In Through the Out Door - Snape/Regulus [Hard R]

Title: In Through the Out Door
Authors: fleshdress and themostepotente
Prompt: Addiction
Pairing: Snape/Regulus
Rating: Hard R
Summary: Regulus becomes hopelessly addicted to Felix Felicis in order to gain Snape's affections.
Warnings: Drug abuse, angst, character death
Disclaimer: Oh, so not ours. This market's been cornered.
A/N: Written for the kinda_lush ficathon.

Betaed by archon_mentha. 'Childsbane' is the intellectual property of sinick and is used with her permission.



In Through the Out Door

There was always gold to be found at the end of the rainbow - or so the tale went. Heaven, with its multi-coloured sky beacon, was London's only gay nightclub, attracting wizards and Muggles alike.

Usually, there were one or two leprechauns (Irish drug dealers) milling about the alleyways looking for addicts. And junkies were never in short supply. There was something about scoring after the score that made a bathroom stall fuck that much sweeter.

Regulus Black was new to the scene. He'd heard about Heaven through word of mouth and decided it was past time he braved Charing Cross to Villiers Street for a bit of a 'score 'n whore.'

Most of Regulus's friends were the stay-at-home sorts, and this was probably to his benefit. One might be pureblood and queer, but one did not have to flaunt his sexuality. Regulus, however, was a pretty bloke with sullen good looks, and he had no intentions of sitting about and becoming a societal circle jerker. His cock was too precious to keep all to himself.

He'd dolled himself up, all glitter and glam, a heavy line of charcoal along his lids. He'd never worn heeled boots before, and he had a bit of a time walking in them. Regulus stopped at the mouth of an alleyway to adjust a strap when a voice beckoned him into the darkness.

"Lookin' to score pretty chippy?" The voice was gravelly, the accent a thick Irish.

"Depends," Regulus said aloofly. But on what he hadn't a clue.

"Might be you like snow or smack? Or some bennies? Or maybe a romp with Miss Emma?"

Regulus's expression was vacant. The dealer might as well have spoken Greek for all the Muggle slang he knew.

"Something a bit more…magical then?"

Magical? Regulus hoped this wasn't entrapment. Magical law prohibited wizards from illegal dealings with Muggles. It was not the sort of situation he cared to explain to Orion and Walburga.

"Magical, laddie. Fool's Gold. This is the end of the rainbow, and I am a leprechaun." The dealer held a phial of Felix Felicis between pinched fingers.

Regulus blew an errant strand of hair from his eyes. "Liquid luck? I hardly need luck to procure a date."

"Yeah, but you’re not the only pretty boy on the prowl. Could have your pick of anyone."

"How much?"

"Twenty quid - on account of it being a right pain in the arse to brew."

"Ha! I could make that in my sleep!"

"Aye, but this alley isn't your boudoir, and I'm not the bleedin' sandman. Twenty quid. That's me asking price."

Regulus slapped a twenty-pound note in the dealer's hand. "I wonder what the MLE thinks of your business practices?"

The dealer flashed Regulus a badge. "I am the MLE, laddie. There's more money to be made in corruption. Do be…sensible," he said with a wag of his finger as he melted into the shadows.

---

Nobody who was anybody entered Heaven before the witching hour. Muggle celebrities were always in attendance, and the drag never failed to be spectacular. Even before he entered the queue, he was getting looks from all manner of men. If he hadn't been so well off, he might have actually missed the twenty.

He took a seat at the bar, swivelling around to watch the activity on the dancefloor. Besides the usual bump and grind, there were men kissing, shirtless and sweat glistened. It was amusing how such a club could insist upon vogue when half its clientele preferred 'clothing optional.'

Two glitter painted boys waiting for bar service immediately caught Regulus's eye. In the time it took to fill their drink orders, they were already tonsil deep in a kiss. The pre-show made for lovely foreplay. When Regulus was sufficiently liquored up, he slid from the barstool and made his rounds.

Plenty of boys struck his fancy, but only one commanded his attention. Regulus's quarry was a dark haired boy with a beak you could hide behind. He wasn't pretty. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But he was perfect.

Regulus's attempts to attract the man's attention were futile. The beaky bloke appeared to prefer men of colour, and Regulus was so hopelessly pale he was practically clear. But Regulus had something better than the cocoa brown complexion of the South Londoner or the shimmering bronze of the Greek on holiday. He had the gold of Felix Felicis.

Slipping into the shadows, Regulus unstoppered the phial and let the molten coloured droplets leap onto his tongue. He swaggered past Beaky into the loo, and with an almost expectant smile, had the stall door open and ready for his night's leisure.

"Don't normally like pale blokes, but you're very pretty," Beaky told Regulus. He began his introduction by immediately grabbing Regulus's crotch. "My name's…"

"No names," Regulus interrupted with a finger to the lips.

"If you insist." From behind, Beaky slipped his arms around Regulus's waist, dipping a hand down the front of Regulus's trousers. He purred at the fullness he found.

Upon closer inspection, Regulus found his pickup less perfect than before. The hair wasn't greasy enough. The voice was all wrong. Something else was needed to dampen the blows. "On second thought. May I call you Severus?"

"Severus, sure," Beaky said with a teasing sibilance. "You can call me just about anything if it keeps your cock this hard." He pushed Regulus up against the stall door and unfastened his trousers.

The fuck was hard and fast, just the way Regulus wanted. By the by, his luck was proven in the performance, both of himself and of Beaky.

It was a different sort of luck, however, that Regulus noticed Sirius's name and his sexual prowess on the back of the stall door.

Regulus wanted to believe that he was the luckiest bloke alive, through the offensive echo of the lube squeeze to the unromanticised and impersonal manner of the fuck. It didn't matter that after he came once, he came a second and third time. Success and luck weren't equal measures with truth and joy. And this wasn't Severus Snape.

---

The stairwell to Snape's flat smelt damp and musty, and after several hours of sitting, Regulus was sullen and bored. Felix Felicis was supposed to last twelve hours, but inferior brews were known to last half as long. The coming down period was accordingly rough, and Regulus was suffering from a terrible migraine. When Snape finally made it home, a pile of wingless flies and legless spiders lay at Regulus's feet. He'd needed something to occupy his hands as well as his thoughts.

"Regulus?" Snape said in surprise, eyeing the mass of butchered insects. "I wasn't actually due back for days. How did you know I'd come home?"

Regulus offered his hand for some help up. "Just lucky I guess."

There was a second's pause before Snape grasped Regulus's hand and pulled him to his feet. As Regulus staggered, he thought perhaps Felix wasn't quite finished with him after all, his hand curling into a fist about the front of Snape's robes and his knuckles skimming against the line of Snape's narrow chest. A moment's stillness hung between them and Regulus wondered through the buzzing in his head whether he could feel the hot, steady beat of Snape's heart beneath his touch.

Then Snape untangled himself from Regulus and brushed past him to unlock the door, the key scratching on the metal. Regulus followed him in without a word.

Inside, the flat smelt little better than the stairwell, but there was the additional mustiness of potions in the air, the acridness of smouldering wet herbs. But the smell was so inherently ‘Snape’ that Regulus could accept it, fixate on it even, just as he would his lank hair and outsized nose. He knew the smell too well to even wrinkle his nose at it.

He slumped down on the squat armchair, ignoring the cloudbursts of dust that flew up as he slung his legs over the arm and stared at the ceiling spinning above him. The dull thud of music from the flat above slipped inside his head and joined the throb of his migraine. He winced when Snape switched on the table lamp at his side and meager yellow light crept into the flat.

He watched the ceiling dance about, jumping from here to there, and listened to the rattle of coffee cups as Snape moved about the kitchen, before he wet his lips and swallowed.

"Where have you been?" he asked, forcing his tone into nonchalance.

"I doubt it would interest you," said Snape. "No sex or violence, and not a glass of champagne in sight."

Regulus reached out a badly trembling hand to a moth darting about the lamp, wanting to trap it between his sweaty palms and feel the flutter of its wings against his skin.

"Sounds like a fucking waste of time." Exhausted, he let his hand drop and added in a smaller voice, "I don't like champagne anyway."

He started to discover Snape at his side, holding out a mug of coffee. He struggled back upright and took it. It was painfully hot, burning his fingertips through the chipped porcelain, but he grasped it like a child with a safety blanket.

"Don't let your parents hear you saying such heretical things," Snape chided him dryly. "They'll think you've gone the same way as your brother."

Regulus choked on his laughter and took a shuddering sip of the coffee to clear his throat. The sour taste in Regulus's mouth swamped any of the flavour, but there was a soothing cleanness to the burn of the liquid. He glanced up to see Snape watching him and the pounding in his head reached a crescendo.

He was on the verge of asking again where Snape had been, why it had been left to Lucius bloody Malfoy of all people to tell him, No, Severus is away for a few days, nothing to concern yourself with. He was going to ask where Snape had been, have it from him and maybe even tell him how he'd found life uninteresting and pointless without him around.

He never got that far because Snape lunged forward, cupping his hands about Regulus's.

"Careful," he said, righting the coffee cup in Regulus's hands and leaving him breathless with skin on skin. "You'll scald yourself."

Regulus stared at him blankly and wondered whether it was the last of Felix he could feel draining from his blood in the coolness left when Snape took his hands from him. His gaze dropped to the surface of the coffee as Snape settled back in his seat. He could barely think beyond the almost electric buzzing in his head.

"Perhaps I should have given you water instead; coffee seems a little beyond your capabilities tonight," said Snape.

Regulus set his cup down, awkwardly scraping it against the base of the table lamp and knocking the lampshade askew. The light in the room tilted to a dizzying angle and Regulus blinked, unsure if he was awake or asleep.

"If you need a place to stay," Snape offered, sounding a little weary, "You can stay here tonight. But I've got a lot of work to get done tomorrow-"

He broke off as Regulus slipped from his chair and dropped onto his knees in front of him. Regulus could hear the catch in his breath as he crawled closer, placing his hands on his bony knees and tilting his face up to him. He'd heard people say that Snape's eyes were like glass - cold and giving nothing back - and perhaps Regulus could see nothing more than his own desire looking back at him, but this couldn't be natural luck that had him so close to Snape.

Snape's warm breath on him was setting his skin prickling and Regulus could feel himself getting hard just at the little twitches running through Snape's body. He lunged forward, in a sudden moment of mad clarity, determined to see whether Snape's thin-lipped mouth tasted of his sneers and scowls.

Yet if there had been any doubt before, Regulus now knew it for sure: Felix had gone, just as certainly as if, having lingered in the doorway, it had finally passed through. Snape's hair was heavy and damp with grease against Regulus's mouth. He could hear the wet roll in his throat as Snape swallowed, staring fixedly in the other direction.

"You're not well, Regulus."

His laugh was meant to sound seductive and devil-may-care, but even to Regulus's ear it was bitter.

"I am. I'm very well." He nuzzled through the hair and licked along the shell of Snape's ear. " See? Very well."

"Regulus-"

"I'm not asking you to fucking love me!" he snarled, the words snapping through gritted teeth.

It was silent in the flat for a moment, save for the deadened beat of music above their heads, and the pounding of Regulus's head and heart. Slipping free, Snape picked up Regulus's abandoned cup and retreated to the kitchen. He poured the dregs down the sink and the gurgle as the sinkhole swallowed them seemed to come to Regulus from a great distance.

"Sleep it off, Regulus. Whatever it is, sleep it off."

---

There wasn't much of the night left in which Regulus could sleep it off, so he slept through the day instead, only waking at noon. When consciousness crept over him it was heavy and gradual, leaving him with sluggish limbs and a head full of drowsiness. His eyes were crusted shut and he rubbed at them with the back of his hand. Little by little he was able to crack them open, groaning at the sight of Snape’s spare room and the memory of all that had happened last night that came with it.

The blanket was cheap polyester and twisted about his legs in the muggy London heat. His skin felt dirty with stale sex and sweat. Pushing the blanket back, Regulus propped himself up on his elbow and scrubbed a hand through his hair, until it was sticky with old hair-gel. He staggered to his feet and stumbled as he found he was still wearing his boots. Snape clearly hadn’t wanted to even take the first step in undressing him. He supposed he could interpret that in such a way as to feel gratified that Snape had not wished to tempt himself or take advantage, or simply depressed.

There was a sour taste in his mouth that was thick on his tongue, and his head throbbed with the vestiges of a killer headache. But there was no putting off the inevitable; he couldn’t hide in here all day.

Heaving a sigh, he went to the cramped bathroom and stared at his face in the grimy mirror on the wall. It wasn’t a pretty sight, not for a Black. Hacking, Regulus spat into the cracked enamel wash-hand basin. He frowned at the fat gobbet of dark yellow bile that rolled down to the plughole, then spun the tap on full blast to wash it away. He supposed he couldn’t really blame Snape for not wanting to kiss him, he thought dryly.

---

The next few days passed quietly. Nothing was mentioned of the day Snape had taken Regulus into his care. This only made Regulus abuse Felix Felicis to a greater degree.

All too soon after, Regulus's highs and lows became a pattern. He'd indulge in excess, make fumbling advances at Snape, dry out, and leave feeling worse than he had before the cycle began. Something, he mused, had to give. Would it be Snape's resolve or Regulus's sanity?

The following months were unkind to Regulus's good looks. His hair and nails began to brittle, and his skin yellowed as if jaundiced. When his hair started falling out in clumps, Regulus began prettying himself with glamour spells.

He also mistreated his body, fucking just about anything on two legs. Thrice, Snape had brewed him antibiotic draughts to help cure the clap. Snape had even let him suffer through a night of burning and itching once just to prove a point.

The following night Regulus had squatted in a run down building, waking to empty pockets and tremors that wracked his body to the point of muscle stiffness. Still angry with Snape, he spent the day in Hyde Park soliciting spare change until he had enough money to pay the cover charge at Heaven. There, he could always score some Fool's Gold. Even the so-called 'straight' dealers were not above having their cocks sucked by another man.

However, much to Regulus's surprise, the street corners and alleyways were clean of Leprechauns. There was only a filthy man wearing even filthier clothes.

"You'll find no green hats here, mate. The Uncles came an' arrested the lot of 'em. New reform on sobriety or summat."

Regulus shrugged his shoulders. Undercover cops had the junkie disguise down pat. "Just out for a walk is all."

"Right then. You come an' suck my cock all nice like, and I'll share my stash," the dirty man said, flapping his blackened gums.

The look Regulus must have given the dirty man prompted a string of curses and a mocking crotch-grab.

Frustrated, Regulus dug his hands into his pockets until they ripped and headed for the one place he knew he'd walk out of high.

---

Snape had been given generous funding by 'The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers' to perfect Belby's Wolfsbane potion. He'd been so careful with his spending that he'd built a little nest egg, enough to purchase an apothecary in Knockturn Alley that rivalled Slug and Jiggers. If Snape had the ingredients to brew such nasties as Veritaserum and Childsbane (the controversial abortifacent), surely he'd have the necessities for Felix Felicis.

Regulus had opened the store for Snape on more than one occasion, so he was privy to all its secrets, including the thumb pad locks. There was a small depression to rest the thumb while a needle pricked for blood. Only his and Snape's blood samples allowed entrance to 'The Mortar and Pestle.'

Once inside, Regulus helped himself to what he liked. He emptied the cash register and skimmed from the jar of coca leaves, chewing as he rifled through the papers on Snape's desk.

There were purchase orders and deposit slips and other financial documents Snape had yet to file. It was oddly untidy, like Snape had tried to hide something last minute. And there, sandwiched between two pieces of junk post, was a letter from Lucius.

The letter was full of sickening prose, sugarcoated lies, and false declarations of love. At least, that's what Regulus wanted to believe. The parchment smelt of arrowroot and Regulus could almost envision Snape holding the letter between potion-stained fingers, allowing the faintest hint of a smile to soften the hard lines of his face.

Regulus's heart sank as he read the letter over and over, committing it to memory. The words became his mantra as he began to prepare Felix Felicis. When the potion was finished, Regulus drank it down like it was spoilt milk, forcing the bitter curds of rejection down his throat. He would only ever be a nuisance to Snape, the way Narcissa was to Lucius.

Punishing Snape for his indiscretions, Regulus overturned shelves, shattering phials and beakers. He cut his hand deeply, but he felt rather lucky that his jealousy bled out. One stubborn drop at a time.

---

"Open up, Snape!" The pounding rang hollow through the long corridor. A dozen gory handprints painted the cheap, warped wood. When Snape didn't answer, Regulus knocked harder. "I know you're fucking in there!"

The chain stretched taut from door to wall as Snape opened it abruptly. "You're abusing again, Regulus. I can always tell. You wear Felix Felicis like a cheap cologne. I can't let you in. Not this time. Go home." The door shut just as suddenly as it opened.

The pounding persisted, daunting, like the beat of wardrums.

Snape, however, was unmoved.

"Fuck you, Severus! Open up! Open up, or I'll tell the whole building how you spread your legs for that cheating bastard, Malfoy!"

Several tenants down the hall opened their doors to assess the commotion. Regulus followed up their looks of disgust with obscene gestures.

"Spare me the tough love rubbish. Open the bloody door, or I'll get you evicted from your fucking love nest, so help me I will!"

The chain unlatched with a crisp rattle. Snape stood stiffly to the side allowing Regulus to pass. When the door closed, Snape raised a hand to Regulus.

Regulus's usual icebreaker did little to leash Snape's temper. "Whatever happened to not becoming your father?"

Hand met cheek in a whirl of robes and a flash of teeth. Spittle clung to Snape's thin lips, moistening them a darker pink before Regulus dragged his tongue across them.

"I must be the luckiest bloke alive. This is how it usually begins for Sirius. A little slap before the tickle."

The slap was not the only thing thrown in Regulus's face. "What happened to not becoming your brother?"

The smile that Regulus flashed was infuriatingly Black, but the smile was met with a sneer that twitched tic-like. "Dry out. Dry out, then leave."

---

It was hard to tell whose suffering was greater. The long hours of withdrawal must have been just as painful to watch as they were to endure. Regulus had soiled two top sheets, vomiting at regular intervals. He had the shakes, and he broke out in cold sweats, dampening the pillow with a foul-smelling sour that only a sickness could leach.

Sharp, unbroken raps at the door interrupted Regulus's demanding howls that Snape help him.

Snape was clearly not expecting company, robes and skin stained a sickly green. He answered the door in the same paranoid fashion that he did with Regulus, surprised to find Lucius standing outside. They always met in posh hotels.

"Let me inside, Severus. I've a few hours before she wakes." Lucius's rich, contralto voice broke Snape's concentration.

"A minute."

Before Snape could close the door, Lucius wedged the butt of his cane in the opening. " A very quick minute."

Snape immediately went to his bedroom and helped Regulus up. "I cannot expose you to splinching. You're still too weak to Apparate, but you must leave. If he discovers you here, even in such a platonic encounter…"

"It's Lucius, isn't it? Fuck Malfoy!" The bitter irony of his anger was justified. Regulus was certain Snape intended to do just that.

"You cannot use Mirrormancy. That leaves walking out."

"Fine." Regulus's first step was his last.

"You leave me little choice."

---

Regulus had never watched two men fuck before. Never like this. Never unwillingly.

Their bodies moved in tandem, rippling like objects beyond a reflecting pool. Lucius was fucking Severus, hard and unrelenting.

He could hear the moans, hear the creaks of the bedsprings, but Regulus could not be heard. He was as good as hellbound, trapped in the blackness of the void behind the cheval glass. Lucius came twice before he bid Severus goodbye.

When Snape freed him from the void, Regulus was sober and seething. But the disappointed look on Snape's face robbed him blindly of his anger.

Regulus didn't require an explanation. He had only to see the tent in Snape's small clothes. Slowly, deliberately, he slid the braies from Snape's skinny legs, grinning impishly as Snape's cock bounced with its release.

They were the perfect masks of comedy and tragedy. And this time Snape was loath to stop him.

---

It was all still Lucius though. Lucius’s solipsism and Felix may have allowed Regulus a taste of Snape’s cock, but the incident made not even a dent in Snape’s steel-strong carapace of resolved lack of romantic interest. Regulus passed from club to bar to alleyway, and every fuck simply cemented the truth in Regulus’s consciousness. Snape would tolerate him, would look after him, maybe even care for him, but he’d never want him. All he’d ever want was Lucius Malfoy.

Prudence was not a trait that ran in Black blood, but Regulus was careful enough to avoid Lucius as his hatred of him grew; every moment he spent in Lucius’s company, the urge to forcibly remove him from Snape’s life took greater hold of him. Yet even in that, Regulus was thwarted.

“You may avoid me as much as you wish,” Lucius told him. “But I’m afraid you have responsibilities which you cannot avoid.”

Regulus stared down at Lucius’s cane, at the silver snakehead that was currently biting into his shoulder and pinning him to the wall of the club. His deadened gaze slid up Lucius’s arm and fixed on his face, and the burn of hatred gave his eyes a sudden spark of life.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” he snarled.

Lucius smiled thinly at him and jabbed the cane in harder, his smile broadening at Regulus’s hiss of pain.

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to leave you to your grubby little entertainment, Black, but you made a commitment. So far, the only way you have shown your faith is to come when you are called, and sluggishly at that. We require more than that.”

The compulsion to rub the tender flesh at his shoulder after Lucius removed his cane was stifled under what was left of Regulus’s pride, and he waited until Lucius had disappeared among the heaving bodies on the dancefloor to do so. He didn’t need to ask what more was required. He read The Daily Prophet, and while he had no interest in the missing and murdered Mudbloods, he’d heard the rumours of what had happened to them. It was more than another surging want of Felix that made his stomach roll over sickeningly.

He couldn’t. And what’s more, he wouldn’t.

---

A week without Felix, the money to buy it or the means to make it, and Regulus's lost luck, the happy chances that fickle Felix had once given, still taunted him every now and again. These fortunate coincidences happened every so often to remind him what it had been like when the world had reordered itself to offer him nearly everything he’d ever wanted. At these times, Regulus yearned for his Fool’s Gold even more than ever. He could have it all if only Snape would relent and love him.

The morose grey hours of pre-dawn in which Regulus went to visit his elderly, drooling father in his sickbed was just such a time. Clutching his father’s gnarled hand with its thick, cold fingers, Regulus leaned close and listened to his father’s gasping whisper, and he learnt what damage he could do.

He didn’t bother to change his clothes. He went to the cave in his rich-boy-gone-bad costume, with his muttering house-elf trailing behind him.

The last thing he remembered thinking, as his blood smeared the rough face of the stone door, was that he didn’t need Felix for this.

---

Waking brought both relief and pain. Eyes open and he was free from nightmares of slick dead bodies that writhed and gibbered as flames washed over them. But consciousness was a heavy weight to bear. Every breath threatened to make him vomit and the pile of limbs into which he’d twisted himself left him aching and barely able to move.

“What have you taken this time?”

He blinked and grinned, his dry lips peeling back from his teeth, even as the sound of Snape’s voice thudded through his head. The cushion into which he’d been pressing his face, leaving his face striped with the imprint of its corduroy lines, was stained with red wine and Regulus remembered, oh so vaguely, spilling his glass over it.

He was with Snape.

“Whatever it is, I can’t help you. I used up all my Energizing serum in bringing you round. There’s nothing more I can do. I should have left you where I found you.”

A black shadow against the light from the window, Snape was at his side. Regulus could make out the abstract white shapes of his hands and face, but nothing of his expression. He swallowed down the bitter taste of bile and tried to speak. A hoarse whisper was all he managed.

“I didn’t know you cared.”

With a sigh, the whiteness which was Snape’s face turned away and even when Regulus retched helplessly, bringing up strings of acidic phlegm that dribbled onto the hideous paisley carpet, Snape left him to get on with it. Regulus sagged back onto the sofa, whimpering like a baby and closing his eyes as the room span about him like a globe on its axis.

He shifted slightly, unable to manage more. Something small and hard was in his pocket, digging into his hip. He tried to remember to take it out and have a look at it when he felt a bit better. Whenever that would be.

When he opened his eyes and turned his head to Snape, he had a moment of clarity and could see Snape looking back at him, his dark eyes fixed on him. Regulus searched them for meaning, for regret or irritation, but found nothing and the moment passed. His vision blurring once more, he closed his eyes again.

“I’m dying, aren’t I?” he asked.

There was no pause before Snape’s answer.

“Yes. Yes, you are.”

The laughter that gurgled up in Regulus's throat hurt and tasted sour, but he couldn’t keep it down anymore than he could the vomit.

“Just my fucking luck.”

His laughter lapsed back into whimpering and he wrapped his arms about his wretched body. His stomach cramped and coiled, wringing itself inside out as if to find that last poisonous drop. There was a huge emptiness in his head, a black hole that sucked in gravity and understanding and left him dizzy and weak on the sofa. When he heard the rustle of Snape’s robes, his face crumpled in anguish.

“Do you want something for the pain, Regulus?”

Snape had to ask his question twice before Regulus could make any sense of it in his fevered brain. When he did understand, he nodded so quickly that he thought the motion would kill him. Instead, it left him spewing over the edge of the sofa. The thin bile splattered down into the puddle he’d already made and left his throat burning.

Time was too complicated a notion to grasp, and Regulus couldn’t make out whether Snape had only just left him or had been gone for hours. It was only when he felt a hand on his brow that he dared open his eyes again. Even this close, when he was sure he could smell the nutmeg and violet on Snape’s robes, Regulus couldn’t make out his features. There was no comfort to be had in his face. There was only his hand on his skin and the cold, glass rim of a glass pressed against his lips.

“Slowly,” Snape warned, as Regulus greedily guzzled the potion. “If you vomit this up, I don’t think you’ll last long enough for me to brew another dose.”

The taste couldn't immediately penetrate the sickness, but then the thick rush of euphoria was on him, charging his blood with pure liquid luck. Regulus's whimper became a sigh. The air softened like butter around him and the drained glass slipped from his nerveless fingers.

"Snape," said Regulus. "Severus, do you ever… do you ever think things have turned out pretty shittily? I think, I think we could have done better. Could have been fucking fantastic."

"We probably could."

Regulus nodded.

"We could."

He fumbled about and suddenly found Snape's hand in his clammy one. He held on as tightly as he could as the world slowly sank into gold.

Fin