Entry tags:

2009_fic, dark_themes, fic4:leela_cat, snape/regulus

fic for leela_cat 'The Lost One, Returned' (Snape/Regulus)

Fic for: leela_cat
Title: The Lost One, Returned
Author: janus


Pairing: Severus/Regulus
Rating: PG
Warnings/Content Info: highlight between brackets if you prefer story warnings:
[Dark Themes]
Summary: Severus finds refuge at Grimmauld Place after delivering the Sword of Gryffindor. When he arrives, he discovers a poisoned stranger and later realises it is Regulus Black, who had been held in time in the Lake of the Inferi. With the destruction of the Horcrux, he has been returned to the home from which he departed that fateful day.
Disclaimer: The world of HP and its characters belongs to Rowling. The author of this fic has borrowed them for the purposes of storytelling. No profit was or will be made.
Word count: ~3,970
Author Notes: Thank you so much to 00sevvie for so much encouragement, for being my wonderul beta and for introducing me to Regulus.

The Lost One, Returned

It was Christmas. Technically, Severus had missed Christmas, but Boxing Day was very near and still within the season of Yuletide. He had spent the day fooling about in the chilly Forest of Dean, trying to lead the tiresome children to the glorious Sword of Gryffindor. Finally they had retrieved it, after hesitating and whining at the lake-shore. Snape was disinclined to return to the castle, with its assorted Carrows. While the students were gone for the holiday, he wanted a brief respite from their brutish vicious crowing. They had never held power before, and simply wanted to inflict suffering to prove they possessed it. They made his head hurt, and having made the excuse of other engagements the day before, he was not anxious to return.

Where could he go? Spinner's End held nothing but cold memories, and while the jollity of Malfoy Manor had something to speak for it, he was not inclined to deal with more grisly feasts. The Order had abandoned the old Black residence. The other Death Eaters knew this, and had left only a minimal guard. If he were careful, he could elude them. They would never expect him there. The last time he had visited, it had been in a terrible state. Mundungus had not been careful, respectful or even reasonable. He hated the man. Severus would clean Regulus' old room, perhaps install a tree. They had been friends. It would be a small memorial to the lost boy of his... it had been so long now... his childhood.

Yes, Regulus' room would be cheering. There would be no company, no presents, but perhaps even though he would be alone he could give himself a day's peace, quiet, warmth. He wished that there were... something he could make for himself, that there were... some way to care for himself, as there was no one else to do so. The gift of activity for its own sake, and the indulgence that implied would be enough. Perhaps he could read one of Regulus' books, if any remained. Something simple, a story or history a boy might read. Surely that would have gone unnoticed.

He apparated to Hogsmeade, sweeping through it in his black robes. He noticed and winced that he intimidated and frightened every single person he encountered, and that they were painfully eager to please, where they had always been perfunctory before. He got festive food, new quills, overnight necessities and a few potions ingredients. After all, if he knew himself - and he did - he would grow restless in moments with no useful occupation. He could brew more medicinal potions to supplement his emergency supplies.

He used his handy severing spell, as much a tool as a weapon, to remove a small juniper from the forest nearby. It would provide some measure of seasonal cheer, though it was for himself alone. Without Hogwarts, which had been his home since he was a child, he felt strangely disconnected. He would place magical fairy-lights in the branches of the little tree, stand it in the corner of Regulus' room. He could almost picture it now.

Severus apparated with the tree, carefully arriving exactly on the top step, flattening himself and the boughs to the door. There was no response from the street where a solitary figure in a long coat kicked a pebble, bored and resentful. He opened the door.

To an astonishing din, so rapid-fire he was unable to catch the content of the words.

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, YOU UNGRATEFUL WRETCH OF A BOY? WE THOUGHT YOUR BROTHER WAS A DISAPPOINTMENT, AND THEN YOU DISAPPEARED. LEAVING US WAITING ALL THIS TIME! WORRIED US TO DEATH, YOU DID - YOUR FATHER AND I. WORRIED US TO DEATH! NOW YOU COME HOME TO SOIL THE FLOOR, AND ME A PORTRAIT. GO GET YOURSELF CLEANED UP BOY, AND DONT LET ME SEE YOU IN THIS STATE AGAIN. NEVER THOUGHT OF YOUR MOTHER FOR A SECOND, DID YOU, GALLIVANTING OFF...

"Silencio!" Severus dropped the tree and his packages against the door he hurriedly slammed behind him. He pointed his wand at the portrait, causing the curtains to snap shut, concealing it and abruptly cutting off its relentless nagging, so shrill and loud it made his ears ring.

The object of its diatribe slumped damply against the silk wallpaper, causing it to streak in dark streams. His clothes were stuck to his body, and his footprints dragged through the heaped dust of the hall, the remains of Moody's idiotic and ineffectual golem. It didn't look like a Death Eater, and it certainly was not one of those tiresome children. He thought for a second that it was Sirius, but he had only half-understood the portrait. No, it was a boy, too thin and young. And Sirius was dead.

As he contemplated the figure, wand trained on it, it fell to its knees, shaking and retching. "Stand and explain yourself!"

It struggled to rise, but fell on its face, crying weakly, evil-smelling green potion dribbling from its mouth. It murmured.

He neared it cautiously, ready. This was almost certainly a trick, but who could have entered? Who could have overcome the charm? "Speak up!"

"Water... Please. Water. Water." It was trying to crawl by clawing its way into the kitchen. It stopped. "S... S... Severus?"

He saw now that it had a sodden deep green Slytherin scarf wrapped around its throat and that it was scrabbling to put its dampness into its mouth. One of his young snakes, then? But who... He didn't recognise the brown curly hair plastered over its head... his head. A boy, now. A boy. "Professor Snape," He snapped nervously.

The situation seemed less sinister now, but he was wary of things he did not understand.

He crouched, and noticed that where the green potion had dripped on the boy's scarf, it had dried and the drought spread through the fabric. Merlin, if this was doing the same to the boy's insides... Reaching into his robes, he drew out a paper packet of bezoars. The boy's hands tried to grasp his clothing.

"Please." The voice was hoarse, scratchy, but something in it caught at his memory.

"Open your mouth." It was imperative, a command and the boy obeyed. He thrust the bezoar as deep as he dared without choking him. The results were immediate and he began to gag, and to shake rather than shivering. The green glowing liquid literally sloshed from him, spewing onto his clothing, drying it on contact and smoking with Dark Magic. Severus barely held the boy from him in time to dodge it himself. What a stupid Christmas this would be. How could he relax now, playing nurse-maid to some careless but no doubt pure-blooded idiot, who had been meddling with things he did not understand and would also no doubt continue to do so.

This treatment would not be enough, and the boy must be desperately dehydrating, even if he had lessened some of the poison's potency. He seized the boy by the back of his robes and scooped him up as best as he could face-forward. The kitchen was right there - and how could the boy have known where to go? Severus rushed him over to the big stone sink. "Aguamenti!"

The boy launched himself at the sink and, thrusting his head into the filling water, sucked and inhaled desperately. As he was in danger of drowning, Severus dragged him up and scooped water for him with a dust-covered cup that had been left after Mundungus' raid. Dust wouldn't matter now. He poured it into the boy, holding him back by the collar. His clothes were almost completely dry now, but by no means clean. He smelt of batrachian pools, decayed weeds and sheer mud.

As he realised he was being given water, the boy ceased to struggle, which made Severus' job a little easier. A little of the green poison had gotten into the sink, but he rinsed it out and refilled it. Such a small amount would not steal all the gallons of water in the sink. Not as it had been stealing the water in the boy's body. The water was spewing out now itself, tinted green, but not the earlier violent colour, and the smoke was almost imperceptible. Severus watched the boy's hands and fingernails as they rounded and their deathly grey turned a more natural pink shade. His skin was pale still, of course, but he did not think the boy would die, if he kept working.

"More water. Keep drinking," Severus ordered, though it was scarcely necessary. He gave the cup to the boy, who began to feed himself, scooping water from the sink. "Keep doing that, while I make you what potions I can."

He searched his pockets, watching the boy from behind to ensure he behaved. A cauldron. There must be a cauldron here. It was a wizarding home after all, and such a standard simple vessel would not have been stolen. He fished in one of the lower cupboards and came upon an old copper one. Well, copper was not the best material, but it heated evenly. He tipped in a generous amount of Murtlap Essence, hellebore, a pinch of ground Dragon Hide and a very few grains of Wartcap Powder, with a base of... peppermint tea. He brewed this, while continuing to keep an eye on the drinking boy. After he uttered the quick heating spell, he began to stir, careful to ensure that all his strokes were absolutely clockwise.

Thank god he always carried his own portable pharmacy. This boy would need all his help. Severus looked forward to an explanation for his plight. He did not seem to be a trap, or an inherent danger. There had been no hint of malice or viciousness - no intent to harm Severus. For a second he wondered if the boy had encountered one of the ambushes the Order had set for Severus himself. But no, they would not use Dark Magic. He almost snorted at the squeamishness of the Aurors who killed without trial, just because they were legally authorised to do so.

When his special potion had brewed, he moved to the boy and took the cup from him. He unwrapped the Slytherin scarf so he wouldn't choke. "Here, you must drink this now. It will seal your body from the inside against whatever remains of the poison."

The boy turned from the sink towards him to take the cup. His eyes were haunted and frightened, but willing, co-operative, knowing Severus was helping him, saving him. He took the cup and drank obediently. Then, and only then, he gave him the more usual potions - Calming Draught, Strengthening Solution. His face had filled out more naturally now, still desiccated at the edges, but...

Severus stood him up on his feet, though he was still shaking and weak. "Tergeo." He removed the mud and dried slime from the boy's face, from his hair, from his hands and clothing. No, it couldn't be. It couldn't. It couldn't. He reached out to the curly hair, now revealed as almost-black brown, moving his hands through it. The eyes still looked at him, a little shocked, though the potions were beginning to calm him. He placed his palms over the pale cheeks, turned the head to the left, the right, looking intently. It couldn't. It had to be Sirius. Sirius was dead. Had he had a son? A Slytherin? Severus would have known, and this boy was too old. It couldn't.

The boy reached out a hand to touch Severus' nose with one finger, to touch one of his black brows above his black eyes. And he hesitatingly spoke the first words that were not emergency. "Severus? Severus... But you are so old..."

That was right, the boy had known him, and not as Professor Snape. The boy had recognised him and Severus had not looked at him properly. Could it? He remembered snatches of Walpurga's words in the hall. He spoke hesitatingly, after so long, after all the dead, everyone - everyone dead or lost. "Regulus?"

The boy nodded. It was true. It had to be, could only be. Phineas Nigellus had related Kreacher's tale to him, Regulus' friend. Severus had a right to know, he had told him.

The boy nodded. Regulus. Regulus nodded.

For the second time in this house, Severus wept, but this was good for Regulus. If Severus was human, it would allow him to be human as well. He drew him into his arms, wrapping him in his cloak and the sleeves of his robes, holding him close. Time. There had been so much time. "It has been twenty years. So much has happened. It's all right. I know what you did. It will be all right."

"What happened? What's going on? Is mother - a portrait. Is she... dead? Where's father?" His voice was quiet, next to Severus' ear, confidential and horrified at the same time.

He had to tell him now, quickly. Regulus had always been brave, practical and proud. He had always done exactly what he carefully reasoned was best. His pride... it had been an active pride, in which he had always been sure he could be proud of himself, in advance, and by that successful. Severus cradled his head against his shoulder. "They are all dead, Regulus, or they have been driven mad in Azkaban. I am the only one left, and Lucius and Narcissa." No one should have to hear that every friend or relation, every loved one they have ever had is gone, especially after such an ordeal as he could hardly imagine. "Regulus, we all mourned you. I have never stopped mourning."

He was quiet, leaning into Severus. For a terrifying second he though Regulus had died, he was so still. Even the shaking stopped. Severus could certainly imagine himself, weeping at Christmas in this filthy looted house, draped with a dead boy, a traitor to one side and a forgotten villain to the other. What would he do?

Regulus didn't say anything, but Severus felt him swallowing against his neck and beginning to breathe again. Softly, "Don't cry." He felt fingers against his head. Regulus was trying to comfort him.

The presence of a true friend changed everything. He would have to find a better more permanent place for him to live. Perhaps Severus would not be able to return to Hogwarts. But... There would soon be a school full of children to protect, children who needed him. The Carrows would not notice an extra Slytherin, but McGonagall would. And others might recognise Regulus. Severus would protect him before everything. He would not only need to be protected, he would need somewhere to live, clothes, food. He would need to sit his NEWTS. This one friend, returned to him, this one glimmer of his lost life, this one mirror shard of a soul that was not yet ruined from those bright hopeful days. Regulus was the Christmas present, unforeseen, infinitely precious. Christmas. He must leave these worries for now and work for Regulus' immediate healing. And give him a small Christmas at the least.

"Here, Regulus, you must drink this. I won't cry. Don't think I have become soft, that I cry." He gently moved him from his resting place against Severus' chest, upright, though he still supported him. He removed one of the little vials from his robes and removed the stopper one-handed. Potent stuff. "My own potable Oblivious Unction potion. You will not forget, but it will take the mental anguish, mend what would otherwise scar your soul. The locket, the... Horcrux... will have been destroyed today. I think that is what has thrown you herethrough time, as you were when you took it from the cave. It is all right. And the Dark Lord does not know anything you did. It is all right. It is all right."

When Regulus had drained it, he considered. He had not yet cleaned the room, and he didn't want Regulus to see it as it was. The solution was so simple, he almost laughed. "I am going to take you upstairs. I will do a little cleaning and set up the tree. It's Christmas. You may bathe, clean yourself up for supper and bed. Your clothes will still be in your room. Can you do that? I will be right here. I will clean your room and prepare it for us. There should be no nightmares, with the potion. Not tonight." Regulus, he realised, would never have had the opportunity for his Apparition training.

He nodded, then reached his hands to ball Severus' robes, holding tight. At such times of acute distress, propriety faded and usual barriers between people broke down. Neither of them would show such vulnerability later. Severus put his arm around him, reassuring. How, with everything, could Regulus trust Severus not to rush him straight to the Dark Lord? Perhaps his eyes saw past the customary opacity of Severus'.

Crack, and they were standing in the hall. He eased Regulus onto an old chair as he spelled away the worst of the grime and dust in the bathroom. He filled the tub an abundance of water and apologetically offered the packet of soap from Hogsmeade. It was small enough to have been slipped in his pocket, and though there was no shampoo, the soap itself smelt of vanilla and apples, with a touch of pine. Christmas soap.

Severus first set his own wards over the house. "Protego Totalum," he cast and, "Salvio Hexia." For good measure, he enveloped the entire dwelling under his patented room-sealing charm.

When he was satisfied all was secure, he entered the once-fine dusty bedroom with the familiar Slytherin decor that would mean 'home' to both of them. He had learned to clean efficiently, first in his mind as a boy at Spinner's End, working out how it should have been cleaned if he had been permitted to use magic to do so. Simple spells. Reparo fixed Regulus' books, and his desk, the wood flying together. He used Accio on the dust. Molly had never thought of that one: drawing it from all the corners into a single bag to vanish with Evanesco. Scourgify cleaned the spilt ink. There was no grime here. The door had been closed, probably for decades, before Mundungus had invaded it. Even Kreacher would have obeyed the small sign on the door of Master Regulus.

"And now. Accio juniper." The tree rose up the staircase, needled limbs brushing the walls. He set it in the corner. The room was easily large enough for it. Later he would put it in a pot of water. "Lumos," he said reverently and gently, placing a few small stars in its branches. Christmas, it was Christmas.

Regulus came from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel.

"You are home."

Regulus looked about his room. It was not much different from the room he had left, tidy as he had always been. Only the yellow of his once-precious newspaper articles betrayed the time that had passed. He saw the tree, the tiny lights. "Thank you. I would like to sit down." He was formal, but warm. Severus saw him waver and knew the words were almost abbreviation. He was just as Severus had always thought of him.

"Rest here. I will bring more water, dishes, a cauldron, the food I have brought." His few offerings now felt sparse. They had been meant as only respite, perhaps small cheer, but this was Regulus. Severus wanted to give him everything. He wanted to give him the world he himself had given up in penance. He wanted to give him the world that had been stolen from their friends.

He also cleaned and collected blankets, a few clothes that had once belonged to Sirius for himself. He too would need a night-shirt now, and a bed. When the Order had inhabited the apartments, he had never spent the night. He had never, amidst the warm familial bustle and smells of cooking, shared smiles and experiences, been so much as asked to stay for dinner.

On returning upstairs, he was amazed again that Regulus truly sat there. It was really Regulus, alive and human. He was propped on his pillows, clean in his own nightshirt, wan and slightly slumped, but quite proper with his hands folded in his lap. The old clothes were nowhere in sight, save the scarf, hung neatly over a chair. Severus brought him a cup of water set with a Refilling Charm. He handed it to Regulus with a gentle admonition to keep drinking. a bucket of more water served for the tree. He set their victuals out on the desk, heating them, opening the containers of chicken, potatoes, vegetables, casting a Geminio spell of duplication. There were also individual Christmas puddings with plum rum sauce, and Butterbeer.

They ate the small meal, Regulus with a tray over his lap. He fed himself, each raising of a fork or spoon a small act of will. Severus could tell by the heaviness of his arm and the brief rests between mouthfuls. His wand lay just at his leg. He still had his wand, Severus marvelled, and the power to use it had returned since his desperation in the hall. They took turns setting lights in the tree, until it lit the darkened room with a twilit coloured glow. Severus perched on the edge of the bed. "I do not have a gift." He was apologetic.

"You were here to help me," Regulus' eyes were steady. "I am tired..."

"Of course. We will talk in the morning, of the harder things." Severus was tired as well. He made his bed against the wall with blankets, folded thick beneath him. This was the only room that was habitable, or bearable to him. He closed his eyes.

A soft sound. In the muted magical light from the Christmas tree, a bare foot descended carefully to the floor - a good foot, bones and tendons moving it, shaping it. Severus watched it nearing him, from the side. Then Regulus was bending over him - over him. "Come to bed, Severus. You know it is not right for me to allow you to sleep on the floor, a guest in my home." A hand on his shoulder. "Come up with me. I can't sleep..."

Severus rose, as much to comfort him as to obey. He helped Regulus back and lay on the far edge of the big bed, taking up as little room as possible. But Regulus' warmth nudged him, curled up against him, still with occasional faint tremors, more reliant in the dark than he had been when wakefulness had demanded dignity. Severus held him, enfolded him as best he could. His eyes were inclined to dampness, for Regulus restored to him, but also for the loss his old friend must face. The close humanity comforted Severus as well, and he slept.

There was a dull, half-heard crack as he drifted off, but Severus had faith in his wards. No enemy could intrude.

Next morning, the sun shone crisp and cold past the edges of the curtains, reflecting on the snow.

Regulus' eyes shone as well, as he woke in Severus' arms. They turned to him. "You told me everyone had died." They turned to Kreacher. "Please join us for breakfast."

For there was breakfast. The rest would wait.

Happy Christmas. Severus was happy.




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