finger up at him.

Charming. Severus might think of kissing one of them if he can make no progress with anybody else. After all, they seem to share the same temperament.

"Done," Severus says presently, siphoning a generous amount of the potion into an ampoule and putting in his left pocket. Into his right, he slips another tiny opaque blue bottle.

Time to kick off operations.

"Will you be coming back after you give the potion to Evan? Barty and I were thinking of playing chess, and if you join, we can make a tournament of it."

Severus hesitates.

Jackpot. "Hanging around for a signal that it works then?"

"Don't make crass suggestions." Severus sneers slightly, adjusts the hems of his cuffs. "I have… private business."

"Secret business?"

Severus turns around as suddenly as the crack of a whip. "Black has put you up to this, hasn't he? What did Black tell you? You've just come from meeting him, haven't you?"

Regulus does not twitch a muscle. "What makes you think that?"

"What did he say? Perhaps he told you that he and his little gang are up to something illegal tonight." Severus stares at the swiftly darkening waters beyond the translucent wall, at the fuzzy grey shapes swimming into the twilight. "Did he tell you what it was? They have their little games…"

Mouth drying, Regulus can only stare back at the fierce glint in Severus' eyes.

"Well, well, well." Severus' lips turn up in a cruel smile. "Looks like Black did not tell little Reggie that it was illegal business, was it? Did he camouflage it – perhaps as some noble cause – helping someone maybe?"

Regulus ignores the jibe – for the time being only, storing it up carefully in his mind to deal with later – and fixes his eyes on Severus. "Assisting others isn't illegal as far as I know, Severus."

"Not in regard to people, unfortunate though that maybe. However, when it comes to – ah, other beings, the laws get slightly more… hairy." Severus' smile turns into a full blown grin, the black of his irises reflecting green. "Not to mention breaking several school rules."

"That's never been high on their list."

"Not your brother's, perhaps, but Head Boy Potter" – and oh, how the venom came creeping through – "and that perfect Prefect Lupin have been careful all year not to soil their records any more. But that will all change now."

Time for the catalyst. "I don't believe you." Regulus juts his chin forward, noting with triumph the flash of anger in Severus' eyes. "They're trouble makers all right, but they'd never do anything unlawful."

But Severus can play this game too. Regulus is no Legilimens, but he can see the wheels turning in his friend's mind, even as Severus slips that carefully blank veneer over his expression. "Have I ever lied to you, Regulus?"

Regulus cocks his head to the left, tries the one-shoulder shrug again. "I can't really say, you know, Sev. You're a closed book, even to me. But I daresay you have." A pause, a fraction of heartbeat. "Plenty of times."

Severus moves forward, hooks a finger around the collar of Regulus' jumper. "Not this time. I'll catch them at it. And I told you not three days ago that I'll give you proof." His hold on the collar tightens. Regulus twitches, but does not draw away. "Come with me. See for yourself – at the Whomping Willow."

"A likely tale," Regulus scoffs. "Not even Gryffindors are fool enough to play games with the Willow. Nobody has been within ten yards of it since Gudgeon was injured."

"They know how to get past it," Severus hisses, letting Regulus go, and wiping his hands on his robes. "They have some way of freezing it, some spell or charm."

"It'll have to be a pretty powerful one to stop something so massive in its tracks. I know my brother is good with spells, but even he can't produce something so accurate – especially when the subject in question is trying to kill him."

Severus smiles, fingers snaking down to his right pocket. "A single drop of the correct potion will work wonders."

Carefully, Regulus twists his face into a grimace. "You've been planning this for weeks, haven't you?"

His scowl is answered with a smile, as blood-chilling as any he has ever seen Severus wear. "I have been hoping for such an opportunity for months. But even I could scarcely have hoped to have it handed to me on a platter by those idiots." With a flick of his wand, Severus turns down the green lamps on the table, and by the stairs. "I suggest you stop making excuses for your brother, and that you also stop over thinking. I have made preparations – there will be no danger on this little... trip, for us. In fact, you might even enjoy it."

"All right," Regulus says, matching Severus' steps as he matches towards the door, "I'll give you your chance." Elation aerates in his stomach like bubbles on a Butterbeer, but he keeps his steps in check, keeps his eyes, his face, his mind as vapid as a slate. "I'll meet you here after Prefect Duty is over, and we'll go along to the Whomping Willow together."

"You will not regret it," Severus says.

The dungeon corridors are dark, devoid of the spine-tingling electricity that hovers over the Common Room like a charged thundercloud, and the Regulus feels suddenly tired as he follows Severus up the stairs. His friend's face is misleadingly ordinary; just pale skin stretched over sharp bones, the heavy shutters that close off the glimmer in his eyes are nothing more than dank, dull drapes.

But when he speaks again, although his voice is low and his tones are even, the words cause Regulus to stumble mid-step. "Start getting ready for other things too, Regulus. A little bit of the power and glory you have been hoping for might well be heading your way soon. Write to your mother soon, and prepare to take on the crown of the Black family."

Then it is all that Regulus can do to stop his wand and his arm from rising and slapping Severus across the face, it is almost more than he can bear to keep moving and not send Severus head over heels onto the landing below.

But it does not matter, Regulus tells himself as he struggles up the last few steps to the Entrance Hall, this momentary sensation of fear, like snakes crawling in his stomach, or the slow-blooming dislike of a boy he once considered a good mate. Nothing matters, not even the painful, heaving gasps that pass now for his breathing every time he takes violent exercise, or the growing coldness he feels inside him. All that matters is the small chance he has of putting things right for his brother, and – oh, guilty, guilty – the sudden, strange stab of euphoria in his guts at his first successful attempt at the art of extracting incriminating information from friends.


To be continued...