Severus Snape/Regulus Black
Author: Bitterfig
Title: Expectant
Pairing: Severus Snape/Regulus Black
Summary: October, 1979. Regulus believes he’s found the way out of the Death Eaters, but who deserves to be saved?
Word Count: 1278
Beta Reader: Nzomniac
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Implied slash, angst, adult themes.
Author’s Notes: Fifth of Seven stories on Severus Snape/Regulus Black written for the ljcommunity 7spells using prompt set 1:3 “In the room where women come and go.” Click here to view progress table.
Expectant
When he got the message from Regulus to come to the hospital, Severus Snape went.
He knew what had happened--Voldemort had found out.
He had known he would, known since Regulus first dared to say, “I’m going to find a way to get us out.” It hadn’t ended with that either.
“I know how we can get out,” Regulus had told him three nights before. He’d just shot up, again, and he was lying back on the bed sheets, eyes rolled up into his skull and his breath slow as sleep. “Get out of the Death Eaters, get away from Voldemort.”
“Regulus, you can scarcely keep that needle out of your arm for an hour,” Severus said wearily.
“I’ve found out how to hurt him.”
“If Voldemort could be hurt,” he said quietly, “don’t you think I would have done it?”
He flinched violently as Regulus touched his stooped shoulder. He hated that Regulus knew. Knew how weak he was, how cowardly. How easy it was to use him. How easy and familiar and almost comfortable it was for him to serve the one who’d broken him and turn his hatred on the innocent.
“There is a way,” Regulus said.
It might be true. Regulus allowed himself to be underestimated, but he had a way with secrets … secrets and seduction and forbidden knowledge. His gift for Legilimency wouldn’t let him into Voldemort’s mind, but there were people close to Voldemort he could access. And while Voldemort would never disclose a weakness to any one person, he might have dispersed among his followers harmless information that pieced together could be used against him.
“Whatever you know,” Severus said, “don’t tell me. I can’t be trusted. Voldemort has too much of a hold over me.”
“You’re stronger than you think, Severus. That’s why he’s always been so harsh with you. Even before you learned proper Occlumency, you were so guarded that it was difficult to use Legilimency on you. You can protect yourself from him.”
“Don’t tell me,” he repeated. “I won’t be the one responsible for your death.”
He knew how it would end. He had not expected it to end so quickly.
In St. Mungo’s, he walked up to the desk as if he were an empty body driven on by some unnatural force, an Inferi. He gave the name of Regulus Black, and they took him to a ward where the voices of women echoed from the walls and the rows of beds were filled with women. Regulus was there, not in a bed himself but sitting beside one of the beds. He was there for someone else. He was all right. Severus breathed again for the first time since he had gotten the message.
He thought he was composed, but, as usual, Regulus saw through him. Saw that his face was even paler than usual, and that relief had left him so weak he could hardly stand. He rose to his feet, wrapped his stick-thin arms around Severus who, though usually uncomfortable with any display of affection, embraced him back, fiercely clutching the wasted body of the boy he loved against his own bones.
“I thought you were hurt,” Severus choked. “I thought he had found out.” He was ashamed, ashamed for being so weak and--worse than weak--so stupid. If Voldemort had found out that Regulus was scheming against him, working to free them from his grasp, he would not be receiving messages from Regulus to come to the hospital. Regulus would not be hurt … he would be dead. Severus would also be dead.
“I’m sorry,” Regulus said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I should have said more in my message. I didn’t think.” Severus composed himself and stepped back from Regulus, his face impassive and his voice firm once again.
“Do you ever think?” he asked. It was cruel but it was true. Regulus Black was a child. He thought and acted as a child. His intentions to take on the Dark Lord were laughable. Maybe, if he realized that, he would stop before it was too late.
“What are we doing here, anyway?” Severus snapped.
“It’s Bellatrix--she fainted. I brought her here.” He sat down beside her once more and stroked the dark hair of the woman in the bed. It fanned out about her on the pillow as if she were a fairy tale princess, pale skin that seemed to glow like a candle and lips of purple rose. “She’s sleeping now,” he said tenderly.
“She must have been very ill to have tolerated being placed on a ward and not in a private room. What’s wrong with her?”
“She was anemic; they gave her a potion for it. She’s pregnant, Severus.”
She was pregnant. She was going to have a child. That was why they were in this room where women came and went, spoke in hushed tones, apprehensive but almost joyful. He did not feel joy. He did not feel the warmth that glowed in Regulus’ voice. He felt cold. The cold of bare feet on winter floors, of threadbare clothes and long, chilly days sent outside, forbidden to return till evening. The cold of hunger and of anger, resentful eyes, chilly words. That was what “child” meant to him.
He would never have struck Regulus, but he found himself using words to the same effect.
“Since you’re taking such an interest, am I to assume it’s yours?” Severus said and watched hurt register on the boy’s face.
“You know that’s not true,” Regulus said. “She’s three months along. It’s October; the last time I was with her was February.” He took Severus’ hand, kissed the tips of his fingers, burned and stained from potions. He was so kind, so quick to forgive, so willing to love. That was why Severus was afraid for him every moment of every hour.
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he said.
“I do.” Regulus kissed his hand again. “I can’t blame you for asking. You know what a slut I’ve always been.”
He wanted to tell Regulus that he had never been a slut. That he had been starving and taken what he was offered, and it was better that he had done that than learning to deny the hunger entirely as Severus had. He wanted to tell Regulus this, but he did not know how.
“I’m sorry,” he said instead. Regulus looked up at him. He was not beautiful, not as he had been when they had met eight months before. His chestnut hair was lank and dull, his cheeks were sunken, his skin sallow. There were dark circles around his violet eyes, but somehow they still shone. Somehow, he was still beautiful in his compassion, beautiful in his understanding.
Severus Snape, on the other hand, was not beautiful in any sense. He looked at the woman sleeping so, the expectant mother. Regulus looked at her the way he looked at Severus--with a love that did not ask if it was deserved.
Severus Snape knew he did not deserve to be redeemed, did not deserve to be saved or freed. And if he was unworthy, the woman lying before them like a sleeping angel was beneath even him. She was the one who had brought them into the Death Eaters, given them over to Voldemort. Whatever child she bore would be a tragic monster. Like him, like Regulus, it would never have a chance.
“You can’t salvage her, Regulus; you can’t salvage her child. Leave them to Voldemort,” Severus said. “I know you care for her, but you must not trust her.”
Regulus kissed his hand again, but said nothing.
Title: Expectant
Pairing: Severus Snape/Regulus Black
Summary: October, 1979. Regulus believes he’s found the way out of the Death Eaters, but who deserves to be saved?
Word Count: 1278
Beta Reader: Nzomniac
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Implied slash, angst, adult themes.
Author’s Notes: Fifth of Seven stories on Severus Snape/Regulus Black written for the ljcommunity 7spells using prompt set 1:3 “In the room where women come and go.” Click here to view progress table.
Expectant
When he got the message from Regulus to come to the hospital, Severus Snape went.
He knew what had happened--Voldemort had found out.
He had known he would, known since Regulus first dared to say, “I’m going to find a way to get us out.” It hadn’t ended with that either.
“I know how we can get out,” Regulus had told him three nights before. He’d just shot up, again, and he was lying back on the bed sheets, eyes rolled up into his skull and his breath slow as sleep. “Get out of the Death Eaters, get away from Voldemort.”
“Regulus, you can scarcely keep that needle out of your arm for an hour,” Severus said wearily.
“I’ve found out how to hurt him.”
“If Voldemort could be hurt,” he said quietly, “don’t you think I would have done it?”
He flinched violently as Regulus touched his stooped shoulder. He hated that Regulus knew. Knew how weak he was, how cowardly. How easy it was to use him. How easy and familiar and almost comfortable it was for him to serve the one who’d broken him and turn his hatred on the innocent.
“There is a way,” Regulus said.
It might be true. Regulus allowed himself to be underestimated, but he had a way with secrets … secrets and seduction and forbidden knowledge. His gift for Legilimency wouldn’t let him into Voldemort’s mind, but there were people close to Voldemort he could access. And while Voldemort would never disclose a weakness to any one person, he might have dispersed among his followers harmless information that pieced together could be used against him.
“Whatever you know,” Severus said, “don’t tell me. I can’t be trusted. Voldemort has too much of a hold over me.”
“You’re stronger than you think, Severus. That’s why he’s always been so harsh with you. Even before you learned proper Occlumency, you were so guarded that it was difficult to use Legilimency on you. You can protect yourself from him.”
“Don’t tell me,” he repeated. “I won’t be the one responsible for your death.”
He knew how it would end. He had not expected it to end so quickly.
In St. Mungo’s, he walked up to the desk as if he were an empty body driven on by some unnatural force, an Inferi. He gave the name of Regulus Black, and they took him to a ward where the voices of women echoed from the walls and the rows of beds were filled with women. Regulus was there, not in a bed himself but sitting beside one of the beds. He was there for someone else. He was all right. Severus breathed again for the first time since he had gotten the message.
He thought he was composed, but, as usual, Regulus saw through him. Saw that his face was even paler than usual, and that relief had left him so weak he could hardly stand. He rose to his feet, wrapped his stick-thin arms around Severus who, though usually uncomfortable with any display of affection, embraced him back, fiercely clutching the wasted body of the boy he loved against his own bones.
“I thought you were hurt,” Severus choked. “I thought he had found out.” He was ashamed, ashamed for being so weak and--worse than weak--so stupid. If Voldemort had found out that Regulus was scheming against him, working to free them from his grasp, he would not be receiving messages from Regulus to come to the hospital. Regulus would not be hurt … he would be dead. Severus would also be dead.
“I’m sorry,” Regulus said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I should have said more in my message. I didn’t think.” Severus composed himself and stepped back from Regulus, his face impassive and his voice firm once again.
“Do you ever think?” he asked. It was cruel but it was true. Regulus Black was a child. He thought and acted as a child. His intentions to take on the Dark Lord were laughable. Maybe, if he realized that, he would stop before it was too late.
“What are we doing here, anyway?” Severus snapped.
“It’s Bellatrix--she fainted. I brought her here.” He sat down beside her once more and stroked the dark hair of the woman in the bed. It fanned out about her on the pillow as if she were a fairy tale princess, pale skin that seemed to glow like a candle and lips of purple rose. “She’s sleeping now,” he said tenderly.
“She must have been very ill to have tolerated being placed on a ward and not in a private room. What’s wrong with her?”
“She was anemic; they gave her a potion for it. She’s pregnant, Severus.”
She was pregnant. She was going to have a child. That was why they were in this room where women came and went, spoke in hushed tones, apprehensive but almost joyful. He did not feel joy. He did not feel the warmth that glowed in Regulus’ voice. He felt cold. The cold of bare feet on winter floors, of threadbare clothes and long, chilly days sent outside, forbidden to return till evening. The cold of hunger and of anger, resentful eyes, chilly words. That was what “child” meant to him.
He would never have struck Regulus, but he found himself using words to the same effect.
“Since you’re taking such an interest, am I to assume it’s yours?” Severus said and watched hurt register on the boy’s face.
“You know that’s not true,” Regulus said. “She’s three months along. It’s October; the last time I was with her was February.” He took Severus’ hand, kissed the tips of his fingers, burned and stained from potions. He was so kind, so quick to forgive, so willing to love. That was why Severus was afraid for him every moment of every hour.
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he said.
“I do.” Regulus kissed his hand again. “I can’t blame you for asking. You know what a slut I’ve always been.”
He wanted to tell Regulus that he had never been a slut. That he had been starving and taken what he was offered, and it was better that he had done that than learning to deny the hunger entirely as Severus had. He wanted to tell Regulus this, but he did not know how.
“I’m sorry,” he said instead. Regulus looked up at him. He was not beautiful, not as he had been when they had met eight months before. His chestnut hair was lank and dull, his cheeks were sunken, his skin sallow. There were dark circles around his violet eyes, but somehow they still shone. Somehow, he was still beautiful in his compassion, beautiful in his understanding.
Severus Snape, on the other hand, was not beautiful in any sense. He looked at the woman sleeping so, the expectant mother. Regulus looked at her the way he looked at Severus--with a love that did not ask if it was deserved.
Severus Snape knew he did not deserve to be redeemed, did not deserve to be saved or freed. And if he was unworthy, the woman lying before them like a sleeping angel was beneath even him. She was the one who had brought them into the Death Eaters, given them over to Voldemort. Whatever child she bore would be a tragic monster. Like him, like Regulus, it would never have a chance.
“You can’t salvage her, Regulus; you can’t salvage her child. Leave them to Voldemort,” Severus said. “I know you care for her, but you must not trust her.”
Regulus kissed his hand again, but said nothing.