Disclaimer: I do NOT own HP...siiiiigh...
AN: Allo! I'm still ALIVE. OHO! This fic is NOT discontinued! I am just LAZY and need pestering to keep me loyal to a particular genre otherwise I gallivant about in other fandoms : DDD Thank you for your awesome reviews! Nothing gets me into gear like reading them. They inspire me to ruffle through my brain and PRESTO! Update! I hope you all enjoy it! Now Onwards!
Chapter 10: Tensions Rising
"No, I don't wanna lose this one-"
"Be reasonable Flint-"
"He's gotta take one for the team!"
"Birchwood-"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, feelin' up another guy is NOT in my job description!"
"Hey, YOU'RE the seeker; you're supposed to seek the snitch!"
"Not up another bloke's trousers, thank you."
"Yeah, I agree with Black, we don't need those sorts of rumors about us Slytherins."
There was a murmur of agreement, before they shot dirty looks at their opponents who were similarly huddled beside the Hufflepuff Locker Room.
No doubt quarreling over whether the Slytherin Seeker had a right TO enter their locker, even if the snitch WAS inside.
The rules stated the snitch had to be in HAND, for the game to officially end. So technically…he would be allowed to…follow it.
Poor Derek Fawley III was a scrawny fourth year, if it wasn't bad enough being teased about his rather large ears, it was certain he'd never live this down.
Not exactly the triumphant victory he'd hoped for—scampering off to the changing rooms: but unzipping his fly and rummaging his trousers midair for an errant snitch, before the grandstands, wasn't really an option.
"Well?" Madam Hooch called, standing almost sentry-like between the two teams. Clearly, she thought war was imminent.
Knott, a loquacious sixth-year beater, cleared his throat. "Slytherin Team's unanimous decision is…NOPE. We don't want our seeker traumatized just yet; we've still got one more match."
Hufflepuff team slumped with relief, one Chaser ran into the locker undoubtedly to share the happy news to their poor teammate.
He reappeared with a red-faced Derek in tow, snitch wound tightly in his fist.
Madam Hooch declared Hufflepuff winners by default (much to the booing of the Slytherin section) and declared the "tucking of trousers into boots to be a mandatory rule from hereon."
After assuring Regulus four times that the snitch was going to be THOROUGHLY washed or outright replaced, both teams were dismissed.
"Tough luck, Reg," Snape grimaced, clapping a hand on the shorter boy's shoulder.
"Rotten luck," the boy replied sullenly. A victory would've done worlds of good for his ego.
Regulus glanced at Salem, expecting some sort of condolence. But his fellow fourth year was still stunned by Snape's appearance.
Only through sheer force of will did Salem's eye not twitch.
He was struggling to reconcile his memory of cold, collected Snape with the person before him.
Sporting a green Snake hat that jingled as he walked, neon green scarf, and a large Slytherin banner—he seemed nothing like the frigid Potions Master he was accustomed to.
Snape …a rabid Quidditch fan?
Apparently…if this decked out apparel of school spirit hinted anything.
Noticing Salem's wide-eyed stare, Snape motioned to Regulus. "He got me hooked on the game a couple years back."
Salem nodded rigidly.
What with their falling out, Salem had always been loathe to admit that he enjoyed watching his brother fly…
To think he had something in common with Snape…
He shuddered.
After pausing by their dorm for Reg to grab his satchel and Snape to shed his green apparel, the three Slytherins entered the Great Hall for dinner—Salem trudging behind them.
Regulus sighed, why were all of his friends so moody? He supposed it was lucky that they at least took turns being the gloomy one. He wasn't sure he could handle two depressed teenagers.
He sat down and pulled out a letter he hadn't been able to read that morning—recognizing his Aunt Druella's curly penmanship at once.
Snape was buttering his baked potato when he detected it—the uncomfortable, tingling feeling of-
"They're watching us."
"Hmm?" Regulus remained absorbed in the letter's contents, brow furrowing more with every passing stanza. His aunt's demands were ridiculous…
"They're plotting something."
"Mmmhmm." Had she forgotten he was still in school? She always did have trouble remembering his age, but then again they never really spent any quality time together. She only knew him through correspondence. And according to Bella, he wrote with the heavy, structured formality of an eighty-year-old wizard.
"I don't trust it."
"Hmmm."
"I don't trust it at all."
"A72?"
"Indeed."
Regulus glanced over the edge of the parchment at Gryffindor Table.
"I concur, you're right, we're being stared at."
"I know. But I can't tell if it's YOU or ME."
"Make a face. If they do a double-take, it's me. If they just glare, it's you."
"Reg, the M&M's…are Skittling us."
"Lockdown?" the younger Slytherin inquired coolly.
"Lockdown," Snape confirmed. "Lock the trunks, Lock the closets, Lock the cupboards, Lock the windows-"
"Lock the windows?" Regulus asked incredulous, finally looking up. "Our windows are underwater, Sev."
"Do you put it past them?"
The younger Slytherin was silent for a few moments, contemplating it before agreeing, "Lock the windows."
"But for right now, Evasive Maneuver Green17."
"Got it. C'mon, Salem."
"Wha? Huh?" Mouth full of steak and terribly bewildered, the blonde fourth year was forcefully dragged away from the dinner table and out of the castle.
The next two hours found the trio hiding out in Herbology Greenhouse # 2. Safely seated under a table, they finished up two Transfiguration assignments and played three rounds of Exploding Snap.
So...Reg went this far out of his way to avoid his brother—preferring to kneel in dirt than risk bumping into him.
Salem pushed an overly friendly vine off his shoulder and sighed.
Depressing.
"Ergh, I mean I know apparating isn't possible on school grounds, but where the hell are they? It's like they left…and poof!" Sirius growled, prowling the corridor and scaring two second years into leaving.
"Rough game, huh?" James scruffled his own hair, a nervous habit. "Forfeit really WAS the only option there."
He felt odd. Gryffindors seldom watched Slytherin rounds. It was just a fact. Especially when that pair off would've normally been a slaughter. After all, who wants to see the smug face of a victorious Slytherin? Slimy gits…
"Well, it works out for Derek; you know it'd be my brotherly duty to pummel him for getting fresh with Reggie."
Remus stared at him a moment, wondering how he put that together, before shrugging it off. And returning his nose to his book.
James fidgeted. His friend was obsessed and it was…grating on him.
What Pads needed was a nice, healthy diversion. "Well, not that stalking the halls isn't fun, but why don't we retire—I've got a great prank planned for-"
"Tempting, but I-" Sirius pulled out an envelope. "I need to owl my uncle Alphard."
He might be on the outside, but as far he knew, his uncle was still "IN" with the family. And judging by the birthday presents he still received, Sirius remained his favorite relative. If anyone could shed some light and offer a helping hand in all this…chaos…it was his uncle.
Sirius stretched as he entered the owlery, craning his neck and hoping to catch sight of Byrd.
Yes, not the most heartfelt name, but he and Mum were in the middle of a row when they bought him…and feeling rather vindictive he…
Sirius blinked, catching sight of a familiar owl.
"Archimedes? You being lazy again?" Spotting the crisp letter tied to his leg.
Which meant…Drat. The little prat must've been here. He JUST missed him.
He eyed the owl suddenly—attention fixed on his burden.
"C'mere," he beckoned.
The owl hooted scornfully at him, scooting away.
"Don't you dare," Sirius groused. "You don't even know what a Bloodtraitor is!"
Apparently, it did. Because he had to immobilius the birdbrain to get a hold of it.
Totally worth it:
Dearest Aunt Druella,
I deeply regret that I can make no guarantee of my presence at the bridal shower. I am well aware of the pending duties associated with my position, though I thank you for your heartfelt concern.
I agree that it is a matter of grave importance and one I will take up with the Headmaster as soon as I am able. I'm certain he will regard our unique situation fairly. So you need not worry yourself further. I thank you for your attention to detail and the punctuality in which your letter was sent.
Until then, I wish your family well and hope the bride is looking forward to all the festivities.
All of my love,
Your Nephew,
R.A.B.
Oddly enough, it made Sirius feel better. So, he wasn't the only one who just got initials. Still, that warm farewell accompanied by an impersonal string of letters was curiously contradicting.
So Cissy was finally being married off? Well, that was all good and fine, but what could they need Reg for? He couldn't—riiiight. Head of House had to be present…and with their father…unavailable…
He tied it back to Archimedes' leg and set him loose, barely dodging angry talons.
Once the little beast was gone—having decided his job was far more pleasant than Sirius' company—the Gryffindor whipped out his quill for one more favor to ask Uncle Alphard.
When Sirius returned, he found Peter finishing up an essay for Flitwick in the common room. And no sign of Lupin.
He learned from Wormtail that Moony had gone to help some struggling third years with Muggle Studies.
Sirius rolled his eyes; he swore Remus would be a professor someday. Werewolf bans be damned.
James was up in the dormitory, relaxing with a Quidditch magazine.
They'd yet to share their discovery in the dungeons with the others yet. They'd need to plan a flowery speech to convince Lupin that it was necessary…if not quite legal.
"Ready to learn what makes a Snivellus tick?"
James grinned. Finally! Now Pads was acting like himself.
For good measure, they locked the dormitory door—not quite sure what the punishment for this would be and not willing to risk it.
James removed the pensieve from beneath his bed, setting it on his covers.
The boys nodded to one another, counted to three aloud, and submerged themselves into the liquid silver.
The world spun at a dizzying speed before settling into a clean though poor kitchen.
The boys stood uncertainly on the peeling linoleum floor, trying not to notice all the broken knobs adorning the flaking pantry doors.
"Now, where's Mommy's helper?" A thin, sallow woman with limp hair and gaunt features grinned.
Siruis grimaced; if she was the pretty one in the relationship, Snape had been doomed from the start.
"There he is!" she announced delightedly to her toddler.
Little Snape smiled shyly, hugging her leg, and rubbing his face into her flowery apron.
"Now, who's the good boy who's going to help me bake cookies?"
"…Me," he murmured softly, voice high and childish—that dreadful monotone had yet to set in.
"Who?"
"…Me…"
"Who?"
"Me, Mummy!" he shrieked excitedly.
"How lucky for me!"
Her hands were covered with animal mittens—the left one was a cow and the right was an alligator. She playfully tweaked her son's nose.
And they both laughed happily as rain pattered beyond the window.
The scene dissolved, the house disappeared and suddenly there was just rain, a downpour actually, shaking the trees harshly by the creek side.
The swollen creek water steadily rose, accompanied by a cacophony of happy ribbits.
A young girl up to her knees in it, giggled hysterically.
"Froggie, Froggie, Froooggie!" she sang obnoxiously, said animal squirmed unhappily in her hands.
Her tangled red hair was smattered with mud.
"Come on, Sevvy!" she called to a slip of a boy following her. "Gotta hurry it up! Or Mum'll be mad and won't make us hot chocolate!"
She tightened her grip on the frog with one hand and used the other to beckon him forth.
He watched her intently, dark eyes absorbed with her—as though she were the center of his universe—staring at her open hand, like it was sacred.
He nodded quietly and they waded through the muddy water hand-in-hand.
The scene swirled again, loud thunder rolling and harsh wind rattling the windows of the poor kitchen.
The messy finger paintings that once adorned the fridge were replaced with sleek official reports from Hogwarts. Though the magnet pinning them there was still the same cartoonish walrus wrapped around a heart engraved with an 'I love you.'
"I don't know Snape," murmured a young Regulus, nearly twelve. His sleeves were rolled up, no tie was on his collar (it'd be at fourteen that he started consistently wearing one), and there was an overly large flowery apron on him. Clearly, property of Mrs. Snape.
His arms were folded on the counter while he stared at the blender—studying it suspiciously. The orange liquid inside seemed harmless enough, but… "Maybe I shouldn't be the one to do this…"
"You flick the switch, Regulus. It's hardly difficult," Snape replied, mixing a bowl of instant pudding.
"Maybe not for a half-blood. YOU have experience with this STUFF."
"It's just a switch—that you FLICK."
"No, you see, you SAY that, everyone SAYS that, but it's really NOT that simple-"
"You FLICK the switch," Snape repeated more agitatedly, stirring the mix so vigorously that flecks splattered his dark green apron.
"You don't understand, my track record with these THINGS isn't-"
"It's her birthday, Regulus! You said you'd be helpful. She'll be here any minute! Stop wasting time and just FLICK THE SWITCH!"
"FIIIINE!" Regulus shrieked back, hastily turning the machine on.
Pandemonium ensued. Terrible. Staining. Messy. Pandemonium.
Snape slammed the bowl down on the table and sprinted over—scrabbling to turn the darn contraption off.
The floor. The walls. The counter. Their clothes. All COVERED in orange goop.
Snape began shuddering with anger. Everything was RUINED.
"Her parents wanted her out of the house for an hour or two, so they could finish up decorating. She was SUPPOSED to come here, Regulus! Her parents asked mine if that was alright! It was SUPPOSED to be-be-"
He was about to vent his frustration loud and angrily. His eyes were flashing, his posture tense, mouth open—terrible words already on their way out, when he heard a loud sniffle.
Severus glanced at the shorter boy—who was coming out of shock and entering distress—his shoulders slumped as he stared at his splattered shoes.
"I-I tried…to t-tell. I'm not-I'm ss-I-I know you wanted-all perfect for-for that one mud-a-and now…now-"
"Here."
Regulus glanced up to see Snape handing him something.
"What?"
"The lid," Snape replied. "You…you've got to place a lid on it, before…otherwise…"
"Oh," the younger boy muttered thickly.
Regulus glanced around the kitchen. Goop fell from the ceiling with a wet PLOP. His lips trembled. Another PLOP. He began sniffling.
"It's…okay."
"I d-didn't MEAN to-"
"It's okay."
"I-I just have NO luck w-when it c-c-comes to-"
"It. Is. Okay."
"And I-and then-you said and I just and the blaendahr started screeching then the GOOO and it's really cold and-and-and I'm-I'm-" the boy's pitch kept climbing higher and higher into hysteria.
"When I say it's ok, it's ok."
"R-Really?"
"No," Snape deadpanned.
Regulus buried his face in his hands emitting a low whine.
"What? No! Don't do that! It's fine! It's fine. That was badly timed sarcasm. I was joking…my sense of humor just sucks is all."
He reached over and scruffled the young Black's hair.
"Hey Sevvy!" A door slammed open. "Your Mom said you had something for me!"
"Yes," he called back—biting his lip nervously before being struck with an epiphany. "My friend here heard that you were an ace at Cleaning Spells and Charms!"
"You KNOW that I AM!"
"I do! But Reg wasn't convinced, so he's really outdone himself making a challenge for you!"
"Bring it on!"
"She loves a good challenge," Snape informed Regulus, smirking. "And now we have a great way to keep her busy. She loves showing off her talents. So just stand back and be awed the WHOLE time alright?"
Regulus nodded vigorously.
"Good. See? It ALL worked out."
Oddly enough, it did. Lily took the mishap in stride. She eyed the room, Regulus's distress, put two and two together and laughed a bit to herself. She then pulled out her wand.
She adored having an audience for her magical feats and Severus's little friend' and his idolizing attention clearly bolstered her confidence—sparking her to perform even more advanced magic.
As a first year, he hadn't gotten to practice many interesting spells yet. And it was fun discussing the more technical aspects—he was a sponge for it—particularly interested in the charms she used.
In the end, both seemed particularly satisfied by the exchange, even if Lily did keep calling him "Reginald" by mistake.
Back in the dormitory, Sirius and James stared at one another.
"Well," Prongs muttered after several moments of awkward silence. "Hell…has frozen over."
He saw a snobbish Pureblood, a dastardly Half-blood, and his beloved Lily clean a kitchen together…and laugh…and…enjoy each other's company.
"Yep."
"I'm scarred for life, Pads."
"Yep."
"…They held hands…"
"Yep."
James sighed heavily.
"Yep."
Sirius stared down at the pensieve sitting there on James's bed, shining and rippling serenely as though it HADN'T shown him something awful.
It was sickening really…how easily Snape had diffused that moment.
His lip curled; if that had been them…there would've been a blazing row, slamming doors, and objects breaking as they were thrown at one another's heads.
He turned and glanced out the window. Rain was starting to hit the panes, he glowered.
"Pads?"
"The last storm Reg and I were in together was right before I left."
James shifted uncomfortably. Lately, a darker side to his friend kept emerging; resentful and bitter and…more than a little eerie (truth be told). Stupid Regulus, putting his brother through this. Couldn't the twit see how much better off his older brother was without him?
But he couldn't just come out and say that—Slytherins were never straightforward—you had to DRAG even the most trivial things out of them. If Regulus could just give Sirius his blessing and wish him well in his exile maybe…
"Summer storm. We'd ended up sitting across from one another at the dining table. Breakfast, you know? Shared a comment about the 'dismal' weather and went back to munching toast."
"A-alright." James scrutinized his friend with concern—what was he supposed to make out of that statement?
"It was a good moment," Sirius replied earnestly. "It WAS."
"I-I see."
"No, you don't. That was IT, James! THAT was our last good moment! That was it! Sitting there eating toast together. No one smiled, but no one argued. Barely talked. Only the weather and a 'pass the marmalade.' Good moment. It was a-It was a-a-"
Thunder rolled, rattling the windows as lightning streaked through the sky.
Every year, before the Final Exams, an Extra Credit Potions Exhibition was held. A sort of saving-grace opportunity for struggling students…or bragging rights venture for vaunters.
Sirius, who never needed to improve his scores, was blindsided by this. EVERY year and he'd never even known of it until this morning.
Lupin had bemoaned his part in it and inadvertently slipped about who was also in the line-up.
The OFFICIAL reason he and James were sitting in the middle row of the Gryffindor Section was that Lupin was specially asked by McGonagall to read his Potions mid-term.
Slughorn had kept gushing over it, prodding their Head of House to have Lupin attend.
Sick of the badgering, the Transfiguration Professor informed Remus that if he presented, he'd get extra credit in both classes.
And so there Lupin stood at the podium of the converted Great Hall, dryly announcing his piece.
Thankfully, he wasn't the type for nerves to make him stutter.
Unfortunately, no enthusiasm colored it either; his voice remained calm and correct and horrifically boring.
The audience shifted uncomfortably. Lupin barely suppressed a (perhaps apologetic) sigh, three more feet to read…
While James was busy scuffing his shoes along the floor, occasionally tapping out a melody.
Sirius noticed Lily to the side.
Normally, he'd prod his mate about this and waggle his eyebrows suggestively. But lately, he and James were butting heads.
Because the REAL reason they were here was that Snape was presenting and Regulus was helping him.
He'd come to the decision that he needed to approach his brotherhood the same way he approached projects.
All of his previous expertise had to be swept to the side…for now. It'd just clutter his research.
He needed to pretend that he knew absolutely nothing on the subject—in order to achieve non-biased ends.
Because thoughts about how his was brother's fraternizing with the enemy, left him feeling furious and betrayed. And it was hard to function with all of that simmering inside of him.
Lily returned a wave to several younger Gryffindor students peeking through the curtain. Clearly, she'd promised her support—she really was a good role-model—no wonder the kiddies admired her so much.
Her presence was definitely important; the Gryffindor Section of the audience was pretty darn sparse. Bold, daring Gryffs had better things to do than attend lame brainiac events.
Hufflepuff had a scattering of support, mostly older students earning their good deed for the day.
Ravenclaw had about a third of its benches filled; they appreciated smart people—which went without saying—that was their house's deciding factor.
But what amazed him was the Slytherin Section.
They only had three students in the exhibition and, even then, Reg and Snape were listed together as the last event.
Regardless, Slytherin students Years 1-7 had packed into the space. First years sat cross-legged on the floor. Everyone on the benches were smushed together. But no one complained, they all just…sat there. Coldly composed. As though they were attending some tragic opera and not a hastily made school presentation.
Slughorn awarded extra credit for school spirit. And then there was just the principle of the thing: Slytherins Stick Together.
And so began what James would later dub: Unusual Torture That Stole Two Years Off my Life.
Most of the presenters were dreadfully dull. Snoozefest…Ugh…Color-Shaders, Noise-Changers and other kiddy stuff. So their hair turned purple so what? So now they're squawking like a chicken, lame…
Sad…the most interesting ones thus far were three Pepper-Up Potions (with varying degrees of success—one unfortunate girl ended up with steam pouring out of her nose!) and then there was the ambitious first-year Cassandra Nichols who went for a shrinking solution.
Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey was ready and restored the girl's foot when some of the potion splashed on it.
Sirius actually applauded that one—even if she WAS a nasty little Slytherin. It was indisputable evidence that she'd made it right. Otherwise, she could've easily faked it on her selected items with a simple illusion charm.
Before he could ponder anymore—a great change came over the audience; Suddenly, everyone straightened.
The lights dimmed and the energy tensed. Sirius blinked at the transformation.
The final presenters were coming. Judging from the excited whispers, Snape was eagerly anticipated.
In his arena, I suppose, the elder Black thought disparagingly. Darkness did suit him; a vast improvement with a face like that. A single spotlight turned on. Damn, they were going to have to see him.
Dark and batlike, Snape swept onto the stage. His brooding expression didn't waver as he took in the large crowd.
He approached center stage and stood straight—showing off his impressive height. His lankiness, normally so awkward and comical, became intimidating in the gloom.
He gave a nod to someone off stage, before pointing his wand to his throat.
"I am Snape, a sixth-year Slytherin, as some of you may know I have an affinity for potion making."
His deep voice echoed in the room, simultaneously menacing and mysterious.
Regulus appeared, immaculate as always, gliding downstage and to the left. Rather than stealing the spotlight from Snape, his sudden materialization added to the mystique.
If Snape looked eerie, Regulus looked downright ghostly—the darkness made his sickly pale skin practically glow.
A creepy duo indeed.
"My associate, Mr. Black, we'll be helping me showcase this noteworthy event."
Regulus gave a bow worthy of his bloodline. Wand in hand, he lazily flicked his wrist.
Charms Master, Sirius noted offhanded. Sure, he'd heard that, but …
He knew it was harsh of him to think so, but somehow he'd always remember him as a second-place son. Sirius was always faster, stronger, smarter, more cunning…
He used to think it was the nature of such things: he came first, naturally he'd be better at everything—he'd had a head start, you know?
And by the time Regulus caught up to the first bend, Sirius would speed forth to the next.
He'd made the mistake of announcing that once between them. One of the few times his brother hit him and, of course, Sirius won that fight too.
But watching the items float gracefully to their spots was aweing.
Regulus's lips didn't move once—silent spellcasting. VERY advanced magic. And at fourteen too.
Snape wasn't the only performer here and he was giving Reggie his due: an opportunity to flaunt his own impressive skills.
Respect…they respected one another's talents…
Snape stared down his long nose, eyeing the crowd—as though deciding if they were worthy enough to hear his speech.
"Mortality—man's greatest adversary and benefactor. When Death's icy grasp reaches for ourselves—perilous, for our enemies—convenient. Now, many of us would not soil our hands with such a fell deed—waging Death's War is too messy an affair to even dream of. And even for the select few…capable of true, ruthless godlessness—escaping responsibility of said actions proves impossible. But for the cunning, I propose a way—a method of bending Lord Death to our will, as I shall demonstrate before you this day."
Sirius credited him with setting the mood, though definitely far too melodramatic for his taste. He silently commended his brother for holding a straight face. Though, one edge of his lips kept upturning.
His eyes were smiling, privately amused by the whole spectacle.
Little did anyone know that it took 73 rehearsals for him to stop laughing intermittently.
Half the crowd was now leaning forward in anticipation, one quarter was fearfully glancing at the exits, and the other was rolling their eyes.
Sirius was part of the latter; thus far, the coolest part of this event was watching his brother setting up the beakers and tubes. It was neat watching the items zoom out of the darkness and place themselves just so on the table.
Finally, the cauldron and its burner graced the stage along with two stools placed several meters away.
Regulus perched on one, hands clasped—statues-like and refined. His job was done; well, there went the interesting part.
Potions was practically like cooking; seeing Snape go about stirring various serums and adding ingredients was dull.
All the while Snape blathered on about "seemingly eternal darkness" and something about "Hypnos" and "Thanatos."
He then gave a nod to Regulus to speak while he prepped the potion to its final stages.
"Alright then," Regulus announced wand at his throat—suave young voice quite similar to his brother's. "Snape needs a moment, or five, and it is my prerogative to divert you. I will answer any questions NOT pertaining to the nature of Mr. Snape's potion. It is a…" he paused, lips twitching amusedly, "surprise that I would not like to spoil…Any takers?"
The audience twittered and someone called out, "Boxers or Briefs!?"
Everyone laughed, including the Black in question.
"Boxers!" he crowed, grinning. "So demmed comfortable, you know?"
"Mr. Black!"
"Dreadfully sorry, Professor McGonagall, inquiring minds want to know."
Sirius burst out laughing. God. Sounded just like himself!
"Who you following?"
"Falmouth Falcons," was the immediate response which was met with a, "Booooo. Chudley Cannons are better!"
"Blasphemy! Trip and die already!"
"Mr. Black!"
"He knows I mean that with all the good will I'm capable of. 'Sides I'm pretty sure it was a Hufflepuff, and we all know their vote hardly counts anyway."
Said section booed.
"Mr. Black, I'm warning you-"
"Come now, we all know I'm just being a bad sport because of that match. Which they TOTALLY CANNOT fault me for."
Everyone snickered.
"Truly though, doomed if you don't and DAMNED if you do."
Loud snorts and high-pitched giggling resumed.
"Mr.-"
"We may begin," Snape intoned solemnly.
And just like that all the lightheartedness vanished—replaced with a somber heaviness that made Sirius's grin falter.
Regulus sat straighter, stiffer—clearly going for composed, but there was…an edge to him somehow.
Snape ladled some potion into a vial and swept to the center of the stage beside his fellow Slytherin.
Sirius found himself staring at that vial. Not liking the grim expression Snape gave it.
He didn't know why but somehow…seeing Snape looming over his brother like that made him think of an executioner.
No. No, that was ridiculous. Sirius shook his head roughly. His brother was going to be perfectly fine. Dumbledore would never allow students to actually harm each other.
Nonetheless, his hands fisted so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"Mortality is inescapable. We can delay, we can delude, but we cannot defeat this irrefutable fact of our biology. It is unfair, unkind, and undiscriminating. Yet, fascinating in its absoluteness…for life is uncertain, but death is not."
A chill ran through Sirius's spine. The blasé, matter-of-fact attitude Snape sported rattled him deeply.
That dispassionate train of thought regarding death...that it was common and expected a-and…his stomach turned.
Almost as though life weren't worth the hassle of fighting for…that in the end you'd die anyway...why try?
That nothing was forever…that nothing was stronger than…
He found himself remembering his early childhood.
New Year's Eve at their Uncle Cygnus's Manor in the country—lying stretched out on chaises they'd made Kreacher set on the balcony. They'd been bundled in quilts, whispering back and forth to one another as they watched the fireworks with unabashed interest that only the very young could manage.
"Siri?"
"S'matter, Reggie?"
"Bella says stars explode too, like fireworks. That stars can die."
"Not us, Reg. We'll be forever. I promise."
"You swear?"
"I swear."
"On your magic?"
"Better, on our blood!"
Suddenly, the Great Hall seemed much too small and Sirius breathed heavily. He felt like he was sinking in the darkness. As though his body was filled with lead and the weight was pulling him down.
An unknown anxiety was filling him and he knew intrinsically that he didn't want his brother on that stage right now. Didn't want him anywhere near the young Potions Master.
Blatantly hearing that the sixth year Slytherin deemed life so cheaply…what if something ever happened and Regulus NEEDED saving? Would "delaying" the so-called inevitable seem a worthy pursuit to the greasy, no-good, hook-nosed prat?
Snape moved closer to his brother. Slow, measured steps that signaled a doom of some kind…
"And as we fear and revere Lord Death, so forth we venture to emulate him and his vast dark power. I present you our success." Snape raised the vial in exaltation before handing it over to Regulus.
Madam Pomfrey waited anxiously behind the curtain—a safeguard for all the potions gone wrong. But all the mishaps she's resolved today would be trivial in comparison if this act went wrong. She wrung her hands nervously, heart hammering.
Regulus accepted the vial fearlessly, offering the audience a handsome smile and a "Cheers" before knocking it back.
The fourth year grimaced; Reg never had a taste for bitter things. But ignoring his gag-reflex was the easy part of this act…
Snape overturned an hourglass and set it on a nearby stool.
Sirius watched perplexed. Most potions had an almost immediate effect. Meaning…this was an advanced one.
Polyjuice Potion, perhaps? Or maybe Veritaserum? That could be interesting. Or maybe-
Regulus choked suddenly. Snape was immediately at his side, holding him steady.
Regulus grabbed his housemate's arm, fingers digging into his sleeve. His pale face went stark white as he started wheezing.
"As you can see," Snape announced coldly, "the body valiantly attempts to ward off the foreign substance."
Regulus gasped and gagged and spluttered—the awful sounds echoing in the large room.
No one moved, too shocked and horrified by what looked very much like poisoning—what seemed terribly like-like-
He jerked and twisted and coughed—body spasming violently as Snape lowered him to the stone floor.
"But there is no hope. The toxin wins-"
Regulus sucked in a terrible, painful breath and then stilled…
"Always."
Snape placed his wand over Regulus's heart magnifying the sound.
Thum-thump, thum-thump…thump…thum…
Silence…silence so deafening you swore your ears would bleed…
Body limp…eyes glassy…staring vacantly up at the ceiling…
No one moved…no one spoke…no one wanted to believe…
Snape nodded succinctly, faced the audience, and announced: "Behold, the Drought of Living Death!"
R & R please! ^-^