Re: A two-parter here
And then, I have to say something about your portrayal of Benjamin/Severus, because I'm utterly seduced, both by your words and by Horace's perceptions of his mannerisms, his unsanded edges, his smart, sharp-tongued loneliness, his fugitive's nerves. This Severus wrings my heart. And there's a distinct pleasure in the way Horace sees him as a young man. Because that's such a rare viewpoint, and it's interesting how vulnerable it makes him. Although no less dangerous.
the door flew open with a certain amount of drama
the mildly consumptive way that used to be the fashion and that Horace still had a weakness for.
His expression flickered from full foot in mouth to one of slight chagrin.
Benjamin absently rubbed the tines of his fork over his lower lip. It was a surprisingly arresting gesture. (To which I can only say, "Um, yes.")
Severus looked like he was about to die of nerves about two inches beneath that frosty surface. I heart this line *so much.*
It was a ragged face, one that wore twenty years of heartbreak in every line. Then he blinked, and there was brown-haired Benjamin Jink, him of the arithmancer's squint. A little bruised, a little battered, but young still, with a lifetime ahead of him. There it is, the absolution. For both of them. Because one of the poignant things about Horace Slughorn - no, two things - are the fact that he does have a conscience, despite a lifetime devoted to social butterflying, and despite or because of his habit of wrapping himself protectively in self-indulgence, he never ceases to hope. And I can imagine that encountering both of these qualities in a figure from his past would help soothe Severus's desperate self-exile.
In short (yes, that's a joke!), this story is so beautifully executed that I can't imagine changing a word. I went to bed last night thinking about it and woke up this morning still with that sense of having encountered something utterly exquisite. Thank you so much for such a gorgeous work of art.