A/N: Hello! It turns out that if you write from dawn to dusk, you might just get a chapter out that day. Might. I'd like to reassure you that I'm still in love with this story; the lack of an update schedule is in order to afford me the time to (hopefully) do justice to it, with all of the subplots and characters, etc. I do hope you're still with me, and thank you!
Love Always,
Eliza x
Disclaimer: I do not own the works herein, all characters from the Harry Potter Universe belong to JK Rowling, and all characters, storylines, situations, plots and the like do not belong to me. I make no money from this work.
Warnings: Rated M for situations, swearing, violence, sexual scenes... The whole lot, basically. Dumbledore Bashing, too. Severus doesn't have the best time, bless him.
The Ghost of Grimmauld Place
Chapter Forty-Two
Thursday, 11th December 1975
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Library
"Hermione Potter, my love, my darling, fellow bird of a feather who lights up my life with her mere existence - I am very, very angry with you right now."
Hermione had winced with each bitter word, and now glared up at Regulus, who'd positioned himself directly in her light and was staring down at her in his way, face impassive, but his finger bouncing agitatedly on the table. "Why can't you be romantic in a situation that isn't going to end in a lecture?" she rebutted, sullenly.
"I'm reminding you of what you have to lose," he snapped back. "Namely, any free time with me. Did you think of that before you went haring off into the forest with Abbott, or did it just occur to you later?"
Hermione grimaced, suitably chastised. "I'm sorry, Regulus. The situation got out of hand…"
His eyes flashed and his face, if possible, only stiffened more. "You didn't even tell me you were having problems," he growled, and she knew that they'd hit the real issue here. "We tell each other everything, Hermione. Have done since we were twelve. Why are you hiding from me now?"
Well. That was a good question, of course. She couldn't be truthful, though she wished she could. Because the truth was that while she undeniably loved Regulus, and they had been best friends forever - for so long that she couldn't seem to remember a time where he hadn't been in her life, and didn't particularly want to - being with him with him had changed things. She wanted to be the best she could be around him now. She wanted to impress him, and show no weaknesses. Hermione wanted him to think she was perfect, which led to the weirdest sensations; she found herself spending longer in front of the mirror of a morning, laughing louder at his jokes, trying to be more witty, more pretty. Small changes. Things she didn't even notice she was doing.
This was her first relationship, and it was so important that she got this right. Ruining it meant ruining their friendship, and she couldn't stand the thought of that. The idea that one day she might be reading something interesting and not have him to share it with, that something horrible might happen and she'd lost his shoulder to cry on, was unbearable.
But Hermione couldn't say that. It was impossible, the words wouldn't leave her mouth. Instinctively, she knew that if he got wind of her insecurities, of the knots she'd pulled herself into over them, he might just call it off to spare her the pain. Regulus was that sort of boy - he wouldn't let it affect their friendship, not on the surface. He'd do anything to keep her safe and happy, even if it meant giving her up.
"I'm sorry, Regulus," she repeated, plaintively. "I just wanted to get it right, and I wasn't thinking."
"Since when do you not think?" he snapped, but most of the hostility had drained out of his voice. "Honestly, Hermione." Heaving a sigh, he dropped into a chair. "I can't believe I had to find out from Severus."
"Severus knows?"
"Everyone knows, Hermione. Not the truth, but enough - What? What's wrong?"
She'd frozen, and then she flew into motion, packing her things and pulling on her cloak. "If everyone knows, then-"
"'Mi!"
Hermione flinched, and Regulus let out a snort. James came barrelling through the stacks, completely oblivious to Madam Pince's squawking. He came to a halt directly in front of her, hands everywhere, turning her to examine her head to foot. Behind him, Sirius and Remus appeared, Peter on their tail. "Are you alright?!" James demanded, pulling her into a hug. "Did that bastard hurt you?"
"We'll kill him if he did," Sirius said darkly, frowning at his brother.
"What? Of course not - James, let go, you buffoon." She disentangled herself with difficulty. "Who told you?"
James pulled away, but only slightly, still invading her personal space to keep his hands on her shoulders. "Tell me the truth, 'Mi. What did he do? I never trusted that slippery prick."
Hermione couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Clarence is the one in the hospital wing, not me."
"Come on, James," Remus piped up. He'd been running a speculative eye over her, and seemed content that she was fine, or he never would have spoken up. She'd seen the worry in his face, however, as well as that of Sirius. Hermione had to wonder how on earth she'd ended up with three big brothers, instead of one. "Leave the lady alone."
"Don't you have studying to do, anyway? Mock exams start on Monday," Hermione added, in a blatant effort to put him off. It worked, for his hands flew away and he looked disgruntled.
"How do you know that? It's like you have a nose for exams." James shook his head in disbelief. "You're such a swot." This, thank the gods, was added fondly.
"Mum told me," Hermione informed him airily. "She says she's looking forward to seeing your results, as she's certain you're intelligent enough boys to realise they're not really 'Mock' exams, but tests the Professors will use to determine what to suggest for you career-wise. Did you know that more employers subscribe to the Mock results than the real OWLs? Fabian's early entry into the Aurors was entirely due to his performance on the mocks - they like to know how you'd fare in real-life situations, without months of preparation-"
She'd said enough. Panic crossed James and Sirius' faces, and then it seemed like a gust of wind blew through the room, and the next second, the boys were gone. All but Remus, who smirked at her from his position leaning against the shelves.
"That was a whole lot of bullshit, Miss Potter," he chuckled, wagging a finger at her playfully.
"It worked," she smiled slightly, and he pushed off his shelf to leave, too. Over at the table, Regulus watched her with admiration.
"Sometimes, I think you're an evil genius," he murmured when she approached, standing to meet her. "It is atrociously 'hot'."
Saturday, 13th December 1975
Dearest Hermione,
Yule with Walburga? My niece, Walburga? Are you sure you know what you're getting into? Of course, if that's what you want to do, I won't prevent you.
Really, though? You want to go to the Black's? That dusty old house?
Your father has asked me to check that you are not being imperiused. There is a charm on the parchment, just to make certain.
I'm glad that you and Regulus are happy, however. It has always bothered me that my children have not been able to grow up as close to their cousins as they ought. Who knows, perhaps your presence will calm my niece somewhat, and we might reconcile.
Don't snort so loud, dear, it's unladylike.
It is kind of you to worry about your father and I feeling lonely, but I assure you, with James, Remus, Peter and Sirius filling the house, we are unlikely to ever find ourselves at a loss. Indeed, keeping the boys from tearing the Manor to its stirrups is likely to be a full-time occupation.
Do, however, know that we shall be available at a second's notice should anything go wrong.
Our fondest regards, my daughter,
Dorea Potter.
P.S. Please restrain from further torturing your brother. I am aware that it is a fun pastime, but his letters only become more and more shrill. Please, save our poor, elderly ears, and be nice.
Saturday, 20th December 1975
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Library
"Flutterby wings - half an ounce? That corresponds to the Arithmantic equations, to settle the brew. If it's going to make two dozen vials, you need a fair amount…" Hermione frowned, scratching out a section of the directions in front of her. "Of course, then we'll have to use shredded gnome-skin to balance the texture…"
"Yes, but won't that interact with the Ashwinder Eggs?" Rida pointed out, reasonably. She didn't often study with their group, but Hermione made a special effort to invite her to their Potions sessions, if only because she was a natural at the subject. She had an innate sense of what ingredients belonged where, when to add them, how long to brew them for. Next to Severus, she was the most remarkable potioneer Hermione had ever had the pleasure to work with; in front of a cauldron, the girl was mesmerising. She was lucky to have the pair of them.
"Not if you use the membrane rather than the actual egg," Severus interjected, scribbling away on his own parchment, here ostensibly as a tutor since he'd sat his Mocks during the past week and had, by all accounts, thrashed them all. "It's less effective, but also less volatile. You'd need three, peeled fresh from inside the shells, making it a difficult task, yet the effort would be paid back twofold when nothing explodes."
Rida gave Severus a slow, devastating smirk. "Too right," she purred in pleasure. "I wonder why I did not think of that?"
"Severus is brilliant," Hermione snapped. For some reason, she didn't like the predatory gleam in Rida's eyes. It made her want to wrap Severus in cotton wool and hide him away where the scary succubus would never find him. "I try not to compare myself to him - I'll never measure up."
Rida gave a knowing sneer. "Perhaps not you…"
Across the table, Marlene threw down her quill and groaned. "Gods but you lot are boring. Don't we have anything more interesting to talk about?" She widened her eyes, mockingly. "Oh, wait - we do! Hermione, here, recently developed an appetite for human flesh. Why aren't we chatting about that?"
"Because it would be insensitive?" Dorcas answered pointedly, raising her eyebrows.
"Was it terribly satisfying?" Marlene blundered on, ignoring her friend. "It must have been - this was Clarence, after all. Irritating little ferret."
"He's a stoat," Hermione pointed out, in the name of pedantry.
"Aren't they the same thing?"
Hermione had a sudden, disturbing flash of a bouncing white ferret, and frowned as she waved it away. "Not at all."
"Can we stop talking about this?" Dorcas asked, her voice a soft whine. "Poor Clarence… he must have been so scared."
"What do you care?" Marlene demanded, and even Rue looked surprised at the venom in her voice. "We don't even like him."
Dorcas frowned at her friend, eyes crinkling downwards in disappointment. "You don't like him, Marley. I think he's nice."
"Nice?! That sneaky little Niffler?" Marlene growled her displeasure. "Have you lost it? How would you even know that? You've never so much as spoken two words to the prick!"
Hermione reached out to Dorcas in sympathy as her face turned bright red, but she was slamming her books closed and shoving them into her bag. Standing with a screeching scrape of the chair against the flagstone floor, she tossed it over her shoulder. "You don't know that," she spat, without making eye contact with her friend. "Clarence and I - do you know what, Marley? I don't have to explain myself to you. Go punch Kingsley, or whatever."
With that, she turned on her heel and stalked off, Marlene watching her with wide eyes. Hermione grimaced, turning away, only to notice Severus watching the scene with a faint smirk. "What?" she hissed, jerking his attention to her.
"It is simply amusing," he murmured under his breath. "How blind you all are."
Rida gave a knowing snicker from his other side, and Hermione scowled at her, suspecting that the girl didn't actually know anything so much as was pretending to in order to stay on Severus's good side. It seemed to be a clever tactic, for Severus glanced at her in surprise, before hesitantly smiling back. Rida purred; Hermione almost vomited.
"Right, where were we?" she snapped, loudly. "Ashwinder eggs, right?"
"Oh, no - here we go again," Marlene groaned. Hermione looked at her in offense to see that her friend wasn't actually looking at her at all, but into the stacks, where a redheaded girl was approaching them. Hermione sighed, though she was viciously and unfathomably pleased to see that Severus had pulled away from Rida to turn his smile, with the addition of somewhat dopey, love-struck eyes, on Lily Evans.
"Sev," the girl greeted him with a desultory glance around the table. Her smile was somewhat strained upon seeing the company he was keeping, but she soldiered on, regardless. "Professor Slughorn wants to see you."
"Oh," was Severus's erudite reply, probably not even noticing how Marlene, positioned behind Lily, was miming her words with an exaggerated stern face and the flailing of hands to Rue's delighted amusement. "Now?"
Lily sniffed. "Yes. It's about your results." Suddenly, her face broke out into a stunning beam, emerald eyes glowing. "I think he wants to offer you an apprenticeship!"
"Internship, you mean," Rida corrected her nastily. Lily frowned in confusion, and Rida said, with icy patience, "I am Slughorn's apprentice; he cannot have two."
"Oh!" Lily blushed in embarrassment. "I didn't know. Sorry, Rida-"
"Yes, you should be," Rida drawled, eyeing Lily as if she were something disgusting on her shoe. Turning back to Severus, she nodded toward his friend. "You shouldn't keep him waiting, Sev. Go on. We'll be fine without you."
Severus twitched at the dismissal, but stood. Hermione smiled her encouragement as he passed, and Marlene stuck her tongue out at his back, while Rue and Rida both watched them leave in silence, Rida looking moody at having her toy taken away, while Rue simply appeared detached and uninterested.
"Good luck, Severus," Hermione called as they reached the end of the stacks, and he nodded once, before leaving.
Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Professor Slughorn's Office
"Severus, m'boy!" Slughorn greeted him as he knocked, flinging open the door with great ceremony. "Come in, come in! I see Miss Evans found you fine!"
"He was in the library, sir," Lily told him with a grin, following them as Severus was pulled over to the desk by Slughorn's meaty arm around his shoulders. "Tutoring some fourth years."
Severus sneered, but didn't correct her. It was, ostensibly, tutoring, though he sometimes in the dark of night, hidden behind the curtains of his four poster, thought that they might also be his friends? Wishful thinking, perhaps, but that was how it felt. Often, when he sat with Hermione and Regulus and their little group, he felt more at home than he ever had with his fellow Slytherins. At least he tolerated these people.
"Ah, good of you to do so, m'boy," Slughorn exclaimed heartily. "Part of the reason I called you here, in fact. Please, please, take a seat." He gestured to the wooden chair opposite his desk, frowned, and with a wave of his hand transfigured it into some velour monstrosity. Severus hesitated before being seated, worried for a moment that the bad taste might prove infectious, but, loathe to disappoint his professor, eventually descended. Gods, but it was comfortable, for all that it burned his eyes.
"You may leave us, Miss Evans, with my most effusive thanks," Slughorn gave Lily a courtly bow, at which she flushed lightly.
"Thank-you, sir," she muttered, giving a slight curtsey and slipping out of the door. It closed behind her, but Severus doubted she'd go very far. His friend was much too curious for that, and he was pleased, because if this turned out the way she expected there was noone he would rather share his pleasure with.
"Now, now, tea, Severus?"
"Yes, please, sir," Severus replied, crossing his palms over one another in his lap. A wave of the Professor's wand deposited a china cup before him, and doctored it to perfection. "Thank you."
"The art of perfect tea is not unlike Potioneering, Severus, you would do well to remember that," Slughorn took a sip and sighed in delight. "Perfect. Now. I know what the rumour mill is like, m'boy, so you'll know why you're here, yes?"
"I have an idea, sir, but I cannot be certain," Severus demurred politely, taking a drink of his own tea. Damn the man, it was delicious, hands down the best tea he'd ever tasted.
"Oh-ho-ho! How shy you are. Well, you can be assured, boy, that this is exactly what it looks like - I'd like to ask you to be my new assistant!"
Severus froze, cup halfway to his lips, and Slughorn chuckled. "I see I've stunned you. Let me tell you more. In exchange for lab space, one-on-one mentoring, and my commendation for whatever job you should like as you leave us, all you need do is mark some essays for me, tutor some students, and assist me in the younger classes. I may also need help preparing ingredients and such. You would work alongside my Apprentice - no hard task for you, I should say!" He winked, and Severus moved now, to recoil. Slughorn, despite his expertise in his field, often completely disgusted him.
This was an excellent opportunity, however, so Severus changed his recoil into a shocked slump, his face slackening with innocent disbelief. "But - why me, sir?" he asked, not entirely falsely modest. It was a real question. He had no family, no connections, no money. He couldn't bring anything to Slughorn but his skill - and he knew that wasn't enough, simply by the lack of a Slug Club invitation. Ugly, miserable and antisocial boys like him didn't go places like this in the Wizarding World, that much had been beaten into him since his first year. At least Lily was beautiful.
Slughorn sobered, his eyes taking on a flat, serious look as they bore into his. "Because you've a talent, lad. Innate. Dumbledore might charge me with Miss Shafiq, but you have the heart. You might be nothing now, m'boy, but one day you'll be one of the best Potioneers this country has ever seen, and I'll be proud to have formed you."
A long beat of silence, in which Severus regretted his previous thoughts of Slughorn's shallowness, his narcissism. For all of this, the man believed in him, it seemed. That kindled a warm glow in his chest.
"Just be sure you repay me when the time is right, eh?" Slughorn grinned, winking once more, his jowls flapping. And Severus' newfound fondness died a quick death.
Sunday, 21st December 1975
Slytherin Fifth Year Dorms, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"Severus?"
"In here!" Severus hastily stuffed the last pair of pants into his bag, grimacing. The last thing he needed was for Regulus to see the state of them and pity him. Well, pity him more.
"Ready for Christmas with the Blacks?" Regulus asked wryly, poking his head around the door. "Got your getaway plan all ready?"
Severus sniffed disdainfully. "It takes more than one uppity matriarch to cow me, Regulus. Not that your mum is uppity," he tacked hurriedly on the end when his face took on a pinched look. "Just, for example."
Regulus laughed softly, handing Severus a belt he'd left lying on his dresser. "No, you're right - Mother can be a bit of a harpy. I'd like to say she has good intentions, but that wouldn't be true, either. But she is my mother, and I love her." He smiled a bit, sitting on the edge of Severus's bed and watching with a far-away look on his face as Severus flipped his trunk closed, latching it easily. "Father will be there, too, you know. It's not all about mother, so if she makes you uncomfortable, you can always join him in retreating to the study. He's wanted to meet you for a while now."
Severus froze as anxiety gripped his chest. "He has? Why?"
"You're a potions prodigy, everyone says so. Slughorn was raving about you to the Society of Master Potioneers last month, and Father just happened to be visiting an old friend there." Regulus paused, a wary expression crossing his face as he fiddled with his robes. Severus said fiddled - it was more of a regal smoothing, but on Regulus that was a nervous gesture. "He might even sponsor your apprenticeship, if you'd like…"
Severus froze, an amalgamation of emotion roiling within him. An apprenticeship? Of course, that's what he wanted - when he'd first gotten to Hogwarts he'd looked into them, and then again every year since. He'd thought he might fancy one in Spell-Crafting, only noone in England bothered with that anymore, he'd have had to go to India or Japan for those, or if he was dreaming big that day, perhaps he'd have gotten accepted into the highly exclusive Vietnamese Institution for the same thing, where the woman who'd invented the belly-burst curse had studied. But he knew that these were merely dreams, and had begun to look closer to home, at Potions Masters who were generally based in Europe where the industry was richer, where the people didn't bother to make their own potions and simply paid Apothecaries to do so. Still, the apprentice fee was high, too high for the likes of him, and he'd slowly been releasing that dream, no matter what favours Professor Slughorn bestowed upon him.
For someone to offer to sponsor him, as he'd once hoped Slughorn himself would do…
And yet, his gut screamed in anger at the pity that lay at the base of such an offer. He didn't want to be pitied. He wanted to be respected, and on his own merit. "That is kind of you, Regulus," he said stiffly, pulling his trunk into his hand. "But I shall have to decline."
"Don't say that yet," Regulus scolded him primly. "It's not an insult, Severus. Father won't sponsor anyone he doesn't think deserves it. Just keep it in mind over Yule. There's plenty of time to reject us later."
Severus sighed, rubbing at his temples, where a dull throbbing was starting up. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me," he muttered, glancing at his friend through half-closed lids. His bloody, damned pride. "I'll think about it."
"I'd ask you to promise, but I trust you," Regulus said lightly, smirking. Severus glared at him in return.
"I'm proud of how well you're adapting to Slytherin," Severus informed him, a bite to his voice, "but if you try that trick against me again, I shall make you wish you were a Gryffindor."
For the rest of the day, Regulus couldn't look at him without paling in horror.
